Page 49 of Tangled Up

The yellow lights in Mamma B’s Italian Restaurant make her olive skin and amber eyes seem to glow. She’s so damn pretty in a long-sleeved black dress that stops mid-thigh, showing off her shapely legs. She’s done something to her hair, so instead of the usual wild curls, it hangs in smooth, silky waves down the low V-neck of her dress.

She makes my mouth water.

“I’m pretty sure the last time I was here was with you. It was your favorite place.”

Light shines in her eyes, and she smiles. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget?”

We’re sitting outside on the patio, and the ocean crashes far below, creating a soothing ambiance. Only, I’m not soothed. As beautiful as she is, I can only think of all the things we said.

I’ve got a lot of making up to do, and I fucking know it. It’s part of the reason we’re here, at her favorite restaurant.

A waitress appears, smiling. “What can I get for you two love birds?”

We both blink quickly at the call-out, and I clear my throat. “Ah… Carly, have you decided what you want?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll have the Mediterranean salad with shrimp, please. And the house dressing.”

“I’ll have the tuna special, rare, and a bottle of this soave.” The waitress makes a quick note and leaves us.

“Sorry about that.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing, other than I’m not trying to pressure her.

It’s like I’ve cornered a deer, and I’m trying to coax her to trust me with easy gestures and bits of her favorite food.

She leans forward, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“Still…” I tilt my tumbler of scotch side to side. “I’m not expecting anything.”

“I appreciate that.”

The house music is Frank Sinatra-style Italian classics, and it fills the space as I try to think of something neutral to say.

“How’s your aunt doing?”

She smiles, and the pinpoint dimple at the corner of her mouth appears. I remember when I used to kiss it while she rode my lap. Heat filters below my belt at the memory. I want to have her that way again, always.

“She’s good. For whatever reason, she and Mrs. Thelma at the church are suddenly besties. I guess she just needed a little push to get involved.”

“Isn’t Mrs. Thelma like a hundred now?”

“That’s what I said!” She leans back with a laugh. It lights her eyes, and I love seeing her this way, smiling and happy. “When I first suggested she contact the church, Aunt Viv acted like she was offended at the suggestion, like they didn’t need her.”

“Probably a misunderstanding. You know how that goes. Someone says a thing, and it’s mistaken to mean something else.”

Her lips quirk, and she narrows her eyes at me. “Sounds like you know something about it.”

Leaning back, I hold up both hands. “I’ve handled my share of spats. Shit like that can cause real problems in a hospital setting.”

“Well, I hope I got them on the road to reconciliation.”

Reconciliation.

Silence falls between us, and this time it’s awkward. I slide my thumb along the handle of my butter knife, trying to find a subtle way to get back to safety. “You’re a criminal psychologist now?”

“Yes.” She glances up at me with a little smile, but I see the hurt clouding her eyes. “After… everything happened, I wanted to get as far away from central Florida as possible. I had my degree in psychology, and they needed someone to join the force in Pensacola.”

“So you moved to the panhandle.” I polish off the last of my scotch. “I’ve heard it’s really beautiful there.”

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