Ready for You (7 page)

Liquid warmth flowed through him as he walked back into the job, toolbox in hand. He would change things, all right, even if he had to play dirty to do it.

Chapter Nine

Chiara watched Rocco from the living room window. He leaned his head on the steering wheel of his truck for a moment. Her throat tightened. Did he not want to leave or did he regret meeting her? He drove away. She licked her lips. She could still taste the strong Italian roast coffee he’d drunk.

She laughed and twirled. Then she sat down, dizzy from her movement and their kisses. Just remembering them, her head lightened--she wondered if she could float off the couch. Maybe it was possible to trust someone who also made her feel on fire and like the sexiest woman she could be. She’d never told anyone, not even Phil or Isabella, how she felt about her family calling her dirty girl or about Jenny. Isabella probably knew anyway, but Phil didn’t know her parents ever called her that. He’d probably wrinkle his nose at her if he did.

Unbridled hope and passion toward Rocco coursed through her. She needed to talk about him, or hear about him. But there was no one. She wouldn’t trust even Isabella with this secret. She rose and ambled into the kitchen. What to do about dinner? She had some chicken in the fridge. Mrs. Buffone’s lemon chicken was delicious--the boys would love it. She could call and get the recipe and if she happened to ask how the family was and Mrs. Buffone happened to mention Rocco…Chiara ran to the phone.

Mrs. Buffone answered cheerfully and Chiara was at once put at ease while butterflies flitted in her stomach. “Why don’t you join us for lunch, dear,” Mrs. Buffone asked. “Sabrina, you remember, my younger son Rocco’s daughter, agrees. We’d love to have you over.”

Chiara’s smile widened. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, I can be there in ten minutes. May I bring anything?”

“No, thank you. See you soon. You remember the address?”

“Yes, thanks.” Chiara said goodbye before she started babbling.

After hugs and greetings were exchanged, Sabrina and Mrs. Buffone left Chiara in the living room for a moment to check on lunch. She sat on the wide navy blue sofa. Turning, she noticed a grouping of family photos on the table behind her. Her eye was drawn to one of Rocco. She picked it up and studied it. He smiled broadly, very young, but sexy in his baseball uniform. His son bore a strong resemblance to him, his younger self, who had a kinder, more open face. An expression she saw sometimes in Rocco’s smile. She touched her finger to the photo before quickly replacing it when Sabrina walked in. Chiara clasped her hands in her lap and glanced at the young woman.

“Would you like iced tea or lemonade?” Sabrina asked, motioning to her that they were ready.

Sabrina led her into the kitchen, as warm and inviting as Chiara remembered. The table was set with cream colored dishes, silverware, blue cloth napkins, glass tumblers, a chopped salad, fruit salad, rolls, and brownies. Sabrina poured Chiara some iced tea and they all sat. Mrs. Buffone asked about the boys and Chiara explained their camp schedule and asked about Mrs. Buffone’s grandsons, who were also attending summer camps, except Sabrina’s brother, of course.

“He’s so much like his father at that age,” Mrs. Buffone said. Her eyes unfocused and she sighed, almost imperceptibly.

“Did you notice the photo of my dad in his uniform?” Sabrina asked.

“Yes,” Chiara replied.
Oh God, she saw me. I kissed this girl’s father not even an hour ago.
Chiara took a bite of her salad.

“I wish I could’ve seen him play,” Sabrina said.

“Didn’t he when you were young?”

“Not really. He was in a local league for awhile. I don’t remember much.”

“How old were you when your parents divorced?”

“Seven.”

The same age as Danny would be. “It must have been hard on you.”

“Yeah, but I think it was worse for my dad and brother. I had my mom and grandparents.” Sabrina smiled at her grandma, who patted her hand.

“Yes, Rocco and Shawn went through some hard times, but they’re better now,” Mrs. Buffone said.

“I’m sorry. The divorce wasn’t his choice?”

“No,” Sabrina said as Mrs. Buffone ate. “But they’re both happier now. My mom’s been dating a great guy. He’s divorced and has two adult children too.”

“What about your dad?” Chiara asked.

“He’s not seeing anyone.” Sabrina and her grandma exchanged dissatisfied looks. “I worry about him sometimes, but he insists he likes his life the way it is.”

Chiara set her fork on her plate and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “He mentioned you’re going to SDSU in August?”

“Uh-huh. I’m looking forward to it.”

“We’ll miss you,” Mrs. Buffone said.

“I went to college in San Diego,” Chiara said. “It’s a fun city. Have you been there before?”

“A few times.
My first trip there was on our last family vacation with my parents. I’m hoping to talk my dad into taking my best friend and me down next month. I didn’t get to see much last time I went. I want to get a feel for things before school starts. Maybe he’ll meet someone nice while we’re there.” She shot her grandma a sly smile.

“What good would that do?” Mrs. Buffone said. “He just bought his house.”

Chiara rubbed her thighs and tried to keep a smile plastered on her face.

“What good?” Sabrina said. “You know, Grandma. Men need women more than we need them. He needs someone.”

“True, but listen to you.
Eighteen and knows everything.” Mrs. Buffone laughed.

“Sometimes we know ourselves better when we’re young,” Chiara said in a quiet voice. “We forget…I wish I’d stayed true to my eighteen year old self.” If she had, she would never have married Phil.
Or stayed married to him.

“See, Grandma, she agrees with me. Too bad you don’t have a single twin.” Sabrina smiled.

Chiara took a sip of tea. She glanced at Mrs. Buffone but quickly stared at her plate. In that brief look, Chiara felt as though Mrs. Buffone could read her mind, could see how she longed to be the one for Rocco. She believed Mrs. Buffone studied her, her knowing, wise eyes considering every twitch of Chiara’s mouth, every dart of her eyes,
every
nervous movement of her hands.

“Now,” Mrs. Buffone said, “Will you get that recipe for me, Sabrina?

Sabrina rose, put her plate in the sink, and took a paper off the counter. “Here,” she said, handing it to Chiara.

“Thanks.”

Sabrina cleared the table and started on the dishes.

“Do you want some help?” Chiara said.

“No thanks,” Sabrina said.

“I spoke to your mother the other day,” Mrs. Buffone said. Chiara nodded. She hadn’t talked to her mom since the boys’ last day of school, almost a week ago. “I invited her to my birthday party this Saturday. I hope you and your family will be able to join us.”

“Thank you, I’ll need to ask my husband.” Mrs. Buffone inclined her head. “It’s kind of you to include us.”

“It’s Grandma’s sixty-fifth. Grandpa wants her to fill the house, old friends and new, the whole family,” Sabrina said as she dried her hands on a dishtowel.

Chiara smiled. There was no way she could go, definitely not with
Phil,
and not with her parents there either.
Too risky.
“I should go. I need to pick up the boys.”

She rose and returned Mrs. Buffone’s and Sabrina’s hugs. She tugged at the bottom of her tee. How much she wished for in-laws like this, caring and inclusive. “Thanks again for lunch,” she said as they walked her out. She tucked the recipe in her purse.

“We enjoyed your company,” Mrs. Buffone said. “We’ll hope to see you Saturday.”

Chiara smiled and went to her car. On the way to pick up the boys, her mind wandered. She even missed the street for the nature park where their camp was and had to turn around. The Buffones were good people. She shouldn’t be meeting Rocco. He must know it wasn’t right. But then so did she and she
kept
seeing him. Was he feeling the same irresistible pull? Or did he not have the same moral code as his family? Surely he didn’t kiss every woman the way he had her. She tried to listen as the boys told her about their day as they drove home, but sometimes she had to ask them to repeat themselves because the idea to call Rocco blipped in her mind like a smoke detector when the batteries get low.

The boys wanted to go to the park, which distracted her. She always kept a close eye on them at the busy community park, with its four playgrounds, water feature, picnic areas, and three different levels. They soon found some friends from school and Chiara chatted with their moms. Before, she used to imagine how happy everyone else was, what great sex they probably had, guilty over how patient they were with their kids. Now those thoughts still swirled in her mind but with the added debris of guilt over wanting Rocco. No, it wasn’t just the wanting, she admitted as she drove home, the boys whining in the back. It was the meetings, the kissing, the giddy hope she’d felt a few hours before.

“If I hear one more word of whining,” Chiara snapped as she hastily unbuckled the boys from their seats, “you will both be on time out until dinner.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Max said in his quietest voice while Danny glared at her and stomped to the door.

She let them watch a video while she made dinner. Phil would eat reluctantly. He liked curried chicken thighs or Kung Pao chicken, not boneless skinless chicken breast lightly breaded with a delicate lemon flavor. Nor was he much for salad and roasted potatoes. He didn’t like Italian food, either. When they first dated, Chiara was intrigued by his exotic tastes and tales of his travels in Asia. But as the years passed, so did the novelty. Now she realized she wanted someone more like her favorite uncle, Max, a man who was kind, dependable, fun, and masculine. Even a comfortable irritation like her father or brother Tomaso seemed better than what she had with Phil.

While she washed the dishes, she glanced out the window. Rocco paced across the street. She stared. It was really him. The plate she held clattered into the sink. She opened her mouth to call to him, but Phil’s Dodger blue Prius whipped a turn into the driveway. She turned off the water then stood motionless. Rocco stopped too, staring at where Phil’s car was.

“Daddy!” the boys shouted. They usually heard his car pull in and watched from the living room window as Phil came into the house.

Rocco started to walk across the street. Chiara gripped the edge of the counter and pressed her stomach into the unyielding tile. The front door opened and Rocco stopped. He watched for a moment before he turned and walked away, down the street, as the boys clamored for Phil’s attention, like they did every evening. She let out her breath. She hadn’t been able to see Rocco’s expression clearly but she believed he looked determined.
Oh God.

“How was your day?” Phil said when he came into the kitchen, the boys following. Phil kissed her cheek.

“Fine, thanks, and you?
Boys, set the table, please.”

“Good. Suzy and I had lunch. We made progress on how to tackle those new accounts.”

New accounts?
She went into a stupor whenever Phil talked business. “That’s nice,” she said. Rocco was right. She twisted the dishtowel in her hand. Except she doubted Phil and Suzy had kissed, much less pawed each other like two teenagers. Chiara licked her lips then pressed them together.

“Do I have time to change before dinner?” Phil said.

“Sure,” she said. For a second, she imagined some magical change, transforming him into Rocco. Lust, that’s all it was. Lust was clouding her judgement. “Thanks boys,” she said as Max and Danny finished putting out the silverware. She peeked in the oven. Everything was ready.

An hour later, Chiara scrubbed the pans in the sink, plenty of sudsy too-hot water scorching her hands through her blue rubber gloves. She gritted her teeth, remembering how Phil reacted just as she thought he would at dinner. Now he ate a snack of spicy nuts and beer in his leather recliner while the boys watched “Where the Wild Things Are.” Chiara hated that chair. She hated looking at the bald spot on Phil’s head as he bent over his dinner. She hated his protruding gut pooching over his belt as he stretched. She hated his false thanks for dinner. She hated being married to him.