Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She starts laughing so hard she doubles over from the effort.
I stare at her. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is.” She sobers up and grabs hold of my arm. “Honey, that boy does not hate you.”
“He does.”
“He might wish he could, but he does not hate you any more than I hate ice cream with chocolate syrup, rainy days at home with my family, sunsets at the beach, and the man I love giving me everything I want.”
Heart pounding hard, I beg for oxygen to fill my lungs. The idea that she could be right is almost too much for me to handle.
“It will be okay. You just pulled the veil off, and he’s seeing clearly now. Sometimes men need a wake-up call. I think you just gave him his.”
“He’s a jerk, Peggy . . . ,” I tell her while reminding myself of that fact.
Okay, so he can be sweet on occasion . . . but for the most part, he’s been nothing but a jerk to me.
“I can see why you’d think that.”
I don’t think that—I know it, I think but don’t say.
“I can’t wait to see how this plays out. I’ve been reading romance novels for a long time. It will be nice to see a real-life one play out right in front of my eyes.”
Blinking at her, I wonder if she’s crazy. Actually, I don’t wonder—I know she must be.
“Now stop hiding in here. I need you out front with me. There’s too much testosterone in this place, and I don’t like being outnumbered.”
“I’m washing the dishes,” I point out, not ready to go back out there.
Not yet and maybe not ever again.
“Do not hide.” Her harshly spoken words make my back get tight. “Do not hide. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I . . . I’m not hiding, Peggy,” I lie. “I’m washing the dishes.”
Getting even closer—so close I have no choice but to move away—she turns the water on, grabs the sponge from my hand, rinses it, then sets the pot to dry.
“Now you’re done.”
Looking at her and then at the pot, I shake my head. I turn the water back on to wash my hands. Figuring Peggy will stay until I obey, I follow her out to the front of the shop. The cute blonde is gone, but unfortunately, Antonio is not. When his anger-filled eyes find me, I fight the urge to bite my lip.
“I gotta head to the station in about an hour. Do you mind helping Hector close again tonight?” he asks.
“That’s fine.”
“Tomorrow I’m gonna talk to Dad about hiring someone else to help out so you don’t gotta be here,” he says.
Nausea turns my stomach while tears start to burn the back of my eyes.
“Are you saying that you’re getting rid of me?”
I can’t believe him. Seriously, I cannot believe him. Here, I’m happy. I feel fulfilled. And it’s the kind of fulfillment that comes from hard work. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, and he wants to take it from me. If Peggy’s right, he wants to take it from me because I have a date. A date that I don’t even want to go on.
“You don’t actually work here, Libby. You know that,” he states.
My stomach twists, and my throat clogs.
“I like being here,” I tell him, watching his jaw clench. “I know you don’t get that because you”—I point at him—“obviously don’t. But I”—I jerk my thumb at my chest—“I like being here. So, no. You’re not going to talk to your dad about finding someone else. He doesn’t need to worry about that right now, and neither does your mom. And if you don’t like that, then too bad. You need to get over it, because I’m not going anywhere, Antonio.”
“Libby—”
“Just stop,” I hiss, leaning toward him. “God . . . just stop being a jerk.”
I pull my eyes from his, feeling everyone else’s eyes on me. I ignore them and go to the counter where we make pizzas. I check all the supplies. Noticing that some things are low, I start to refill them; then I make a list of things that need to be ordered, which is something that Martina normally does. Eventually, I go back out to the front of the shop and wipe down tables and chairs.
“He’s gone, honey,” Peggy says.
I look up from another table that I’m cleaning and find her, Marco, and Hector all watching me closely, looking worried.
“Libby . . . ,” Marco calls. My eyes meet his. “We love having you here,” he says.
Those stupid tears I have been fighting suddenly fill my eyes.
“Chiquita,” Hector says. I look at him, seeing him blurrily through my tears. “Marco’s right. We love having you here.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say shakily while I wipe at my cheeks. I duck my head and get back to work, trying with all my might not to think about Antonio.