LITMIR.BIZ

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with that big party it would let her forget what had happened. With any luck, which seemed to be in short supply for her lately, she’d scared Dom off from ever coming to Moretti’s again.

      But this was Little Italy. If she really thought she wouldn’t see him again, and soon, she was dreaming.

      * * *

      ON THURSDAY, AFTER Dominic had finished putting in the data for Paladino & Sons’ newest customers, he hurried to the printers, where he went through each page of the new restoration brochure he’d had printed. He’d spent a lot of time designing it using photographs he’d taken of different houses and buildings they’d restored. The centerpiece was Catherine’s remodeled single-family home, its 1930s art deco glory brought to life with amazing results.

      He’d worked even harder on the copy, so when he got to the last fold and saw that his description of the revitalized fireplace tiles had been shortened, he wasn’t pleased.

      “Kenny. What happened here?”

      “What’s that?” The owner of the printing press that Dom had been using for the last five years read the paragraph in question. “Ah, the Verdana font you asked for wouldn’t fit completely on the page, so I nipped that one sentence a little.”

      “Why didn’t you call me?”

      Ken Patterson, who was about twenty years older than Dom, seemed startled by his tone. “It was just a few words, and I know you wanted that particular font.”

      Dom liked the guy. He’d always done a great job at a good price on time. “I’m sorry, buddy, but in this case, it’s not going to work out. I want it printed again, only this time use Helvetica. The sentence you abbreviated targets a particular market, which I wouldn’t expect you to know. But in the future, call me, all right?”

      Kenny nodded, his relief obvious. “Sure thing, Dom. I’ll turn these around real quick. How’s Monday afternoon?”

      “Great.” He held out his hand, and they shook. Dom felt certain a mistake like that wouldn’t happen again.

      Then he was off to an interview for a position at New York Adventures, a web and subscription magazine. He probably didn’t have much chance of getting it, but what the hell. Now that he was finished with his graduate studies, the job hunt was on.

      For now, though, he was busier than ever with the family construction business, what with Tony tasting wedding cake samples and checking out reception venues, and Luca being so in demand as a finish carpenter that he’d accrued quite a list of private clients.

      Dom was glad for his brothers. They’d busted their asses when their dad had gotten sick. It was time the little brother stepped up, gave them some breathing room. And with the business growing in different directions, he was actually learning new things along the way. Sure, he wanted to do much more careerwise, but for now, this was fine.

      Several hours later he had to remind himself that life was good.

      Yeah, for some other guy, maybe.

      It had turned into one of those days. Everything had taken longer than it should have. And he didn’t know where the hell all the cabs in the city had disappeared to, only that he’d waited three times for more than ten minutes. Which gave him far too much headspace to think about Sara Moretti.

      In those snug jeans and stretchy blue top.

      Holy shit, she might’ve been a late bloomer, if memory served, but nature had made it up to her in a big way.

      Since seeing her the other evening, his brain had been stuck in a damn loop. First, the jeans and clingy top. Next came the memory of those almond-shaped hazel eyes that could make a man forget his own name. And finally the thing that nagged him the most—the great mystery. Sara believed he’d wronged her in some way, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what he’d done.

      He’d been thinking about it far too often. And he’d come up with the same conclusion each time. She must’ve mixed him up with someone else. It was the only thing that made sense because he’d barely said a dozen words to her the three years they’d attended the same school.

      Only one thing to do about it. He had to ask her what it was she thought she remembered. She’d try to ignore him, or tell him she was joking, and normally he’d let it go. In fact, he would’ve preferred to forget she’d said anything. But the damn thought had popped up right in the middle of his interview.

      For a few seconds it had thrown him off track. Thankfully, he’d recovered quickly and he’d gotten a good vibe from the woman, but he wasn’t going to let himself get excited. The job was technically for someone with more experience. If that was the case, fine. At least it had been good practice. But being distracted by thoughts of Sara’s imaginary slight? He couldn’t have that.

      He’d ask her what she meant, and he wouldn’t leave without an answer. The question was should he go to Moretti’s now? He was tired and he still needed to hit the gym.

      Dom stuck his hand out for a taxi that zipped right past him. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. They’d be closing real soon. Probably a good time to catch her. If she wanted to lock up, she’d have to answer him first.

      * * *

      A FAMILY OF four were the only customers left in the restaurant at eight minutes to closing. As if any of them cared about that. A minute ago the older teen tried to order a custom pizza to go. Sara didn’t bother asking Carlo if he had time—he would’ve bitten her head off. If they’d been regulars she would’ve considered it. But she was fairly certain they were tourists.

      She kept on wiping down tables while Carlo was wrapping up in the kitchen. The day had been particularly busy. The dining room floor needed a washing, but Carlo would do that, which was why he was anxious to close. As soon as table three paid, she’d start cashing out.

      A long night at her laptop awaited her, and she doubted she’d get home before ten. She didn’t really mind because she was excited about finally getting started on her thesis. This morning she’d begun the lengthy interview process by meeting with her first subjects, Mr. and Mrs. Scarpetti. The couple currently lived in Brooklyn, but their families had come over in 1880 from Napoli, and Mr. Scarpetti remembered a lot of stories from the very early days. Some from when the Five Points area had been the nexus of what had been called the worst slum in the United States.

      Despite the realities of living in squalor, sweet memories always bled through the tragedies. That was one of the reasons she’d made “The History of Little Italy, 1810-1940,” her thesis. Her focus was on collecting stories from families who’d been there since the early days, like hers, and comparing them to historical records. Giving their local history a face and name.

      She’d wanted to transcribe the complete Scarpetti tapes tonight, but they’d talked for a long time. It would take her hours, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her.

      When the bell rang over the door, Sara turned, ready to send away whoever was coming in this late. But once again, she was stopped in her tracks by Dominic.

      So much for scaring him off.

      It had been only three days since she’d seen him, but he looked like a different guy. Disheveled, hair sticking up oddly, his necktie askew, as if he’d come though a wind tunnel. When he caught sight of her, he ran a hand through his hair, although it didn’t do much good.

      She acknowledged him with a brief smile. Only because he’d seen her look up. Then wondered about her own hair after hustling all day. She almost smoothed it back but caught herself. He was still staring directly at her when she lowered her gaze to the table she must’ve wiped down a hundred times already. A dozen more swipes couldn’t hurt.

      It took him all of three seconds before he was standing across the table from her, though she refused to look up. “Are you alone?” he asked.

      “Carlo’s in the back.” She had just enough sense to switch to another table, and then wiped it down for all she was worth, unsure what to say, and

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