LITMIR.BIZ

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heaved an exaggerated sigh and sketched the sign of the cross. “Promise.”

      But as he dipped into the minestrone soup that no one else could make as well as his mother, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying next door. He hadn’t seen a man, and besides, his mother surely would have told him if Sophie had married. He wondered if she worked, if she had a steady beau, if she’d still melt in his arms the way she always had. No doubt about it, Miss Sophie Domenico was just what he needed to keep his mind off the inescapable fact that his days of exploring and roughing it in some of the earth’s most inaccessible spots were over.

      

      

      Sophie Morrell started when the telephone rang. Darn it, she’d just gotten comfortable after returning from her folks’ home. Rising from the couch in her little condo where she had settled in to read a romance novel by one of her favorite authors, Sophie switched on the receiver. “Hello?”

      “Hey, kid sister, whatcha doin’?”

      “Hi, Vee.” Sophie’s tone reflected her delight. At thirty, her sister, Violetta, was only two years older than Sophie, and she had been Sophie’s best friend since their childhood growing up in Elmwood Park. “I’m doing nothing, if you want the truth. I spent the afternoon with Mama and Daddy, then I decided to come home and prop up my feet and read the evening away.”

      “Did you eat?”

      “Of course I ate.” She laughed. “You worry too much.”

      “As your big sister, it’s the job I take most seriously,” Violetta said. Then the flippancy left her voice. “I don’t mean to bug you, Soph. It’s just a habit, I guess.”

      “It’s okay.” Sophie knew exactly what her sister meant During her husband’s illness, she’d spent all her time attending to him, pushing aside her own grief. Many days, she’d simply forgotten to eat, or been too tired to worry about food. By the time he died, she’d lost twenty pounds. She’d lost more weight after Kirk’s death and only slowly had gained back enough that she didn’t look like a walking skeleton.

      While the method of weight loss wasn’t one she’d recommend to anyone, she rather liked the end result. In the two years since she’d been widowed, she’d acquired eating and exercising habits that had kept her trim. She was proud that she hadn’t strayed more than three pounds from her desired weight in those years.

      Actually, it wasn’t much of an effort. The clinic where she worked, in a poor Hispanic neighborhood down in the city, kept her so busy that she often didn’t get home until six or seven. And half the time, the workday ended before she remembered that she hadn’t eaten lunch.

      She liked the busy-ness of the clinic, though. Her work teaching young mothers how to care for their babies and be successful in the job market gave her many moments of joy. There was little she loved more than handling wide-eyed babies with mops of black curls.

      And if she occasionally shed tears of anger at the unfairness of the life that had left her a widow with no babies of her own, she never, ever let anyone see them.

      Of course, her work had its sad moments, too. But she’d lived through sorrows of her own, and, though she still missed Kirk, she felt that her life was richer for the experiences she’d had. She knew grief and rage and despair intimately, so she could offer the comfort of a kindred soul to others when those emotions came knocking at their doors.

      “I have big news,” Violetta said, breaking into her silent thoughts.

      “What?”

      “You have to guess.”

      Sophie rolled her eyes, though Vee couldn’t see her. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

      “I’ll give you a hint. Whose anniversary party is coming up?”

      “Mr. and Mrs. Esposito’s. But what—”

      “And what handsome family black sheep has come home to help them celebrate?”

      Marco was home. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and before she thought, she automatically defended him. “He isn’t exactly a black sheep. He just travels a lot.” Sophie wished she could call the words back the minute they hit the air, but too late. The realization that he was already in Chicago was more unsettling than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

      “Sophia Elenora, don’t you dare defend that man.” Violetta’s tone was heated. “He led you on and then dumped you for his silly little research trips, remember? You haven’t seen him in close to five years—”

      “Almost six.”

      “Okay, six, but my point is—”

      “I get your point, Vee.” Sophie sighed and raked her long hair away from her face. “I did manage to marry someone else, remember? You don’t have to worry—my feelings for Marco were just a juvenile crush. They disappeared ages ago.” She made herself continue in a light tone. “But it will be nice to see him again. He’s been away a long time. Do you realize that this party might actually get all the Esposito and Domenico kids back together?”

      “It’s going to be wonderful.” Violetta’s tone had softened and she accepted the change of topic. “I talked to Camilla yesterday. She asked if we could spare a few hours that Saturday afternoon to help decorate the church hall.”

      “Tell her I’ll put it on my calendar.” Camilla was Marco’s older sister, the one who’d done most of the arrangements for the upcoming party.

      Violetta changed the subject then, and they chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

      But as Sophie hung up the phone, she knew her peaceful evening was at an end. Most of the time, she deliberately refused to think of Marco. It was the safest way. But knowing that he was home, here in the very same city, had every nerve cell in her body dancing a kick line, and the memories came flooding back fast and hard through the gates that Vee’s words had opened.

      Marco.

      Her stomach fluttered. She could picture his face as if he were standing before her, dark eyes gleaming with goodnatured amusement at the world, well-sculpted lips and classic Roman nose, his black curls cropped ruthlessly short and dimples winking in his lean cheeks. His sisters had teased him about being a “chick-magnet” years ago—did he still project that same irresistible aura? Did those eyes still promise a woman secret pleasures beyond all imagining? He’d curled her toes every time she so much as looked at him.

      And look she had.

      She’d longed for him ever since she’d started to notice boys. Marco was seven years older than she was, and at eighteen, he’d already had girls lined up around the block. If he thought of little.Sophie Domenico at all, it was only as the neighbor guys’ kid sister.

      But that hadn’t mattered to her adolescent heart. He’d bestowed a casual kiss on her cheek at the party they’d thrown him before he left for college, and at the ripe old age of eleven, she’d been his forever. No teen idol’s face had ever adorned her bedroom walls; Marco was the only man she’d fantasized about. At her Sweet Sixteen party, she’d been on cloud nine all evening simply because Marco had been home. He’d already finished his undergraduate work and had his first assignment as a research assistant under his belt.

      That time, he’d kissed her lips before he left. Just a friendly, brotherly peck, to be sure, but to her it had been as good as a proposal of marriage. Though she’d dated through high school, she’d never gotten serious with anyone. Compared to Marco, all the boys she’d gone out with seemed like . . . well, like boys. Marco was all man, and her breath grew short and her heart beat faster every time she thought about him.

      It had been the silliest thing, she thought, looking back. He’d gotten home maybe four times a year and most of the time, he’d barely noticed her. If he had, it was to tug on her hair and tease her. She’d watched through her curtains jealously when he brought girls home to family picnics,

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