How Much I Feel Read online

  I order fried ice cream to buy myself time to think about a strategy that might work to change the board’s mind about him. I do have one idea that’s been floating around since earlier.

  “How would you feel about doing some pro bono work while you wait to meet with the board?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “There’s a free clinic in Little Havana that does amazing work in the community. The doctor who works there was recently in a serious car accident and will be out of work for quite some time. The nurses are doing their best to keep up, but they could use some help.”

  “I’d have to check with my insurance carrier. I’m still an employee of East Coast and covered by their insurance, but I also have a policy due to the high-risk nature of my specialty. I’m pretty sure I can get coverage for any volunteer work I do through that one.”

  “Let me make a few calls and see if we can make this happen.” My cousin Maria is a nurse at the clinic, but I keep that to myself until I know whether I can pull this off. “In the meantime, check with your insurance and let me know.”

  “I’ll call in the morning.”

  I push the fried ice cream toward him.

  He uses the second spoon the waiter brought to take a bite.

  “What about past patients?”

  “What about them?”

  “By now, you must have a few satisfied customers who can attest to your skill and the care they received from you.”

  “More than a few.” The note of cockiness reminds me of the man I met this morning. That seems like a lifetime ago in light of what I’ve learned about him since.

  “Can you reach out and ask them to send testimonials we can share with the board? We need to show them with the other side of the story.”

  “I can ask my former assistant in New York to handle that. She would have all the contact info.”

  “Do it. It certainly can’t hurt anything. Have them write to me directly.” I give him my new business card that includes my email address. “Don’t go through Augustino.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “I barely know him. I have no idea whether I can trust him, which is all the more reason to funnel everything through me. After being misled, he may not want you any more than the board does for all we know.”

  “True.”

  “I need you to understand that I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you, but I don’t want to lose my job over it.”

  “I understand.”

  The waiter brings the check, and we both lunge for it, knocking it off the table, which makes us laugh.

  It’s closer to Jason, so he grabs it. “This is on me.”

  “I’m the one who owes you money.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I am worried about it. I pay my own bills.”

  “You’re helping me figure a way out of this nightmare. That’s all the payment I need.” He pulls out the black American Express card again to pay the bill. “I’d be losing my mind if I didn’t have your help in figuring out how to handle this situation.”

  “I still say you should have someone far more qualified than I am helping you.”

  “I don’t know anyone else I can ask, and you know the area, so that gives me an inside track I could never get with someone else.” He signs the credit card receipt and stands, waiting for me to go ahead of him as we leave the restaurant, which has thinned out since we arrived.

  I glance at my phone, stunned to realize that it’s after ten o’clock. How did two hours go by in a flash? Ever since I lost Tony, time has been my enemy. It either goes by too quickly, making me wonder how it’s possible that life just marches on without him. Or it drags interminably, leaving me to question how I’ll fill all the time I have left in a life that no longer includes him.

  The valet driver has Jason’s car parked right outside the door.

  He hands the young man a twenty-dollar bill. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No worries. That car is sweet. Did you drive it here from New York?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s sick.” He hands a business card to Jason. “If you need someone to take it back for you, give me a call.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” Jason holds the passenger door and waits for me to get settled before closing the door. He slides into the driver’s seat and hands me his take-home bag to hold for him.

  “What about social media?” I ask when we’re on the way back to my place.

  “What about it?”

  “Have you thought about using your accounts to change the narrative?”

  “What accounts?”

  I look over at him. “You’re not on social media? At all?”

  “Nope. Never had the time for it.”

  “Well, that’s a golden opportunity to take control of your own story. We should set you up with an Instagram account that shows you getting to know your new city, and if we can make the free clinic idea happen, that’d be even better.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about volunteering at the clinic to get attention.”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  “I know,” he says, sighing. “I hate doing charitable things for attention. It feels seedy.”

  “Under normal circumstances, it is seedy. These are not normal circumstances. If you want to save your career, you’re going to have to suck it up and court some positive attention.”

  “I hate this.”

  We’re about a mile from my place when blue lights flash behind us.

  After glancing in the rear-view mirror, Jason pulls the car over. “What the hell?”

  “This can’t be happening twice in one day.”

  “First time for me. Grab the registration for me, will you?”

  I open the glove box where the registration was the only thing in there this morning and immediately realize it’s not there. “Um, Jason?”

  They put us in the same cell I was in this morning, the door closing with the same shocking clatter that jolted me the first time around. The cop said he’d pulled us over because we had a taillight out, but when we couldn’t produce the registration for the expensive car, he had no choice but to bring us in until they could confirm that Jason owns the vehicle. We’re pretty sure the taillight must’ve gotten damaged in the impound yard, and we didn’t notice it when we picked it up. Add that to my tab.

  And so, here I am. In jail. Again.

  To my credit, I held it together the whole time we were told to stand with our hands on the hood of the car, our legs spread. I held it together when they told us we were being taken in until they could determine who owned the vehicle. I held it together when they cuffed us and put us into the backseat of the squad car. But being back in that cell with the toilet sitting out in the open takes me right over the edge.

  I disintegrate into helpless laughter.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Jason asks.

  I can’t breathe or talk. I wave my hand to encompass the entire situation.

  “This is not funny. It’s the last goddamned thing I need right now.”

  Even knowing he’s right, I can’t stop laughing. Could this day be any more ridiculous? It takes me five minutes to catch my breath, and by then, Jason is annoyed with me for laughing.

  “It’s a good thing they took our phones, or I’d get your Instagram account up and running with a photo from jail.”

  That draws a small smile from him, as if he can’t help it, even if he finds nothing about this funny.

  “Can’t you use your connections to get us sprung?”

  “I tried that. The patrolman said he was in high school when my husband died, can’t just take my word for it and needs to confirm the info I told him is true. But he did say he was sorry for my loss. So here we are.”

  “Jesus.”

  I wince at the cavalier way he utters the Lord’s name.

  “What?”

  “My grandmothers would cut out your tongue for saying t
hat.”

  “Sorry. Fuck. Is that better?”

  “Much.”

  He laughs, and the sound rolls through me like a hot bath, soothing and calming. I like making him laugh, especially since he’s had nothing much to laugh about in the last few weeks.

  An older officer comes to the door of the cell. “You’re Tony D’Alessandro’s wife?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Come with me.”

  “May I bring my friend?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We follow him through a series of corridors into a nondescript room with a table and chairs and not much else.

  “You can wait here.”

  “The car is mine,” Jason says. “It was impounded earlier after a misunderstanding, and the impound lot didn’t return the registration. I didn’t realize it until we got stopped.”

  “We’re looking into it. As soon as we confirm what you’ve told us is true, you’ll be free to go.” The officer looks at me. “You’re free to go now. I can have someone drive you home if you don’t want to wait.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll wait for my friend.”

  “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. We’re good.”

  “I’ll do what I can to get this figured out for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I don’t think it’s locked, but I’d rather not know if it is, so I don’t check.

  Jason takes a seat at the table. “You should go.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll stay.”

  “You have to work in the morning.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “I said I’d stay, and I will.”

  “Are you afraid to leave me to my own devices?”

  “Terrified. I’ve got enough of a mess to clean up without you making it worse.”

  He’s startled until he figures out that I’m kidding, and then he begins to laugh. He laughs as hard as I did earlier. Like my laughter, his has an edge of hysteria to it that I can certainly understand. Rule-following overachievers like us don’t end up in jail, let alone twice in one day for me.

  “You’re a regular jailbird today,” he says when he finally quits laughing.

  “Only because of you! I was minding my own business when you and your Porsche showed up to cause trouble for me.”

  “Admit it. Today was the most fun you’ve had in a long time.”

  I cross my arms defiantly. “I’ll admit to no such thing.”

  The smile he directs my way sets off that flurry of reaction inside me that’s been happening all day. I’ve never had an opinion on instant attraction because it hasn’t happened to me before. Tony and I had been friends for years before we started dating in high school. I’ve seen my friends and cousins come home dazzled by a man they just met, but most of the time, the sparkle doesn’t last.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  His question startles me. “Huh?”

  “You just got all serious, and your brows furrowed.” He impersonates my expression.

  “Oh, um, I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.” I can’t very well admit to the object of my instant attraction that I was pondering the phenomenon of instant attraction.

  “Liar.” He tips the chair back, balancing precariously. “Tell me what made you frown and furrow.”

  Is it hot in here, or is it me? “I was just wondering what’s taking them so long to confirm the car is yours.”

  “They probably had to track down the impound guy.”

  “Are you going to have to pay again to get it out of there?”

  “Probably.”

  And my debt to him just doubled since I’m the one who got the car impounded in the first place.

  I flop into a chair across the table from him. “I’m sorry about all of this. When Mr. Augustino told me to babysit you, I don’t think he meant for me to do it in jail.”

  “He used the word babysit?”

  I squirm under the heat of his glare. “Maybe?”

  “That’s just great. Glad I’ve spent my whole life in school only to need babysitting at my new job.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I let myself get sucked in by a woman—literally—for the first time in my life, and I’ll be paying for that mistake forever.”

  “Not necessarily.” The visual of him being “literally sucked in by a woman” has me breaking into a sweat. I feel betrayed by myself. Why do I have to be attracted to him, the subject of my first assignment at the job I busted my ass for years to get?

  I can see the irony. I’ve been moving through life in a grief-fueled fog for five years, and the first time I feel something for another man, it has to be this man. My friends and family have been trying for a while now to find me someone new. None of the many first dates they’ve arranged for me has led to a second, which has frustrated matchmakers determined to see me happy again.

  They’d be thrilled to know that Dr. Jason Northrup makes my scalp, and other more important parts, tingle with awareness. But with my new boss determined to keep Jason and his scandal far from the hospital where I now work, he’s the last man in the world my nipples should be interested in.

  Try telling them that.

  I cross my arms, hoping he won’t see what’s going on under my clothes. That’s not something he needs to know. Besides, I’m sure it’s just a fluke. He’s a handsome, charismatic brain surgeon for crying out loud. Any heterosexual woman with a pulse would react to him.

  I’d like to think I’m not “typical” in the sense that I don’t freak out about stuff that sends my friends and cousins into a tizzy. For instance, Justin Bieber once came into the restaurant with an entourage, and the whole lot of them went dumb in the head while I waited on them.

  Biebs puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. I had no reaction whatsoever to a man that other women throw panties at when he’s on stage. Was it fun to meet him? Sure. Not to mention he left a massive tip that came in handy when it was time to put down the damage deposit on my new apartment.

  “What are you thinking about now?”

  “Am I frowning and furrowing again?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I’m thinking of the time I met Justin Bieber.” Jason also doesn’t need to know that I’m thinking of the Biebs in the context of having no reaction whatsoever to him while the good doctor makes my nipples hard. Why is that exactly?

  “What was that like?”

  I shrug. “Nothing special. He came into my family’s restaurant with a group of people. I waited on them while everyone else had a nuclear meltdown.”

  “I can picture you all calm, cool and collected while everyone else freaked out.”

  “I don’t go crazy over famous people. I’ve been meeting them all my life.”

  “Is that right?”

  Nodding, I get up to stretch and then sit on the table next to him. “Giordino’s is very well known around here. People come from all over to eat there. Gloria Estefan and her husband celebrate their anniversary there every year. JLo comes in whenever she’s in town. George Clooney and his parents were in last year.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing. Has it always been in your family?”

  “My father’s Italian parents opened the restaurant when they first moved to South Florida from the Bronx in the fifties. The Cubans moved into the neighborhood that became known as Little Havana in the sixties. Then my parents met and fell in love, and when they eloped, my father brought my mother into the business and insisted on making her part of it. From there, it’s evolved into one side Cuban and one side Italian, with my grandmothers hosting their opposing sides. They bicker like crazy, and people come from all over to see their show.”

  “So they don’t get along?”

  “They’re the best of friends behind the scenes, but you’d never know it. Their public persona is very
combative. They say it’s good for business, and they’re right.”

  “That’s amazing. I love it. I can’t wait to see them in action.”

  I try to picture him among the chaos at Giordino’s. “The only way you can come there with me is if you’re planning to marry me.”

  Chapter 6

  JASON

  I stare at her, shocked and unreasonably aroused by everything she says and does. “Marry you?”

  She laughs at my reaction. “You have to know my grandmothers. They’ve been trying to find someone new for me since about two years after Tony died. If I bring you there, they’ll pounce on you like the fresh meat you are and call in the priest before they serve the main course.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I know, which is why I can’t bring you anywhere near them unless you’re prepared to say ‘I do’.”

  I know she’s exaggerating, to a point, which is what spurs me to throw gas on the fire that’s been simmering between us all day. “What if I’m not afraid of them?”

  She lets out an inelegant snort. “Spoken like someone who’s never met them or seen what they’re capable of.”

  “Eh,” I say, waving a hand, “after what I’ve been through, what can a couple of grandmothers from Little Havana do to me?”

  Carmen stares at me with dark brown eyes fringed with extravagant lashes that other women would kill for. Her flawless skin is the color of coffee with cream, but her lips are what take her face from pretty to stunning. I’ve never seen a more kissable mouth in my entire life, not to mention she’s curvy and lush and smells so good it’s all I can do not to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in. “You haven’t the first clue what you’re talking about.”

  I’m well aware that I have absolutely no business categorizing Carmen Giordino’s many attractive attributes. I’m in enough trouble as it is without having salacious thoughts about the young woman who’s trying to help dig me out of the hell hole I’ve fallen into since I found out what Ginger wanted with me.

  “You’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

  Before she can answer that question, the officer who brought us to this room returns. “You’re both free to go.” He hands me the registration to the Porsche. “Might be a good idea to keep that handy going forward. Had to wake up the guy who runs the impound lot, which is why it took so long.” To Carmen, he adds, “Sorry to keep you waiting. We asked him to wait for you so you can get the car tonight. He, um, wouldn’t wave the fee, though. We tried.”