Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(41)

“Am I breathing?”

“One cheesesteak coming up,” he said, turning the car down the last corner of the town square. “You gotta understand, everything here is old. Every building used to be something else; every building gets reused for something else,” he explained, pulling into one of the parking spots that was diagonal along the square. “Except for that stupid strip mall where my bike shop used to be.”

He turned off the car and walked around to my side. Stepping out, I breathed in the snowy air, feeling it prickle in my lungs. The cold felt good after the long plane ride, and it was nice to stretch my legs a bit as we walked down the block.

As we walked, he pointed out the different shops: the bakery where they made the best sugar cookies, the place where he got his new shoes every year for school, and as we walked and he talked, he seemed less and less nervous.

“Thank God, it’s still here. Little Luigi’s,” he said, where there was a line out the door into the cold night. It moved fast though, and soon we were inside. It was a hole in the wall, with only three tables and a counter. They were grilling the steaks on a big black griddle, peppers and onions sizzling. People were barking out orders, wrapping sandwiches, and the smell was heavenly.

When it was our turn, Simon ordered for both of us. Two steaks, cheese, onions, mushrooms, with both sweet and hot peppers on the side. And the funniest thing happened. When he ordered? This accent came out of nowhere. I’d never heard it before. Not New York or New Jersey; this was very specific. As I listened to everyone around me, they all had it. Some thicker than others, and Simon’s was fairly light, but it had definitely popped up. Huh.

Grabbing a handful of napkins, he spied a family leaving one of the tables and was able to nab it. Leaving me with the table, he went back up for the sandwiches. I’d seen Simon order from a man with ten baskets of spring rolls on his head in Saigon. I’d seen him order sausages from a giant woman in an apron in Salzburg. And nowhere had I ever seen him more at home than he was in this sandwich shop in suburban Philadelphia.

With a wide grin, he returned to the table. He showed me how to spread out the paper to catch the drips, added salt and pepper, then how to hold it so it didn’t spill out over the sides. Then he bit down, and pure bliss came over his face. And he made a sound I’d only ever heard him make once. And he was very happy when he made it.

? ? ?

“Simon Parker?” a voice said from behind, and he turned with a mouthful of cheesesteak. He quickly swallowed, and stood. An older woman with a sleek silver chignon and a strand of pearls that could choke a horse was looking at him in amazement.

“Mrs. White?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh my goodness, it is you! I never thought we’d see you around here again!” She pulled him into a hug. “Where in the world have you been? Last I heard, you were off to Stanford.”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m still out on the West Coast—San Francisco, actually. How are you, how’s the family?”

“Oh fine, fine! Todd’s with the firm now and practicing corporate law. He’s married, with their first little one on the way, and Kitty just got married last summer, and— You must be here for the reunion; I just can’t believe it’s you!” she said again, hugging him tight. He rocked forward on his feet, off balance, while I looked on, grinning.

She spied me over his shoulder, and looked me up and down with shrewd interest. “And who might this be, Simon?”

He ran his hand through his hair nervously again. “This is Caroline Reynolds. Caroline, this was our neighbor from next door, Mrs. White.” He patted me on the shoulder so hard that I almost took a nosedive into what remained of my cheesesteak. Which was basically just a grease stain.

I reached a hand out to her. “Mrs. White, it’s lovely to meet you. You must be the one to go to for stories about how much trouble Simon used to get into, am I right?”

“I remember everything, Caroline—my mind is like a steel trap,” she said, tapping her temple. “But tonight I forgot to remind Arthur to grab the chicken out of the freezer, so it’s hoagies in the TV room,” she said, waving at the counter man who was holding up two torpedo-looking bundles.

Looking at Simon carefully, she patted him on the cheek. “Simon, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. You’ll stop by while you’re in town? I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well, Mrs. White, I’m not sure if we’ll have time since the reunion is tomorrow night, and before that I was going to show Caroline around a bit more. We’re leaving on Sunday, so—”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch?” he asked.

“Lunch tomorrow. You have to eat, right?”

He nodded. I smiled. I liked her.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you at twelve.” She nodded, settling the matter. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Arthur you’re coming over tomorrow; he’ll be so pleased!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he agreed.

“I’ve got to run, see you then!” she called over her shoulder, heading out into the night.

“She’s great,” I remarked, watching as Simon balled up the remaining papers and napkins and threw them into the wastebasket.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That was good,” I said, patting my stomach.