The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(67)

And the night before, I’d treated Asheeka to one of Benny’s pies at the pizzeria—another obstacle conquered, the first time I’d been there since we lost Vinnie. I’d asked Benny for Sela’s number and called her, asking her to join us, and she’d said yes.

The only weird part was seeing the sign with Benny’s name on it, and the weird part about that was that seeing it felt good. Like I was proud of him and what he was doing but also proud to be the woman who was with him, walking into a restaurant that had his name over the door. Something tangible. Real. Benny didn’t create that pizzeria, but I knew he took over the kitchen what was now years ago and it had lost none of its popularity. Therefore, it was Benny who kept it going.

No, kept it thriving.

So I was proud of him and proud to have a man who could do that want to be with me. And that pride came with a strange sense of peace.

It would have been easy to twist that, to think back to my time with Vinnie, who made all the wrong moves in life and paid for it in an ugly way in the end.

But I didn’t twist it. I walked with the girls into that restaurant with my head held high, knowing my man would wow them with his pie, and knowing if I kept my shit together and didn’t twist things that didn’t need to be twisted, the real wow behind that man was all for me.

The girls and I’d had fun, and with Benny working in the kitchen and not playing watchdog over me, I’d been able to down a couple of glasses of Chianti, which didn’t suck.

Man, who worked the front of the house—sometimes with Theresa, sometimes she’d take the night off—came to our table often, mostly because Sela was there and it was cute how they’d been together for a while and he still took as much time as he could get with her.

Vinnie Senior, like Theresa, had “retired,” but the retirement part was a loose interpretation of the word. Ben told me he came around, stuck his nose in, even worked in the kitchen, helping Ben, or came in so he could have the night off. But he mostly left it to Benny.

Theresa, not one to kick back at night and watch games or cop shows, or kick back at all, had also retired loosely. This meant her form of retirement was still showing at the restaurant more than occasionally to work.

Theresa wasn’t on last night, but with his girl there, Man found his times to come to our table to entertain us.

Ben had also showed once to give me a kiss, the girls a welcome, and to ask Asheeka if she enjoyed the pie.

Asheeka had.

In fact, she told me, after eating the pie (and the fresh breadsticks, and partaking of her portion of the big salad with banana peppers, olives, homemade croutons, and a healthy dusting of freshly shaved parmesan cheese in a light oil-based dressing) that I didn’t owe her for shower duty. My marker was paid.

I got that. The food was that good, and the warm and welcoming feel of the red-and-white-checkered-tablecloth-table-filled room, with pictures of family mounted all over the walls, couldn’t be beat.

Still, I was going to do something more for her. I had to. I was me.

I’d woken up four mornings in a row in Benny’s arms to soft “heys,” nuzzles, and warm arm squeezes, but Benny didn’t push it any further. We kissed, often. No hot and heavy make out sessions, but he frequently laid one on me, either claiming my mouth in a sweet kiss, brushing his lips against mine, or taking his time to make it deeper, but there was no pressure. No pushing.

With other displays of affection, like hand-holding, turning me in his arms every once in a while just to give me a hug and touch his mouth to my neck, I had the feeling he was giving me the chance to get used to him. It wasn’t about making certain I was fit and healthy. It was about making certain I was fit and healthy, mentally. Ready to go there with him, take the next step.

It was like we were living together, but Benny was still giving me the dating-to-get-to-know-you-better part of the relationship and that was pure Benny. Thoughtful. Generous. Sweet.

Awesome.

So it had been a good three days.

No, outside of my own issues that messed up the first part, it had been a good nine days, made good by Benny from the beginning.

Minute by minute was working.

Fabulously.

Or it had been.

Until ten minutes earlier.

Now I was worried the minute-by-minute business was going to fail and do it miserably.

This was on my mind when I hit the alley behind the pizzeria and parked next to Benny’s Explorer, the only car in a lot that was used only by employees.

It was relatively early. The pizzeria didn’t open for lunch, dinner only. They started taking walk-ins at four thirty for orders of takeaway, but didn’t start seating until five.

But Ben had gone in because he had sauce to make. I’d learned in the last three days that he had kids who could make the croutons, whip up the homemade Caesar dressing they used, toss the salads, prepare the homemade pasta, assemble the casseroles, and roll the meatballs.

But the sauce and the pizza dough were made only by Vinnie or Benny.

I parked and got out, walking swiftly to the back door. I prayed it was open because I needed to get to Benny and not do it after pounding on the door, hoping he’d hear me. I tried the door, and for once, my prayers were answered.

I walked in and saw what I’d seen the hundreds of times I’d entered the pizzeria through the kitchen’s back in the days when I was with Vinnie. Stacked up in the space around the door were used kegs. Empty crates that had held vegetables. Discarded boxes.