Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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The dimming skies cast shadows around us. I let the calm spread, my heart at peace, my eyes wide open, and staring through the windows as the night falls on the city. Ben's slow breaths grounds me in our nearness. I can hear the distant traffic noises and neighbors' TV playing above us.
The sound of jangling keys unlocking the front door jars the quiet of the room, and a dragging sound, then a loud squeak follows. I sit up, brain trying to catch up with what's going on.
"I'm home, honey!" Angie's playful greeting comes from the door. She moves down the hallway, turning on all the lights on her way. "Yoo-hoo!"
Intrusive brightness shocks the room. I shield my eyes with my elbow for a second against the assaulting light.
"Oh," Angie's voice pauses within a few feet from Ben and me cuddling on the couch.
I squint, trying to look at her when Ben jumps up.
"You must be Angie," he says. "I'm Ben Leonards. Nice to meet you." He extends his hand—polite and formal, in perfect sync with his equally proper greeting.
"Awww!" Angie squeals and, ignoring his gesture, flings herself at Ben in one of her famous hugs I love so much. The expression on Ben's face is priceless: not merely shock but panic. He takes a step back, then another, attempting to put a stop to the fierce embrace.
"I get to finally see you for myself." She loosens her grip only to begin a slow examination of Ben's face, body and even peer at his backside. Unceremonious, she turns him, like a child, to get a better look.
"Yep, you are cute. Congrats Am, you've got yourself another hottie." She smiles at Ben. Her disarming and mischievous grin illuminates the exhausted face. Angie's not going to stop. I drag myself off the couch and join them.
"Let him be, Angie. He doesn't know you yet. He might think you're a menace. But I wouldn't mind a hug."
Angie's attention switches from Ben to me. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. Waiting for that hug, though." She obliges, squeezing me in a vice-like circle of her arms, as Dad once did, so my ribs hurt, and my breath catches in my throat. Will I ever get tired of her hugs, or are they one of those rare things I'd keep craving for the rest of my life? Angie's hug is a perfect complement to Ben's kisses. I'm exhausted but light at the same time. I turn to find Ben. He's in the same spot, silent and observing our interactions. I wave him over, but he hesitates to come closer, as if afraid Angie would throw herself at him once more.
"Let's try this again." I walk to Ben and push him toward Angie.
"Ben, this is my best friend, Angela Fisher. Angie, this is—" I pause. What's the right qualifier of who Ben is to me? Better not go there"—this is Ben." They are staring into each other's eyes. At least that's familiar territory for Ben.
"The introductions are over." I pull on Angie's hand. "Time to make a fresh pot of tea." Is it a third or a fourth one? I lost count. Good that my tea supplies are not in any danger. I head over to the kitchen. "Have you eaten, Angie?"
"Not since lunch. I'm gonna take a quick shower and change. These clothes've been through three airports today." Her voice trails off at the end as she leaves Ben and me alone in the room.
"She's very energetic," says Ben.
"You don't know the half of it. I've considered buying earplugs to protect my hearing on the days Angie's around, which aren't many."
I open the cabinet by the stove, then the fridge, trying to decide what I could make for the three of us.
"Let me help with dinner," says Ben.
Leaving it to Ben to cook? Any time. I gesture to our kitchen. "Je vous en pris."
Ben gives me a quizzical look. "You know I don't speak French."
"It's all yours." I step out of the small space.
Ben takes my place and examines my not-so-well-stocked shelves. He takes out a package of bacon I bought for breakfast and leaves it on the counter.
"These are not the perfect ingredients, but they'll work." He picks some eggs and a bag of shredded Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese leftover from making lasagna.
"I assume you have spaghetti." He places his loot on a tiny counter space between the fridge and the stove.
"What self-respecting second-generation Italian wouldn't have a stockpile of spaghetti?" I slide a package of pasta out with one hand and a large pot with the other. Handing the items to Ben, I almost drop them when I hear Angie exit the bathroom and slam the door.
"Do you want to go and check in with her?" He points in the direction of the bedroom with his chin. "I'm making a simple pasta dish 'Spaghetti alla Carbonara,' so I don't need any help. It'll be ready soon, and I'll get you then."
"It's one of my favorite pasta dishes. Can't wait to try your version." I walk backward down the hall to Angie's room and shout to Ben. "Don't expect me to tell you yours is better than Nonna's was. Second place is your highest possible achievement for this one." I turn and don't hide my smile anymore.
