Клео Коул - Espresso Shot

“One simple act?”

I nodded. “Breanne sending out those wedding announcements to Matt’s old flames.”

Mike shook his head. “Matt had a lot of old flames, Clare. Only one of them chose to make that a reason to kill herself.”

“What are you saying?”

Mike shrugged. “Life’s messy.”

“That’s it?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Can you foresee the harm of every choice you make?”

“No, but while I grant you Matt’s a cad where women are concerned, he isn’t a cruel man. After the reception, he told me that he’d broken up with Andelina months before he’d proposed to Breanne. He said he’d done it as gently as he could, but the young woman had been unstable for a long time, was seeing a therapist, and taking medication.” I shook my head. “Still, Breanne had to know she would cause a lot of women a lot of indigestion.”

Mike shrugged. “I can’t argue that some people are better at making messes than others.”

“So why is it people like us always have to clean them up?”

Mike caught my arm, and suggested I stop cleaning up for a while. “Take a break, Cosi.”

I did, plopping myself next to him at the espresso bar. I noticed the New York Journal at the end of the bar and slid it over to him. “Speaking of dirt, guess what’s in here.”

“Oh, right, that big exposé of Randall Knox’s. Now there’s a man who not only likes dirt, but feeds off it.”

“Can’t argue there, but get a load of this. The coverage of the wedding in the paper is all sweetness and light. Not a word in here about Breanne’s sordid past or her connection to the dead stripper Hazel Boggs. Guess why?”

“Knox turned over a new leaf? From now on, he’s only going to report good news?”

“I wish. No, it seems Knox wasn’t the only one with a file in his desk. Breanne finally admitted to me that she’d compiled a thick file on Knox—and not alone. Remember that suspicious-looking guy I saw outside of Fen’s and later at Breanne’s office, asking for her?”

“The big guy with the too-tight suit? Yeah. He factors into this?”

“He’s a private investigator. Breanne hired him to dig up unsavory history on Knox, some of which could land gossip boy in prison if she ever decided to release it to the press. It was enough to bring Knox to heel. He agreed to bury Breanne’s own file as long as his remained under wraps.”

“My ears are still ringing from unsavory allegations that can land him in prison. Anything you want me to look into?”

“Breanne won’t say.”

“Well, I think you and I might want to watch the guy anyway. Or we can sic the Fish Squad on him, or maybe even the pit bull for all those unpaid parking tickets I saw in the system.”

I smiled at the mention of the Sixth’s tough lady beat cop they called the pit bull, which got me to wondering. “Mike, I’ve been wanting to ask you—if I were a dog, what breed would I be? I’ve always thought of myself as a Jack Russell terrier.”

He laughed. “A Jack Russell’s not bad for you, but I think you’re more you of a border collie.”

“A border collie! Aren’t border collies, you know...”

“What?”

“Stupid!”

“No! They’re extremely smart. They just get a little neurotic if they don’t have enough to do, but farmers have used them for generations to protect their dim-witted sheep. They’re also pretty adorable.”

“I’m a border collie?”

“You’re adorable... and smart and gutsy and loving and... C’mere...”

Mike’s mouth was still warm and slightly sweet from the latte, and his lingering kiss made the collie thing suddenly seem a whole lot easier to take. When we parted, he gazed down at me, brushed back my chestnut hair.

“I just want you to know, Cosi... I’m well aware you had a choice, and I’m glad that I’m the man who’s here with you now.”

“I am, too, Mike. Very glad.”

He smiled. “So what dog am I then? Golden retriever? Irish wolfhound?”

“Rottweiler.”

Mike laughed. “A police dog, huh?”

“Guard dog. A tough and hardy breed. Dependable, lovable”—I raised an eyebrow—“usually trustworthy...”

“Okay. I get it.” He raised a hand. “And I’d rather you quit while I’m ahead. Besides, didn’t you say something on the phone earlier about an empty apartment upstairs that you’ve finally got all to yourself?”

I nodded. The bride and groom were off on their honeymoon, Joy was spending the night at her grandmother’s, and when my hand reached into my jeans pocket, it came out holding a small piece of shiny metal.

“See,” I said. “Before he left for Barcelona, Matt handed over his key.”

“And you’ve got the whole place to yourself tonight, right?”

“That’s right, Lieutenant, including the bedroom.”

“Come on then, sweetheart.” Rising from the chair, Mike tugged my hand. “Let’s see if it works.”

It did.

I’m happy to report the bedroom worked like a dream—all night long.

Generous trays of cookies, baked by the women of my family, were a delicious and important addition to our Italian wedding feasts. But cookies aren’t just eaten at special occasions in Italian culture. Biscotti, pizzelles (sweet waffle cookies), and many other kinds are enjoyed at all hours of the day: at breakfast with cappuccinos, in the afternoon with an espresso pick-me-up, or after dinner on a dessert dish.

The anginetti are a satisfying treat to have with coffee. Light and buttery with a sweet lemon glaze, they often make their appearance during the holidays, and the (optional) sprinkle of nonpareils ( confetti in Italian) over the glaze makes them an excellent wedding cookie, too, since the colorful sugar balls call to mind the long-standing wedding tradition of giving guests almonds coated with hard-sugar shells as favors. (The bitterness of the almonds and the sweetness of the sugar represent the bittersweet truths of married life.) While recipes for anginetti vary—some bakers shape figure eights from a rope of dough, others simply create lemon drops—my version uses the ring shape in honor of Nunzio’s wedding rings. My version is also a bit sweeter than more traditional recipes.

Makes between 3 and 4 dozen cookies (depending on size and shape of cookie)

6 tablespoons butter

¾ cup granulated white sugar

1½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract

½ teaspoon lemon extract

1 teaspoon fresh lemon zest (grated from rind)

⅛ teaspoon salt (pinch or two)

3 large eggs

¼ cup whole milk

2½ cups all-purpose flour (sifted)

4 teaspoons baking powder

With an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together with vanilla and lemon extracts, lemon zest, and salt. Add eggs and milk and beat for a minute or two until light and fluffy. Add flour and baking powder, blending well with mixer until you have a dough (be careful not to overmix the dough or cookies will be tough). Dough should be soft and sticky. Chill for at least one hour; cold dough is easier to work with.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line baking sheet with parchment paper or silicon sheets, or spray surface with cooking spray. With well-greased hands (I rub butter over my fingers and palms), shape bits of dough into small ropes (about the thickness of a woman’s wedding ring finger), make a ring with the rope of dough about 2 inches in diameter, and press the ends together on the baking sheet. Or for lemon drops simply roll pieces of dough into balls about 1 inch in size and place on baking sheets. (If you want to go really rustic, then don’t even bother chilling the dough. Simply drop teaspoonfuls of the sticky dough onto the baking sheet.) Bake about 10 to 15 minutes. Don’t overcook. Baking time may vary, depending on your oven! Let cookies cool before glazing and decorating.