Anne Winston - Lovers' Reunion

Her arms were around him before he could respond, and he put his free arm around his mother, hugging fiercely as he looked down at her ebony curls that had yet to see a strand of gray. “Still coloring your hair, Ma?”

His mother drew back, squeezing his shoulders and laughing. “Still as disrespectful as ever, I see.” She wiped her eyes as she smiled at him. “I’ll have to work on that while you’re home. How long can you stay?”

He hesitated. “I’m not really sure.”

Dora’s face fell. “Don’t tell me you’re rushing off tomorrow like you always do,” she scolded. “Sometimes I think you only stop by because it’s cheaper than a hotel room when you’re passing through Chicago.”

He laughed, keeping his arm around her shoulders affectionately as they turned toward the door. “I’m not stopping off this time, Ma. I’m staying.”

Dora Esposito was rarely at a loss for words, but his news struck her dumb—for a moment “You’re teasing your old mama.”

“Never.” He removed his arm from around her as they reached the stoop and juggled his cane into position. He’d learned the hard way that he needed all his concentration for stuff like steps, however small. “I have a temporary position at Purdue for the summer and fall semesters. I’ll be around so much you’ll be sick of seeing me in a few months.”

His mother pressed a hand to her breast. “I can’t believe it!” Then she realized what he was doing. “Oh, here, bambino, let me help you.” She put an arm under his elbow and he stopped, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. Ma, I can do it. It just takes a little time. Besides—” he forced himself to grin “—there’s well over two hundred pounds of me and less than a hundred of you, so I’m not sure what you’d do if I started to fall.”

His mother smiled back, although her eyes were shadowed. “I’ll just go ahead and get your room ready.”

“Thanks.” Reaching the top of the steps, he grabbed the door before she could, holding it open for her. “I’m going to start looking for apartments tomorrow, so I shouldn’t be under your feet past the end of the month.”

“Under my feet?” His mother flapped a hand at him as she started up the stairs. “Since Teresa moved out, it’s been too quiet around here. It’s wonderful to have you home.”

As Dora bustled up the steps, he set down his bag in the front entry and moved through the tiny house he’d shared with his parents and four sisters. The living room, on the left, was dominated by the large television he’d bought his father a few years ago, the better to view the Chicago Bulls during basketball season. The furniture was homey and practical, and his mother’s needlework peeped out of a basket beside the sofa. Pretty crocheted doilies still covered the pie-crust tables.

In the dining room a lacy cloth lay over the table. One wall was covered with familiar framed photos: himself and his sisters, Camilla, Elisabetta, Luisa and Teresa as babies, at First Communion, graduating from high school; his grandparents and his aunts and uncles; his parents on their wedding day. A vase of tulips from his mother’s flower beds brightened the room, and a crucifix hung above a small table that served as an altar.

It was strangely reassuring to see that nothing had changed.

The kitchen, too, was much as he remembered, except that his father had installed the dishwasher all the kids had given them for Christmas ... two years ago? Had it really been two years since he’d been home?

Yes, he realized with chagrin. It really had been. Last Christmas he’d been in a hospital in Paraguay, fighting an infection that threatened to undermine any chance of saving his damaged leg. There probably had been ten tons of bacteria, at least, running around in the damned rain forest—it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten anything worse.

He wandered to the window over the sink and pulled aside the lacy curtain, idly scanning the block of quiet, well-tended backyards. All the neighborhood kids had grown up and moved away—the once-lively street was now a sedate community of grandparents who talked incessantly about selling their little brick or locally mined lannenstone homes and moving to sunny Florida.

As far as he knew, not one house had changed hands in well over twenty years.

A movement in the next yard caught his eye.

My, oh, my. His male instincts snapped to attention. A slender girl with shoulderlength dark curls was standing on the little patio, her back to him, face raised to the early spring sun, while a black and white cocker spaniel ran mad circles around the perimeters of the yard. The woman had a gorgeous figure, petite and full, long-legged and curving in all the right places. She must be one of the Domenico boys’ wives. Though why a gorgeous package like that would tie herself to Stef, Tommie, Vincente or Geordie was beyond him. Grinning at his own wit, he treated himself to another leisurely perusal of the woman as more memories from his childhood swam through his head.

The Domenicos had lived next door his whole life. Their parents had bought the houses in the same year, and the next, each family had their first baby. He and the Domenico boys had been an unbeatable informal basketball team when they’d played pickup games with other guys on the block. He and his sisters had played and fought with the seven young Domenicos like one big family.

But they hadn’t been one big family. And there hadn’t been anything the least bit sisterly about his feelings for the youngest member of the Domenico clan.

Sophie.

Exhaling heavily, he leaned against the sink as pleasure faded. He still felt bad about the way he’d ended things with Sophie. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her at the surprise anniversary party his sisters were planning for his folks in two weeks. It was bound to be awkward.

Part of him hoped she’d married and had babies with some guy who loved her like she deserved. The other part...well, it didn’t matter. If he’d dreamed of Sophie more times than he cared to admit over the past six years, it was nobody’s fault but his own. He never should have allowed things to get so hot and heavy between them, and he never should have let her harbor any silly dreams about marriage. He’d known even then that the world’s seductive call was stronger than any woman’s allure. He was a traveler, loved nothing better than—

Sophie! He stood straight up and all but pressed his nose to the glass above the sink. The woman on the patio had lowered her face and turned his way, and he’d seen what he’d missed before. It was Sophie!

Blood rushed to his head, and his pulse sped up. God, she looked wonderful. She’d been a plump little dove as a teen and young woman, pretty enough but hardly a stunner like this. He’d always wondered at the irresistible attraction she held for him, the strong reaction of his body to her nearness, to even the thought of her. She was nothing like most of the girls he had dated before her, the homecoming queens and cheerleaders who’d been happy to be on his arm.

Sophie, shy and quiet, was not like them.

But he’d discovered he rather liked his sweet little secret. Sophie, with her silky skin, little love handles and the abundance of soft curves she’d possessed, turned into a shameless wildcat in his arms. After he’d discovered her charms, the other women might as well not even have existed.

He stared through the window at her again. She had stuck her hands in the back pockets of the slim jeans she wore, and her body thrust forward in a way that outlined the plane of slender hips and flat belly and breasts that still looked lush and full. She was thin, much thinner than he remembered, but thank God she still had those beautiful—

Hey, buddy. What’s it to you?