The Bachelor Takes a Bride

But Lauryn only sighed. “They’ve stalled,” she admitted. “Rob’s been spending so many hours at the store, it doesn’t seem fair to expect him to tackle another job when he gets home.”

What wasn’t fair—at least in Jordyn’s opinion—was that her sister was living in a dump. Tom and Susan Garrett had given their daughter and her husband a generous cash gift for their wedding, with the understanding that the money would be used for a down payment on a house.

Lauryn had found what she wanted in Ridgemount—a simple craftsman-style house with pretty gardens and a modest backyard. Rob had agreed that the house was perfect, but he’d been reluctant to tie up all of their money in real estate when he was trying to make a go of his business. Instead, he’d convinced her that they could buy a fixer-upper for much less money and use the additional funds to purchase inventory for his fledgling business.

It was a solid plan—except that the fledgling business was now apparently a struggling business, and he’d done almost nothing to fix up the fixer-upper. In fact, the only reason the nursery had been fixed up before Kylie was born was that Jordyn had enlisted the help of Andrew and Nathan—two of their cousins—to get it done.

“I like that color.” Lauryn gestured to the polish that was being applied to her sister’s toenails in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from another uncomfortable topic. “What’s it called?”

“Cherried Away.” Jordyn pushed her hair behind her ear to show off her new purchase. “It matches my earrings.”

“I wish I was brave enough to wear color like that,” Lauryn said, her gaze shifting to her own toes.

“French pedicures are classic,” Tristyn assured her.

“Says the woman sporting Buxom Bronze on her feet and a quaternary Celtic knot tattoo on her ass.”

Tristyn grinned. “I get a lot of compliments on that tattoo.”

“We don’t want to know,” Jordyn told her.

“Maybe I do,” Lauryn said. “I’m an old married woman who needs to get her thrills vicariously through her single sisters—and since you won’t share anything about Marco—”

“Because there’s nothing to share,” Jordyn insisted.

“At least, not yet,” Tristyn said.

Thankfully, they were called upstairs for their massages, saving Jordyn from having to deny what she really wanted.

* * *

An hour later, the sisters walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine, and Jordyn’s gaze shifted to the empty property across the street.

“Did either of you hear anything about a new restaurant opening in place of Mykonos?”

“There have been rumors floating around for a couple of months,” Tristyn confirmed. “Is that why Marco was in the neighborhood?”

“He didn’t say, but that’s my guess.”

“You didn’t ask him?” Lauryn wondered.

“I did. He was evasive.”

“We could use a good Italian place nearby,” Tristyn said. “We’ve got three cafés, two diners, a deli, bakery, vegetarian bistro, pizza place, Asian fusion cuisine, Southern barbecue and Indian buffet, but nowhere to get a good plate of pasta.”

“The Spaghetti House isn’t very far,” Jordyn reminded her.

“I said ‘good plate of pasta.’”

“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Lauryn said.

“Me, too,” Jordyn agreed. “Let’s head over to Marg & Rita’s before it gets too busy and we have to wait for a table.”

But Tristyn shook her head. “It’s my turn to pick where we’re going for dinner,” she reminded her sisters.

Which was technically true. Their monthly “girls’ day” that usually involved the spa and/or shopping was always followed by dinner and drinks, and they alternated who got to choose the restaurant. Except that they’d become addicted to the signature drinks at Marg & Rita’s and hadn’t gone anywhere else in the past five months.

“We always go to Marg & Rita’s,” Lauryn said.

“Not always,” Tristyn denied.

Jordyn sighed. “Let me guess—you’re in the mood for Italian food tonight?”

“My mouth is watering for Valentino’s seven-layer lasagna.”

“I thought you were trying to cut down on carbs.”

Tristyn waved a hand dismissively. “That plan went out the window with the banana-pecan waffles I had this morning.”

“Now that you mention it, Italian sounds really good,” Lauryn agreed.

“I want fajitas,” Jordyn insisted, because she did. And because she wanted no part of whatever plan she suspected her sisters were concocting to throw her into Marco Palermo’s path.

“Sorry,” Tristyn said, not sounding sorry at all. “We can do Marg & Rita’s next month, when it’s your turn to pick. Although maybe by then, you’ll be craving Italian, too.”

Jordyn ignored the innuendo and crossed her fingers that Marco wouldn’t be working tonight.

Chapter Five (#ulink_0689b9c9-16d5-5a32-aba4-5f2295bd4796)

“You’re late,” Gemma said when Marco walked into the kitchen at Valentino’s just after four o’clock Saturday afternoon.

“And I might feel guilty about that if not for the fact that it’s supposed to be my night off.”

“You have a night off?” This came from Rocco, a fifteen-year-old neighborhood kid who was the grandson of one of Nonna’s oldest friends and one of their weekend dishwashers.

Marco cuffed him playfully in the back of the head. “It’s interesting how everyone likes to harp on the fact that I have no life outside of the restaurant but then, when I’m not supposed to be here, I get called in anyway.”

“You’re right,” Gemma agreed. “I’m sorry. But Rebecca’s roommate called to say that she was sick, and I could hear her retching in the background.”

Marco grimaced. “And what are the specials tonight?”

“The pasta is gnocchi with tomato-cream sauce and fresh basil, the pizza is grilled vegetable on a whole-wheat crust. Sydney is working the front of the dining room. You get the back.”

“Lucky me.”

“You only need to stay through the dinner rush,” Gemma promised. “After that you can get back to...whatever.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he told her, pretending that “whatever” was something other than a Yankees–Red Sox game on television.