agreement.
"So, will you stay?" her brother asked
again.
"Sure." As pathetic as it sounded, she didn't
have anything better to do on a Friday night. "We're going to have
a full house. I caught a glimpse of the reservation list. Mario's
already in a tizzy, thinking he won't be able to keep up."
"He'll keep up."
"I know. Personally, I think he likes to
grumble."
Nicholas nodded as he punched the numbers on
the calculator. "I'll be up front later to help. Let me catch up on
the bills."
"How are we doing?"
"It looks like we'll see a profit this
month."
"Good. I could use a pay check." Isabella
left her brother to go up front.
Customers from every walk-of-life came into
the restaurant to enjoy Italian cuisine—from the tourists, who
leisurely strolled down the Freedom Trail to the locals, who
came in to talk or relax after a hectic day at work.
Nicholas and she decorated the restaurant
with red-checkered linen tablecloths on the tables, votive candles
for ambience, and three of the white washed walls displayed framed
pictures of Italian landscapes. On the fourth wall, Nicholas
painted a floor to ceiling Italian villa in Tuscany.
Isabella noticed some of her favorite patrons
were here tonight. Sean and Giovanna O'Brien, who were celebrating
their anniversary, were seated at the far corner where they
whispered to each other, their lips curved in secretive smiles.
Their families swore their marriage wouldn't last. An Irishman
marrying an Italian woman caused a commotion here in Boston.
Ted Johnson, widowed recently, dreaded being
alone. He sat at the back of the restaurant, sipping his merlot and
reading the evening paper. She was glad to see his aura looked
better this week. Also toward the front of the restaurant, she
spotted Harrison Connell, another Irishman, his speech still
flavored with a lilt. He sometimes brought a date, but for the last
week, he'd been having dinner alone. As she greeted the customers,
nodding a hello and asking how their families were doing, she made
her way over to him.
Harrison stood six-foot-one or two, slim
built, but with well-defined biceps, indicating he must work out.
His hair was the color of chestnuts and his eyes a deep whiskey
color. He looked up and smiled. Boy, did he have a smile. It set
the colors of his aura, the brown and gold shimmering around him
with warmth.
"How are you doing, Harrison? I haven't seen
you with Lori lately." Come to think of it, Lori
hadn't been to palates either .
"We broke up," he informed her with a slight
shrug.
"That's too bad. I'm sorry to hear it."
"I'm not."
Isabella's eyebrows lifted ever so
slightly.
He chuckled. "It wasn't a healthy
relationship," he explained, and then added, "for either of
us."
Isabella opened her mouth to comment, but her
friend Johanna came bursting into the restaurant, waving her hand
in a gesture of I-need-to-talk-to-you-now. "If you will
excuse me," she said to Harrison.
"By all means." He glanced at Johanna and his
aura spiked. Interesting.
Harrison had a thing for Johanna? She shook
her head. It would never work. Harrison was confident in his skin,
while Johanna cowered in hers. The relationship would… hmm… Maybe
she'd have to rethink this. Harrison seemed to be a decent man.
Perhaps he would bolster Johanna's confidence. But then, she
frowned as another thought crossed her mind. He could further
damage her confidence if he hurt her .
Harrison went through girlfriends like they
were tissues to be discarded, but then maybe he chose the wrong
type of woman. He may be attracted to the flashy model types—heck,
most men probably were, but once the lust wore off… Well, even a
man in good shape couldn't spend all his time in bed, could he?
" Psst ." Johanna waved to her
again.
Harrison chuckled softly. "You better see
what she wants. She's near bursting at the seams to tell you her
news."
"Yes, it does appear so."
"Go. You shouldn't keep a lass who is bent on
sharing."
She nodded her thanks. Yes,