Jennifer Probst - All the Way

Then the music. An iPod filled will all of her favorite songs, all with a theme. Romance and forgiveness. The man even slipped in Barry Manilow—her secret passion.

Now flowers. She peeked into the living room and gazed at the sensual beauty filling up every space. She adored roses.

Who cared that he was good at remembering what a woman liked? Probably a talent he used to seduce females into his bed. Their relationship was over, and roses and candy and music did not make up for the past. She filled the kettle and began to settle into her evening tea when the bell rang. Another delivery? Great. She trashes his restaurant, and he sends her flowers. Sounded like a bad country song. She flung open the door.

“Why won’t you take my calls?”

Miranda crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How’d you get those roses in my apartment without a key?”

“I know people.”

“Great. Mafia florists.” He brushed past her and walked in. She closed the door in resignation. “Gavin, what do you want?”

“I want to know why you won’t talk to me. I thought we connected at Andy’s.”

She arched a brow. “We connected so much you stumbled to the door in a haste to get away. When things get emotional, you leave. You’re the same man you were before, and I was a fool to forget. You can only be involved with a woman if you’re completely in control of the situation.”

Understanding dawned on his face. He groaned and rubbed his temple. “Ah, shit, now I know why you’re so mad. It’s because I left before you woke, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Gavin swore under his breath. “I can’t believe this. For the first time in my life, I try to do the right thing and I fuck up. Miranda, I thought you’d want some space. I decided to leave because I didn’t want to push, and when Andy and Elaine came back I didn’t want you to feel awkward.”

She stared at him warily. “Is that why you didn’t call?”

He nodded. “I wanted to give you two days. I figured it was a good time for you to come to terms with rebuilding this relationship. I wanted to text or call, but I thought you needed time.”

Suddenly drained, her shoulders slumped. She sat down on one of the counter stools. “I can’t do this anymore, Gavin.”

Was that a flicker of fear on his face? Probably just a trick of the light. “Do what, baby?”

“Something happened at Andy’s. I felt—I felt almost as if I was discovering you all over again. Part of me wanted to surrender, and the other part knew I could never trust you.”

He took the stool next to her. His voice was gentle was he spoke. “I’m different, Miranda. We’re different.”

The woman she was years ago craved to believe him. The woman she was today laughed in scorn. Gavin wanted a second review—that was the main item on his agenda, and she’d be a fool to forget it. After all, this was his family. He hadn’t chosen her over his career before. Why would she possibly think he’d pick her over Mia Casa now?

“Do you really want to give us a chance? Or do you want a better review?”

He stiffened and seemed to choose his words with care. “How about both? If I thought your article was fair, I’d step away and stop asking. But this could be the difference between bankruptcy and saving the restaurant that’s been in my family for generations.”

God, she didn’t want to feel all these emotions. Didn’t want to question herself any longer. Need and fear and a lingering pain rose up and swamped her. She needed to make a final decision. Let go of the past and give Gavin another chance. Or walk away and get on with her life.

She wanted to trust him. But the image of her crying and alone, with no one to turn to taunted her vision. Miranda vowed never to experience such gripping sadness, and this was the same man who caused it. So she did the only thing she knew.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she repeated softly. “I know you told me the reason you left, but for three years you never contacted me. Never wondered what you left behind, or what I had to go through when I tried to call the next day and opened up a neat, cold email.” She stopped, refusing to share what else he had left behind. The past was the past, and it was time she moved on. “I don’t believe I really meant anything to you. That’s what I can’t forgive.”

His hands gripped the counter as he bowed his head, seeming to struggle with her final answer. When he rose, his face reflected a battle-scarred weariness. “I understand.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and tossed a handful of envelopes on the table. “I’m not giving you these to change your mind. I can’t take away the past, but at least you can see I wasn’t lying. I thought about you every day. Those are just a few of the letters I wrote, and I wanted to mail them, but—” he broke off in disgust. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ve pushed too hard because that’s what I’ve always done when I want something. Seems I have lousy timing learning when I should back off and when I should stick.” He gave a self-mocking laugh. “But I want to learn. I know you have little reason to trust me. We have a special celebration tonight at the restaurant to reveal the new lounge. I want you to come with me. Meet my parents. See a part of my heritage and my past.” His eyes blazed with intensity. “I’m asking you to give me this one night to show you who I am. Share what I was too fucking selfish to give you before. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Miranda.” His voice turned ragged. “And if you don’t show up tonight, I won’t bother you again.”

He left.

She touched the crinkled stack of letters bound in a worn rubber band. Pain and longing hit her gut. His words reached deep inside and stirred up a mess of emotions she thought were compartmentalized. Did she really want to open herself back up to rejection? How many times had crazy hope driven her to think this time it would be different?

She remembered her mother returning home from rehab, smelling clean and fresh and sweet. Her long red hair caught the light of the sun as they sat in the living room together, reading books and doing puzzles on the glass table. She sensed this time, her mother was healed. This time, she would stay with her and Grandma, and they’d be happy and normal. She ignored the worried gleam in her grandmother’s eyes. Refused to see the tremble of her mother’s fingers as she lit cigarette after cigarette. The whispered phone calls out on the porch. The beginning of the decline, all over again.

Miranda hugged her arms around her middle. So stupid. Within a few days, the drugs were back. The strangers hovered outside, with the crazy eyes and mismatched clothes. When she woke up, her grandmother cooked her breakfast in the tiny, silent kitchen. And Miranda knew her mother had left again, for the lure of the drugs and unnamed, faceless people who didn’t care.

They never spoke of her again.

A shudder wracked her body. Opening herself back up to Gavin held no purpose. Yet, the thought of meeting his family tantalized like a pair of Manolos on sale in Payless. One night. No promises. He’d already vowed to leave her alone if she asked. Somehow, she sensed his own pain when he talked of their past. But it was too late. And no letters were going to make up for it, either.

She opened the kitchen drawer and stuffed the stack of envelopes way in the back. She now retained complete control. Perhaps, by meeting his family and finally seeing him in his own personal element, she’d be able to gain more closure. Closure to finally walk away without a backward glance or a hitch of her heart.

And of course, the last word.

Finally.

Miranda stood in the kitchen for a long time before she made her decision.

“Mama, Pop, this is Miranda Storme.”

Miranda shifted her feet as the elderly couple stared at her in astonishment. Damn, she’d known this was a mistake. Why would Gavin’s parents welcome her to their restaurant when she’d been the one to trash it in the first place? She craved to remain in the background and observe tonight, but the moment she appeared he dragged her back toward the kitchen. Sweat dampened her palms and she fought the urge to swipe them down her skirt.

As if he sensed her anxiety, Gavin linked his fingers within hers. Gently, he squeezed, and she relaxed at the full impact of his support.

His father cleared his throat. “Um, are you the Miranda Storme who did the review?”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I am.”

The couple exchanged glances. “I see,” Archimedes Luciano said. “Are you here to do a second review?”

“She’s with me, Pop. Miranda’s my date tonight.” Gavin flashed her a mischievous grin. “And she says she won’t do a second review under any circumstances.”

Gray brows slammed together. “You dated my son years ago, yes?”

She nodded.

Archimedes glared at Gavin. “You messed up the relationship, didn’t you?”

Gavin winced. “Yeah.”

His father let out a long stream of Italian. Miranda figured the words weren’t meant to be said in polite company since his wife gasped and cut him off with one sharp command. “Passion without pain, sunshine without rainy days, huh? You wanted it all, but you lost a little thing called love. True love. Real life does not work like this, Giovanni.”

She turned with fascination and caught a flush on her ex-lover’s cheeks. “Giovanni?”

“I don’t answer to that name,” he stated with a straight face. “Stop quoting Sinatra, pop. That’s not what happened.”

His father snorted. “Everything about life is learned from Frank. I have told you this over and over, but you still refuse to listen.” He focused his attention on her. “My son does many mistakes, but he’s trying to make up for them. I just have one question to ask you, signorina.”

She swallowed. “Yes, sir?”

“Did the broccoli rabe really taste like rubber?”

Miranda nodded. “I’m afraid it did.”

“Then you told the truth, and my son has another problem to fix. You are welcome here. Gavin tells me he has a surprise for the guests tonight. Yet another unveiling of these so-called modern features that make a successful restaurant.”

She smiled. “Thank you, I’m looking forward to it.”

His mother shook her head and patted her hand. “I agree with my husband. We are honored to have you as our guest.” She wagged a finger at her son. “Just make sure this surprise doesn’t contain anything distasteful. No lewd singers or dancers to bring in customers. No nakedness, either.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Mama, give me a break.”

Miranda tried not to giggle. His parents walked away, and she realized Gavin still held her hand. She tugged but he kept his grip, raising her hand to press a kiss against her palm. His steel-blue gaze pierced into hers. “They like you.”

His warm lips skated over her wrist, and her skin prickled. “How can you tell?”

“Pop yelled at me. That’s always a good sign. He also respects your honesty.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, he likes your hair.”

She blinked. “My hair?”

He released her hand and brushed his fingers down over the strands. The curls jumped and wrapped themselves around him. “Fire trapped in satin,” he murmured. “Just like the woman herself.”

A rush of lust hit her hard. She shifted her weight to relieve the ache between her legs. “What about your mother?”

Gavin grinned. “She likes your spirit. She says I usually walk all over women, and Mama admires strength.”

“Funny, I’ve never met them before this.”

He tilted her chin up. “I kept you away from my family because I knew they’d fall in love with you, and then I’d have nothing left to fight.”

She ached to smooth back the unruly curl that fell across his forehead. Trace the heavy line of his brow, the thrust of his jaw, the sensual curve to his lower lip. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Want to give me a full tour?”

He allowed her the space and nodded. “Of course.”

She followed him deeper into the back. Half of the tables were filled, and the clean white tablecloths mocked the loss of the majority of customers.

“I want to show you my vision,” he said. “We were losing a lot of clientele because we lacked features that mark the more New World Italian restaurants.” He stopped at the large modern bar, where the bartender chatted with one of the customers, refilling her glass of red wine. “We renovated the bar for the after work crowd, and added an appetizer menu to bulk up customers at lunch and happy hour.”