his favorite jewelry designer was single now.
He couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about that. Nor could he explain why he hadn’t mentioned to Rachel that the necklace he was having her make for Astrid was intended as a parting gift. He had ended things with the young model before returning to the States. The relationship had run its course.
Astrid was lovely, funny and far smarter than most people gave her credit for being, but they didn’t have much in common except time to kill between fashion events in various European cities. And even there they’d differed. Where Tony gravitated to the classics in art, music and clothing, Astrid followed the trends. She wanted to stay out late and kick up her heels in the exclusive nightclubs, whereas Tony had tired of life in that fast lane years ago. Did that make him too old? Or Astrid too young, he mused? Regardless, he had grown bored quickly.
Indeed, as time went on, his relationships were becoming shorter and shorter. In each of the last three, Tony had become restless after mere months.
And each ending brought him back to Rachel.
He stopped whistling as he waited for the light to change so he could cross the street. What was it about Rachel Palmer that captivated him so? Part of it, he supposed, was that she remained a puzzle. They’d known one another for five years, ever since he’d walked into her quaint little shop on a whim and had admired a necklace one of the clerks was wearing.
“This is Mrs. Palmer’s design.”
Mrs. Palmer. Tony had never been able to figure her out.
She was very different from the other women he knew, personally and professionally. For starters, she was all business all of the time. She never let her hair down, figuratively or otherwise. In truth, Tony had always felt a little intimidated by her. Today, however, he’d glimpsed a softer side, just a hint of vulnerability that left him intrigued. And there was the not-so-small matter that she was no longer a Mrs.
His stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the howl of the wind. Glancing up, he realized the light had changed back to red while he’d stood there ruminating over Rachel. Pazzesco! Crazy. After a shake of his head, Tony didn’t bother waiting for the Walk sign to appear a second time. He crossed against the light, keeping an eye on the cars. There weren’t that many. It was nearly nine o’clock and the traffic along Main Street was sparse. School was in session and most commuters were at work, starting their day. Meanwhile, he was on vacation.
Between writing a dozen features and putting out fires at the various publications under his control, he had earned a break, a long one, although he would make do with a week of being incommunicado before he checked in via phone at his New York offices. He preferred Rochester Hills to the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. His mother and stepfather lived close by, as did his sister, Ava, her husband, Bill, and their two adorable daughters. He might not be interested in getting married and settling down, but he enjoyed being surrounded by family. When he was away for too long, he even missed his mother’s good-natured nagging.
Besides, he didn’t need to spend all of his time in Manhattan. The internet made it easy to stay in touch with the staff of his three magazines. Of course, the internet wasn’t just changing his job, it was changing the way the publishing world operated.
The advent of the digital age and widespread access to the internet meant more and more of the people who subscribed to his magazines wanted the convenience of downloading content to the electronic device of their choosing. But others still preferred to receive magazines in the mail each month or pick them up at the newsstand, flipping through the glossy pages at their leisure.
Advertisers, meanwhile, simply wanted to reach their targeted demographic in the most cost-effective way possible. Tony’s job was to keep them all happy while ensuring that the quality of his product never suffered.
Some people, most people, thought he had nothing to lose. Despite his success, they viewed his career as a mere hobby, a rich man dabbling in the publishing world to fill his time and stave off boredom. It was true that the magazines could fold and the greatest casualty for him personally would be his pride. He would get along fine on the trust fund left to him by his late father. But several hundred people worked for him in various capacities in various cities around the globe. They relied on the incomes they earned to raise their children and keep roofs over their heads. So while he believed in enjoying life and indulging his whims, he took his responsibilities as the head of the Fortuna Publishing Group very seriously.
His cell phone trilled just as he reached the bakery. Despite the inclement weather, he opted to take the call outside rather than disturb the customers who were enjoying coffee and pastries at a smattering of tables inside.
“Pronto.”
“You are home?” It was his mother. There was no mistaking Lucia’s voice or the worry in her tone.
“I am. I arrived late last night. I did not want to wake you,” he added, knowing she would chide him for not calling.
She did. Then, “You will come for dinner tonight?” It was as much a command as a question. “Ava and her family will be here. I will make your favorite.”
After months of restaurant fare, his mouth watered at the offer of a home-cooked meal. “Anything you cook is my favorite, Mama.”
“So my job is easy. Come early.” He heard her laugh. He loved the sound, especially since there had been a time after his father’s death when he’d feared he would never hear it again.
“How about if I come by now and bring some pastries with me?” he offered. “That way at dinner I will not have so many questions to answer and we can have a relaxing visit.”
“Suit yourself.”
Despite Lucia’s seeming indifference, he knew she was pleased. He also knew he would be pumped for answers promptly upon his arrival. Most would center on his love life. Not surprisingly, his mother thought he should be settling down. Even as he thought about Astrid and the relationship that had just ended, his gaze was drawn back down the street to where a royal-blue awning yawned over the wide windows at Expressive Gems.
“Ci sono?” His mother’s question snapped him back.
“Yes. Si. I am here. I will see you soon.”
“A presto,” she repeated in Italian before hanging up.
* * *
For the next couple of weeks, Rachel worked late. She didn’t mind the long hours. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had a reason to rush home. The house seemed so big and quiet these days, half furnished as it was. Maybe she should get a dog. Or a cat, since she would soon be without a yard.
“Or maybe I should get a life,” she muttered aloud, rising from her chair to stretch out the muscles in her back.
Her shoulders ached from hunching forward. She was working on the piece for Tony and was pleased with her progress. So, too, was she pleased with the progress the contractor had made on the upstairs apartment in so short a span of time. It helped that it was the off-season for construction and she had been clear on what she wanted. Already, plans had been drawn up and the framework for closets and the bathroom was under way. Overhead, the sound of hammers echoed. It was costing her extra, but she’d requested that the work not be done during regular business hours out of deference for her clientele. Because of the noise, it took her a minute to realize that someone was knocking on the front display window.
Tony grinned at her from the opposite side of the glass. The weather was more hospitable today. He had no need for a trench coat. In fact, he wasn’t wearing a coat at all. Rather, he had on a thick wool sweater that fit snugly over his broad shoulders and chest. He looked plenty warm. Hot, in fact. Rachel broke out in gooseflesh again.
“Mr. Salerno.”
“Tony,” he stressed.
“I was just thinking about you,” Rachel said as she ushered him inside.
Even though it was true, she realized immediately that it