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NICO HOVERED OVER THE wooden countertop, kneading a pile of dough as his mother spoke behind him, her voice wandering back and forth as she worked at several tasks at the same time.
“There is a girl, isn’t there, Nico? Don’t deny it. There’s no reason for a nice boy like you to be alone in the world.”
A cloud of flour dusted all over his apron as he pressed the dough harder.
Yes, he wanted to speak to her about Faith, and also to both of his parents about potentially working with Mr. Travers, but not here in the store.
Not with all of his siblings about, talking to customers and calling out special requests and concerns about the amount of change in the cash register.
“Leave the boy alone, Antonia.”
His father appeared around the corner and winked at Nico before disappearing again.
The store was large but not big enough for how busy they had become. His parents had saved money for over a decade, spending only what was necessary to have room for their children and food for their bellies.
There was an order for pepperoni rolls, one of Nico’s favorites, and he was happy to be home to help fill it. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t help in the store, but his favorite way to contribute was baking.
He thought of the cookies at the shelter, and the sweet conversation he had with Faith the day they met. She was charmingly awkward, as if she wasn’t used to talking to strangers.
But didn’t her family help strangers at First Steps every day?
“You’re right, Mama, there is a girl. But before you start getting excited, I have to tell you that she’s a cottager, and I don’t know if her father will allow me to court her.”
The words sounded ridiculous to his own ears.
Him, court a Newport princess?
His mother made her usual contemplative sound, something between a whine and a hum, before clearing her throat.
Nico finished adding a layer of sliced pepperoni to the now flattened dough as he waited, glancing out of the corner of his eye to watch his mother sip from her cup of hours-old coffee.
“Has someone told you that you aren’t good enough for this girl?”
When he turned to face her, both of her hands were on her ample hips, and she stared at him while he shook his head in denial.
No one had said so, not in so many words.
But Faith’s cousin was against Nico in any regard, and Nico suspected, would be adamantly against any relationship forming between Nico and Faith.
“She is Mr. Travers’ niece, and he has no issue with us spending time together when she is at his house and we talk about the restaurant. She and her cousin Thomas like to help with their uncle’s business, I understand. Like a hobby.”
When his mother frowned, Nico knew what was coming next.
Why had he said that word, he wondered, shaking his head at himself.
“A hobby? What else does she do with her time? And why would you be interested in a girl who has time for a hobby?”
She sneered the word, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Everyone in his family worked hard and always had. There was no other life that they knew.
The very idea that people had to look for ways to spend their time, on activities purely for enjoyment, was obnoxious to her.
“Her family has a shelter for homeless and hungry people. Specifically, her parents, who started it before they married. Her mother was a maid when her parents met.”
The words came in a jumble, and he stopped himself as soon as he realized what he was doing.
Defending Faith.
But perhaps knowing that she came from a family who understood the needs of others would help his mother accept Faith as . . .
Nico wasn’t sure. He could court her if he was permitted to by Faith’s father, but where would it lead?
Would she live here in Manhattan with him and work at the restaurant?
“A maid? And did they marry because her father compromised the poor girl? I thought they discarded those who became their prey, just like the ones here in Manhattan.”
There were too many stories of girls who worked in upper class mansions who were turned out and sent home when their bellies grew full, more often than not a result of a forced encounter with their employer or employer’s son. More than a few in their apartment building had come home ashamed, their parents horrified at how they had been used and abused.
“No, Mama, it wasn’t like that.”
Well, he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t like that, since he didn’t know anything about how Faith’s parents met. But he had seen Faith’s mother briefly that day at the shelter, and she seemed very self-assured.
Although that hadn’t kept any of the very confident Italian girls who had come home in tears from becoming a plaything for their employers.
“You have plenty of nice Italian girls right here who would love to be your wife, cook your meals, have your bambinos . . .”
His mother’s voice ended on a sigh.
He allowed himself to imagine Faith in an apron here in this kitchen, cutting slices of pepperoni from a log for him to add to the flattened dough.
Somehow, he imagined that she would be interested in learning just about anything, even if she ended up covered in flour and sticky with sweat from the oven’s heat.
And she would do whatever it was with that sweet smile on her beautiful face.
“She must be very pretty for you to be daydreaming about her like that.”
He shook his head, dismissing the image of Faith in his head.
“No, I mean, yes, she is, but there is more to her than just her appearance. She is . . . she is so trusting, so open. She takes everything in, and pays attention to all that she finds around her. I don’t hear her speak of dresses or jewelry, or parties and dancing. She looks up into the sky as if there is a brand new sky every day, as if she has never seen it before.”
He stopped waving his hands in the air as he spoke, and with some trepidation, turned his gaze back to his mother.
She shook her head.
“You are too far gone not to ask her father to court her.”
When she pointed the round end of a ladle at him, he smiled.
“All these years here in the big city and you go to a small town to find a girl. You haven’t been away two weeks and come back mooning like a boy in love.”
He started to speak again, to deny it, but she flapped her free hand at him.
“Sometimes you just know when it’s the right one, like your father and me. One look, and that was it. So what if we were thirteen? Of course we didn’t get married for five more years, but there was no question from the moment we set eyes on each other. So if this girl is as wonderful as you say she is, maybe it isn’t impossible.”
“Antonia! We need more of the salami and ham sandwiches. Nico, stop chattering and let your mother work already.”
His father’s voice was loud but teasing, a gentle scolding that reminded him he needed to get this pepperoni bread into the oven.
There would be time to talk more about Faith later, and in what might be a more difficult conversation, about his desire to work with and learn more from Mr. Travers, even though it would mean spending more time away from the family he loved so much.
“Nico!”
He closed the oven door and wiped the back of his arm across his forehead, looking around for a used towel and now, the source of the sound.
Claudia ran to him and he picked her up, swooping her into the air as he noticed the smear of red jam over her cheek.
“Have you been making tarts, or tasting them, cara?’
She giggled as he tucked her under his arm like a football. Although she was thin, she was slowly getting taller, and he wouldn’t be able to carry her like this for much longer.
Several customers laughed, amused at the sight of the grown man with the little girl hanging beneath his arm, all them aware of who the two of them were.
“I have a deserter!”
Nico reached the second kitchen they had in the store, one devoted to baked sweets, such as a variety of Italian cookies and pastries as well as cakes. When his family opened the store, there had been one kitchen for multiple uses, but after a few years and an overwhelming number of sales, it became clear that the best way to handle production was a second baking station where desserts could be managed.
“You minx!”
Rosetta was the spitting image of their mother, curvy and feminine, and with his mother’s way of setting people in their place.
Claudia giggled as Rosetta took her from Nico, putting her down on the floor and pushing her long, dark hair out of her eyes.
“I knew he would be making pepperoni bread, and you know it’s my favorite!”
His small sister’s protest made Nico smile, as he knew how much she loved the treat. It was their grandmother’s recipe, straight from the old country, and sold out faster than any of them could make it.
“How much longer will you be away, Nico?”
Rosetta’s own smile dimmed a little as she turned her gaze to him, her ebony eyes, heavily lashed, wide with her curiosity.
Or was it more than that? Did they really miss him that much?
He forced himself to smile, to reassure her, although he was beginning to feel guilty about asking his parents if they would mind sparing him for a while longer.
How much longer? Could he even give them a time frame?
He would definitely send home money, which would help, and perhaps allow them to hire a boy or girl from the apartment building.
But he knew they wouldn’t do as much work as he did, so his work would still be divided among his siblings and his parents.
“You just want someone to do the mopping. I know it’s your least favorite job.”
He tugged at the long, dark braid at Rosetta's back, held away from her face with a bright red kerchief, and she smacked his hand away as he teased her.
“I won’t deny it.”
Claudia sat in a small chair in the corner near the counter and scratched her arm absently.
“You’re going back there? I thought you were done and were home to stay.”
Her whine didn’t help calm the guilt that was building inside Nico, but he kept the smile on his face and walked over to her, pushing her hair over her shoulder before resting his hand on it.
“There is more work for me to do in Newport. You would love it there, Claudia. The ocean is gorgeous, and there are so many beautiful mansions to see.”
Rosetta snorted.
“Mansions? Is that what interests you?”
She smirked as someone behind them called out for more cannoli, and reached across a bowl full of batter to grab a large box full of empty cannoli horns.
“Come, Claudia. Take these to Papa so he can fill them, like a good girl.”
As soon as Claudia was too far away to hear, her mind now absorbed in her important task, Rosetta stared at Nico until he had to look at her again.
“What is it?”
She shook her head at his question. Had she overheard his conversation with his mother, or was she just fishing for information?
“There’s something different about you, but I’m not sure what it is. We’re both old enough to be on our own, but I don’t want to lose you just yet.”
Nico frowned, but his sister stepped away from him, opening a tin of flour and tossing a handful of it across the wood in front of them.