Just as he'd promised, Jupiter Valentine was waiting for her the next morning. Not in the break room with Ricardo, but at a table near the back hallway, where he'd be certain to see her the moment she came in the back door.
And boy, did he certainly see her. The appreciation in his eyes almost made her second-guess her bold look, although it was nothing new to her co-workers and regular customers. She often changed up her style from one day to the next, but she'd taken extra care with her appearance today, and she knew it worked well with her height.
Jupiter rose to his feet, closed the notebook he'd been writing in, and stepped into her path. She pulled up short and looked him in the eye.
"Good morning, Jupiter." She was pleased to hear her voice sounded chill. Just the opposite of how she felt. That said, if he didn't move, or say something, or at least stop looking at her like she was... well, edible, she'd get nervous and one of her eyes would surely start twitching, or something else equally embarrassing.
Without warning, he took her by the shoulders and leaned in. First he kissed one cheek, then the other, and then, without releasing her shoulders, he looked her in the eyes again and murmured in that silky voice, "Come. I will brew you a cup of coffee that will make you fall passionately in love with me at the very first taste."
Either that first taste or the way you say 'passionately in love with me' in that yummy accent, she thought. She knew her cheeks flamed at his flirting, but she'd come prepared for his assault on her senses. Yesterday she'd dressed as a warrior woman ready to take on the world. Today, she was an All American Beauty going toe to toe with an Italian Stallion named Jupiter Valentine. She wore black and teal plaid twill cigarette pants, a 3/4-sleeve black ballerina top cinched at the waist with a wide red belt, black Mary Jane shoes with red bows on the toes, and a teal bandanna sweeping the big victory curls she'd tamed her hair into up and away from her face. When she wore her hair piled on top of her head that way, she gained several inches. Jupiter wasn't as tall as Ricky—he might only have a couple of inches on Gia at best, since they were looking at each other pretty much eye-to-eye. But he was bigger than life in other ways, so she'd grab whatever advantage she could get.
"Bring it, baby," she said, putting one hand in the middle of his chest and pushing him gently. He didn't resist, but stepped aside to let her pass. He scooped up the espresso cup and saucer he'd had at the table with him, along with his notebook and pen, and followed her to the break room where Ricardo leaned against the counter talking on the phone. The older man acknowledged them with a nod, but didn't pause in his conversation. Gia smiled in greeting and stashed her bag in her locker as quietly as she could.
"I'll be back with your coffee," Jupiter said quietly, a little too close behind her. "Please sit." He gestured to the table and one of the stools.
But Gia didn't feel like sitting and waiting to be served, especially with Ricardo talking a mile a minute on the phone. The guy rarely used his office for anything but paperwork, and Gia didn't blame him. It was practically a windowless closet. She also figured he used the break room as often as he did as part of his ploy for keeping his employees from spending too much time back there. Well, she wasn't on the clock yet, and she was too antsy to sit, so she headed out to the front of the shop to greet some of the regulars.
A few minutes later, she noticed that Jupiter had stepped behind the coffee bar and was helping Belinda and Lacy fill coffee orders as Carter manned the register, apparently taking her unwillingness to sit and wait for him in stride. She could feel his eyes on her as she made her rounds, and at one point, she glanced over to find him smiling at her with a knowing look in his eyes that irked her. She wasn't avoiding him, even though it was obvious he thought she was.
Among the regulars who had snagged tables and stools along the high counter that ran the length of one wall of windows, there were several customers she recognized, even if she didn't know them all by name, but she greeted everyone warmly all the same. There were many new faces, too, primarily of the college age, female persuasion, and Gia couldn't help noticing how many of them followed Jupiter's movements the way he was following hers. News traveled fast in their small university town, and Jupiter Valentine was an attention magnet, with his swarthy good looks and his classy style, those heavy-lidded eyes and artfully messy hair.
Of course, there were those who had simply come for coffee and pastries, and Gia was glad to see that the whole world hadn't gone goo-goo eyed over the guy behind the counter. She noticed in particular a couple of women at a table that was tucked back a little from the fray. When she realized their heads were bowed in prayer over their breakfasts, she didn't approach them, but watched them nonetheless, curious. It wasn't often that people said any kind of a blessing over their food at Ricardo's, so although the ladies didn't make a show of it, Gia did notice. Sisters, she decided. They shared similar features—blue eyes, blond hair faded with age and both showing a little gray at the temples, slender shoulders, long, elegant hands—and when they spoke, Gia could hardly tell the difference between their voices. The older one seemed almost fragile, and the younger one made reassuring gestures, like a quick hand squeeze, or brushing her fingers along her sister's forearm. Maybe they hadn't seen each other in a while, or perhaps they'd had a falling out and were on their way to making amends.
Gia often found herself creating stories around folks who crossed her path. She loved to people watch and she was especially fascinated by female relationships of all kinds, friends, sisters, mothers and daughters. Especially mothers and daughters, because she couldn't remember much about her own mother, and certainly not enough to be able to compare what they'd had to what she saw in others.
Not that her relationship with her sisters would be considered normal, either. Juliette, Renata, and Phoebe were stair-step siblings with less than two years between each of them. Gia, however, had come along eleven years later. Jules, Ren, and Phoebe looked like sisters with their similar builds, dark hair, gray eyes, and porcelain skin that blushed prettily in the sun. Granted, Gia had pale skin, too, but hers had the propensity to go blotchy and freckle. Gia had a good three inches on Juliette, who was the tallest of the older three, and even though Gramps was on the tall side of average for a man—he stood right at about six feet—the top of Granny G's head barely reached Gia's chin. The hair was the worst. Although Gia had learned to turn her crazy red frizz into an asset, there were many mornings she longed for the black velvet locks of her sisters and mother. Just once, to be able to crawl out of bed and run a quick brush through her hair; oh, what a fine thing that would be.
But more than the differences in their ages and appearances, Gia felt the lack of mutual experiences between her older sisters and her. Jules, Ren, and Phoebe shared memories of family vacations and road trips. They recalled fondly their parents' arguments and kitchen kisses. Daddy's stories, Mom's strong accent, and her refusal to give up her French exclamations no matter how long she lived in America. How Daddy smelled like old books after a long day at work. Paul Gustafson had been an antique book dealer specializing in European literature. It was how he and Simone had met, in fact. She'd inherited a collection of Benedictine liturgical texts from a doting uncle, but having no interest in the collection herself, she'd contacted Paul to find her a buyer who would appreciate the value of them. Paul, fascinated by the collection—and by the French woman who insisted on delivering the collection to him in person—took far longer than usual to find a buyer just so he could extend the amount of time spent with Simone. Granny G liked to tell the story of Simone finally calling Paul's bluff. "Your mother, with one hand on her hip and the other waving dramatically in the air between them, bent over our son's desk and said, 'Will you please just find me a buyer soon so I can afford my wedding dress? I will not marry you without the dress of my dreams." Paul, in his usual stoic manner so much like Gramps', had simply nodded, picked up the phone to dial one of the buyers he already had lined up and waiting, and completed the transaction on the spot right in front of Simone. They were married in six weeks.
The three older sisters also shared the experience of their mother's pregnancy with Gia, the excitement of her birth, and the struggle with postpartum depression Simone had, something to which Gia often attributed her own sense of detachment. Wasn't it true that postpartum bonding was essential for babies to thrive? That babies whose mothers couldn't bear to be around them during those first few weeks and months often struggled to connect to others throughout the rest of their lives? But the few times she'd suggested as much to her sisters, they'd assured her their mother's depression had only given them the opportunities to step in and help more. "You had four mothers, Georgia Gustafson," Ren would say. "When one of us wasn't available, there was always another mother who was. You were loved and cuddled and kissed and played with more than any baby I've ever known."
Juliette, too, had insisted the depression was short-lived, that by the time Gia was a month old, Simone had gotten through it and was, as usual, the best mother any little girl could ever want. "We just remember it so vividly because it was completely out of character for her. But Gia, you have to realize that having a baby older in life affects people differently than when they're young and fearless." Gia didn't ask, but she wondered if that thinking would now affect Juliette and Vic's decision whether or not to have children since Jules was in her mid-thirties, only a couple of years younger than Simone had been when she'd given birth to Gia.
Even so, when Paul and Simone Gustafson had been killed that horrible night, as much as she'd been loved by her older sisters, by her Granny G and Gramps, and by the smattering of international relatives in France—Simone had been the only child of an only child—Gia had sort of fallen into the in-between places. She didn't really belong in the tightly-knit three-corded sister thing the older Gustafson girls shared, even though they eventually allowed her to join their sister group—and subsequently changed their name from G-Force3 to G-FOURce. Granny G was quite a bit older than any other mother she knew, and she simply never thought of her as a mother figure. Granny G was the quintessential grandmother. Cute, gray, sweet, gentle, and old. And more often than not these days, Gia felt the roles reversing, that she in fact, was becoming more and more responsible for taking care of Granny G and Gramps, not the other way around.
And Gia's best friend was not another little girl, but a rough and tumble boy who lived a couple blocks away. Sure, Gia had lots of female friends. She'd always hung out with a group of girls until Ricky joined them, and then it was Ricky and the girls. But the reality was, she didn't just hang out with them. She led them. And it wasn't until after high school that she realized how the role of leader allowed her to remain detached. Isolated. For whatever reason, only Ricky got through her invisible force field of self-preservation, and she'd been fine with that.
Until Ricky started looking at her in a way that buddies didn't look at each other.
Not yet, she wanted to wail at him every time she saw his eyes darken with something she didn't want to define. Give me more time. I'm not ready. Not yet.