Trial Courtship

He picked up Goodnight Moon and thumbed through the pages. He might’ve been better off to stay at the office, instead of submitting to the very thing that hours earlier he’d vowed to avoid. The possibility of a relationship.

“Ready?”

He hadn’t heard Andrea approach. He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “Whenever you are.”

“Nicky, let’s go.”

While he held Andrea’s coat for her, he watched the kid drag his backpack toward the door. “Where to?”

“Giorgio’s. It’s just down the block. That way you won’t have to move your car.”

“That’s fine with me.” He and Nicky waited outside while she set the alarm. “What grade are you in, Nick?”

“Fourth.” He glared holes through Tony. “Nobody calls me Nick.”

“Mind if I do? Nicholas sounds too formal, and you don’t seem like a Nicky to me.” He studied the boy—stooped shoulders, longish black hair, goggle glasses, scuffed loafers. “Yeah, definitely more a Nick.”

“What’s a Nick like?” Tony could tell the kid had debated with himself whether to ask the question.

“You know. Tough. Grown-up.” For a fleeting moment, Tony thought he saw the boy stand straighter, but then the shoulders drooped again.

“I dunno. I guess ya can call me whatever ya want.”

“Fair enough.”

When Andrea emerged, he threw an arm around Nick’s shoulder and cupped her elbow as they walked down the sidewalk. “Nick and I have been talking. We may have to order an extra-large supreme.”

“But Nicky doesn’t like vegetables on—”

“Andie, I’ll try it.”

The smile she turned on Tony warmed him clear through. Under her breath, he caught her words. “You’re a miracle worker.”

The restaurant, with its red-and-white checked tablecloths, hanging ropes of garlic and candles flickering in empty wine bottles, was stage-setting Italian, right down to the Neapolitan music piped through the sound system. Giorgio himself, a voluble little man, greeted Andrea and Nick familiarly before ushering them to a booth, where Nick promptly plopped down beside his aunt. The boy wasn’t too young to be territorial. At least Tony’d have the pleasure of looking at her during dinner. But he’d rather have been able to touch her.

After they placed their orders, Tony turned to Nick. “So what’re your favorite sports?”

The kid looked blankly at him. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“Tennis, I guess.”

“You play?”

“A little.” Nick stirred the tip of a bread stick in the saucer of garlic oil. “At my grandfather’s club.”

“What sports do you like on TV? Pro football, basketball, hockey?” Tony felt a foot gently prodding his leg beneath the table. He looked up into Andrea’s troubled eyes, then glanced at the boy. The poor kid was stymied for an answer. He continued, “Me, I’m a big soccer and basketball fan. Baseball, too.”

“Do you play?” Nick asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. City league soccer. Softball in the spring. Maybe you’d like to come with me to one of my games sometime.” Now, why had he said that? The last thing he needed was some droopy kid on his hands.

Nick bit off the end of the bread stick and with a full mouth managed a weak “Yeah, maybe.”

Looking ill at ease, Andrea changed the subject. “Shayla told me she talked with her brother. He used to be a police detective. He said the trial could last anywhere from three or four days to a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks!”

“I know. It’s a long time. At the shop we’ll be right in the middle of the holiday rush.”

“You don’t sound that upset about it.” Lord, he was supposed to be in New York by then.

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it. I hate putting this kind of pressure and responsibility on my manager and the clerks, but what choice have I?”

“You’re a heck of a lot more patient than I am.”

“A young man’s life is at stake,” she said quietly.

“I know, but—”

“Tony—” The tangy aroma of the pizza preceded the waiter as he placed the hot pan between Nick and him. Andrea put her napkin in her lap as she was served her spinach salad. She waited until Tony dished up the pizza before continuing. “We are blessed to live in a free country. Somebody has to be on juries. It can’t always be the other person.”

“I wish I could view this thing as positively as you do. I know you’re right, but it’s the timing—”

“Would there ever be a right time?”

He paused, his fork halfway to his lips, then grinned. “Probably not.”

She laughed at his grudging admission. “Then hush up and eat your pizza.”

Over dinner he found out a great deal about her store. She’d taken a chance launching the business in such a high-rent location. But, as she explained, to make money, you had to do market research, believe in your vision and be willing to venture. Funny, she hadn’t struck him as a risk-taker—more as a softly feminine, tenderhearted and undeniably sexy woman. But tonight he was hearing another side. She was also one smart cookie. That business of hers was no cinch. And even though this evening hadn’t gone according to plan, he’d decided to ask her out again. This time without her “chaperon.”

“How’s the pizza, Nick?” he asked.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Good.”

Andrea gave Tony a go-figure look. “Tony, I—”

“I’ve been thinking—” He gestured at her with his hand. “You first.”

The candle flame underlit her face, making her eyes luminous. “I wondered...I mean, tonight this probably wasn’t exactly what you had in mind... Would you let me cook you a meal tomorrow night at our place?”

His heart raced, then his brain engaged. “Our place?”

“Nicky’s and mine.”

“Nicky’s?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy shaking his head and thought he heard him mumble something that sounded like “Dumb.”