Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (5 page)

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her in that slow, lingering way she seemed to like; her lips were so soft and warm, so sweet, that he forgot where he was for a second. She touched his face gently when she pulled away, her eyes were bright, dimples digging deep valleys into her cheeks.

“You have a good day, too,” she whispered.

Cillian remained on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, as he waited for her to step inside and lock the door again. When she was secure, she waved, and he nodded, turning for the truck.

He turned when he heard a rapid tattoo of knuckles on glass and grinned as she blew him a kiss before spinning on the ball of her foot and disappearing into the back of the café.

He turned toward his truck, feeling a little ache in his gut; he missed her already.

“So,” Jazz chirped. “How was
your
night? Dinner and a movie, right? What'd you see?”

Sammi opened a bag of fresh espresso beans and tried to give her a withering stare, but couldn't keep the smile off her face.

“Oh, you know how the night was, you sly minx.”

Jazz laughed. “What makes you think I know how it was?”

“C'mon. Cillian told me you put a bug in his ear.”

Jazz looked as though she wanted to protest, then thought better of it and shrugged. “Well, yeah. I did do that. But,” she lifted a finger in the air, “he
didn't
have to listen to me and he did anyway. So, you had a good time?”

“It was amazing.” Sammi thought about the couch and a flash of heat went through her. “The ballet was great, too.”

Jazz laughed. “Wow. Has hell frozen over? Your favorite ballet takes a backseat to the rest of the date?”

“He's just...amazing.” Sammi filled the top of the espresso grinder with fresh, whole beans and sighed. “Such a gentleman. Cleans up nice. Thoughtful.”

“Sounds delicious.” Jazz shrugged when Sammi looked at her sharply. “Did you get some?”

“Jay!” Sammi squealed. “I'm not that kinda girl.” She thought again of the couch and reddened.

Jazz gasped and pointed. “Oh, my God, you did. Your chest is all—splotchy now.”

“We didn't do—
that
.” Sammi patted the air. “Calm down.”

“What did you do?” Jazz leaned on the counter, lifting her brows and peering at her over the edge of her glasses.

Sammi pursed her lips. “Just some—things.” She smiled enigmatically. “Let's just say that he gave me a little release last night. In a very...respectful way.”

“You are such a prude.” Jazz rolled her eyes. “I tell
you
about me and Brian.”

“And, trust me, you stop whenever you want.”

“Well, I'm really happy to hear you had a good time. And that afterward you had....a good time.” Jazz laughed. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks.” Sammi jabbed the button on the grinder and the eardrum shattering whir filled the café for a moment. Then she poured the grounds into another container and cleared her throat. “I, uh, asked him if he would come to the trial. To be there for me.”

“Oh,
yeah
?” Jazz lifted her eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“He said yes. Then he asked me if I would go to the tournament with him.”

“And of course you said yes.”

“I said I needed time to think about it.” Sammi shrugged a shoulder. “I felt like a hypocrite, but, these trips are a little different. The trial, I'll be with my family, I'll be safe. But, with him, I'll be away from my safety net. If somethin' goes wrong, I'm by myself. Stranded.”

“I think,” Jazz said, sweeping stray grounds off the counter with the side of her hand, “that you should go. Get out. Take a chance. Live life.”

“If he ends up chopping my head off or making me into a skin-suit, I'm personally gonna hold you accountable.”

“I'll take the blame.” Jazz glanced at her, pursing her lips. “You know you're gonna have to tell your parents, right? And by 'tell your parents', I mean, ask them for permission.”

Sammi rolled her eyes. “Please. I'm twenty-six. I don't have to ask anyone for permission.”

She scrubbed at the countertop and pictured her father's face and shuddered. He would
not
be thrilled that she was going anywhere with a guy he'd only met once, even under the best circumstances. With her history, he'd like it even less.

I'll do what I want.

She didn't buy her own bravado. “I'm gonna have to ask 'em.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Her parents came in just in time for the early morning rush. Her father worked the cash register while Sammi made drink orders, and her mother went into the kitchen to help Jazz with several large loaves of braided herb bread. Two solid hours flew by before things settled down.

Her father counted the drawer and reset it to make an early afternoon deposit. Sammi used the lull to clean the espresso machine, refill the grinder with whole beans, and wash dishes.

“So, how's my princess?” Joe asked absently, punching numbers into a calculator and jotting down figures on a yellow notepad.

“Good, Pop. The usual. Workin'. Dancin'.”

“For that showcase thing?”

“Yep.”

“It's gonna be beautiful.” Joe counted a stack of bills again and tucked them into a zippered cash bag. “Been a long time since your old man's seen you dance. What else you been doin'?”

Sammi cleared her throat. “I've been spending a lot of time with, uh, Cillian.”

Her father glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned back to his task. “Oh, yeah? How's he doin'?”

“Good. He surprised me by taking me to go see
Giselle
last night.”

“Huh. Wasn't that nice of him.” Joe's tone took on a sharp, slightly suspicious edge.

“Yes, it was.” Sammi dried off the dishes. “And he took me to La Cucina before that.”

“Hmm.” Joe jotted figures down in his little notebook. “In my day, that's the sorta thing you did when you wanted somethin' more than a kiss from a pretty girl.”

“Pop, please. I am a grown woman, you know.”

“What's that mean to me?”

“What he did was a nice gesture. A nice surprise for me.” Sammi wound the dish towel around her fingers, watching the tips turn dark red. “I asked Cillian if he would come to the trial.”

Joe looked at her, his dark eyes boring into her. “What?”

“Pop, he knows. I told him about the subpoena.”

“But, honey. The trial?”

Sammi folded her lips inward. “He's been really supportive. He's been there for me when—when I needed someone to be there. I want him to be at the trial—if he wants to come.”

Joe sighed, setting down his pencil and facing her. He folded his arms. “I know you like him, cupcake. But he's the first guy you've been involved with since—in a long time. I just wanna make sure you're bein' careful with yourself. I don't want some little bastard takin' advantage of you, knowin' what you been through.”

“Cillian's not like that, Pop. If I haven't learned anything else over the past year, I
have
learned to trust my instincts. And, yeah, I'm a little scared. But he's a great guy. And I think you know that, too.”

Joe cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah, I think he's a good guy. But he could be the best guy in the world and he still wouldn't be good enough for my princess.”

Sammi smiled. “Well, you're my dad. You're supposed to think that.”

Joe lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, okay. You want him at the trial, he comes to the trial.”

That was the easy part. Sammi bit her lip. “You know that tournament he's trainin' for?”

“Yeah.” Joe picked up his pencil, returning to his figures.

“It's in Albany.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“He asked me to go with him. And his family.”

Joe looked at her. “And you told him no.”
That's not a question.

Sammi fidgeted, feeling suddenly like she was fourteen again. “I told him I would think about it. Which I am.”

“What's there to think about?” Joe leaned past her toward the kitchen. “Carmela!”

“Aw, c'mon, Pop, you don't have to bring Ma—”

“What is it, Joe?” Carmela said, coming out of the kitchen. She looked between Sammi and her father. “What's goin' on?”

“Sammi's new boyfriend asked her to go to Albany with him.” Joe folded his arms. “To that fight of his.”

“Okay, first of all, he's not my boyfriend,” Sammi said.

“Yet,” Jazz's voice floated in from the kitchen.

Sammi glared in her general direction.
Not helping, Jazz.
“Second, he has a name—
Cillian
, who you both told me you liked, especially you, Ma. Third, I asked him to come to the trial for moral support, and he asked me to come to the tournament for the same thing. That's all.”

“But, Sam, outta town?” Her mother frowned with worry. “You'd feel comfortable with that?”

“Yes.”
I hope. I'm pretty sure
. “He'd never let anything happen to me. I'll be fine.”

“What about the trial?” Joe asked. “Will you make it back in time?”

“It's only three hours from Albany to the city and we'll have most of the day on Monday to get there.”

Carmela looked at her husband. “We can't tell her what to do,” she reminded him gently. “She is an adult.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Sammi smiled.

Joe frowned and pointed at her. “I don't like it. I wanna talk to Cillian myself.”

“Pop, seriously? I am not a teenager.”

Her father stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “No,” he said. “You're
not
a teenager. But I don't care how old you are. You're
my
daughter, and I want to talk to this boyfriend-a yours to make sure he's gonna keep you safe.”

“He's
not
—”

Her father waved his hands. “All right, all right. He's not your boyfriend. I don't care. I still talk to him.”

“Joe, we should go,” Carmela interjected. “We need to get to the bank and then I want you to take me to lunch. We'll bring you girls somethin' to eat. Tell Cillian he's invited on Sunday again.”

“I won't be there on Sunday. Remember? I'm goin' to his family's house for dinner.”

Her mother stared at her. “You're not comin' for Sunday dinner?” she demanded.

“Ma, I told you this already.”

“I thought you meant Saturday,
tomorrow
. Not Sunday. You can't miss Sunday!”

“I said Sunday, Ma. And what's the big deal? Sometimes Niq and Toni miss Sundays when they go to Vince's or Ryan's families.”

“They're
married
. That's totally different. You're a single girl, you belong with your mother at her house on Sunday!” Carmela waved her hand, her other clutching at her heart. “Fine, fine. You go to them. Forget about your mother. I'll be fine.”

“Let's go, sweetie.” Joe took his wife by the arm and fixed Sammi with a piercing stare. “You tell that boy I wanna talk to him,” he said, his tone sharp and icy.

Jazz poked her head out when they'd gone. “Is it safe to come out?”

Sammi dramatically collapsed over the top of the counter. “Yeah. And thanks for leavin' me high and dry, you fuckin' Judas.”

“I wanted absolutely no part of that.” Jazz offered a piece of the crusty Italian loaf that she'd just baked, chewing her own and looking at Sammi with wide eyes. “Um. I'd say that went about as well as you could hope for.”

“Nobody's dead,” Sammi agreed. “Yet.”

SAMMI:
You taking care of my mug?

CILLIAN:
Hello to you too. Yes. The mug is fine. I think. I'm not really sure, I left it at home.

SAMMI:
WHAT?!

CILLIAN:
Sorry. Had to come to work.

SAMMI:
I'll be needing it back from you ASAP. This is why you can't have nice things.

CILLIAN:
I saw about a thousand coffee mugs in your cupboard.

SAMMI:
That's beside the point. That one is my favorite.

CILLIAN:
You're welcome to come get it from me later.

SAMMI:
I think I will. When I get off work.

CILLIAN:
Can't wait. If that's what it takes to get a visit from you...I think I'll keep your mug forever.