Read Online Charmingly Yours (A Morning Glory #1) by Liz Talley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Talley
Ads: Link
seemed old-fashioned. It’s because she was. Not in a grandmotherly way, but in a way that made her startlingly unique.
“My grandmother taught me how to knit when I was eight years old. I became obsessed with making things. Still am, I guess.” She blushed after she blurted that out. “Jeez, I sound so lame. Hi, my name is Rosemary. I’m a backwoods hick who doesn’t dance and sews pillows.”
“You’re not a hick. Besides, what’s lame about loving what you do?”
“I don’t know. Most people hate their jobs,” she said, giving a little shrug. “Living in Morning Glory can be a pain in the behind, but when it comes down to it, I fit there.”
Her words smacked him, leaving behind a sting. I fit there. Rosemary knew who she was, but he couldn’t say the same. Over the past few months he’d started losing the part of himself that wanted to break away from his world. He hadn’t the energy to second-guess his mother’s choice for him even though he didn’t want Angelina. Nor had he questioned his father buying a deli in the theater district he wanted to hand over to Sal like an inheritance.
So what was his true passion?
Well, he liked making food people came back for time and again. Sal had put several dishes on the menu at Mama Mello’s, and his pizzas made must-dine lists across the city. He loved experimenting with different toppings, pairing the unexpected with the traditional. But his pops didn’t like anything too different. Donnie was a red sauce kinda guy, and he’d nixed half of Sal’s suggestions for the pizza pie menu at the new location they’d open in late fall.
Beyond knowing cooking was his thing, Sal hadn’t discovered much else.
Before Hillary broke his heart, he’d vowed never to be like his brothers. Both Dom and Vincent had fallen in line with being part of the business, accepting it the same way they’d done as children when their mother had heaped peas on their plate. Eat what is given to you. Sal didn’t like peas and he’d been determined not to toe the line for his pop. No living in the city or working for someone else. He’d dreamed of opening his own Italian place in a coastal town or even a place in the mountains. He’d have a house with a yard. Maybe a dog. At night he’d hear crickets, and when he walked outside, the stars would glitter, unfazed by the glow of a city.
“Guess I’m passionate about cooking,” he said finally.
“You should be,” Rosemary said, accepting the glass the waitress handed her. The light pink wine bubbled on the top and she sighed when she sipped it. “I would have stabbed someone if he’d tried to take one of my meatballs.”
He smiled, set a twenty-dollar bill on the tray, and took a long draw on the cold brew. “That’s why we don’t leave sharp knives out. Too many instances of death by meatball.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes then took another sip of the wine. “This is good. Reminds me of home.”
“How?”
“Well, my friends Eden, Jess, and La—” She stopped and swallowed hard. “My friends and I drink this when we’re hanging out. It’s kind of girly and I know hardly any self-respecting wine enthusiast would drink it, but it fits us.”
“Bubbly and pink?”
“And sweet as sugah, darlin’.” Rosemary tilted her head and batted her long eyelashes.
“God, you’re good at that.” Sal held his beer aloft, waiting for her to clink her glass to his. Finally, she took the hint. “To a southern girl learning how to be a little bad in New York City.”
“Here, here,” she said with an impish twinkle in her eye. “And to an Italian guy who’s helping her take the plunge.”
Chapter Five
Flip-flops had never been her favorite shoe choice. The slap-slap-slap of them against her foot set her teeth on edge. But that was all that was available at the bodega right outside the hotel’s back door.
Unfortunately they were a bright yellow with a neon-orange flower. They looked like a nuclear explosion of
“My grandmother taught me how to knit when I was eight years old. I became obsessed with making things. Still am, I guess.” She blushed after she blurted that out. “Jeez, I sound so lame. Hi, my name is Rosemary. I’m a backwoods hick who doesn’t dance and sews pillows.”
“You’re not a hick. Besides, what’s lame about loving what you do?”
“I don’t know. Most people hate their jobs,” she said, giving a little shrug. “Living in Morning Glory can be a pain in the behind, but when it comes down to it, I fit there.”
Her words smacked him, leaving behind a sting. I fit there. Rosemary knew who she was, but he couldn’t say the same. Over the past few months he’d started losing the part of himself that wanted to break away from his world. He hadn’t the energy to second-guess his mother’s choice for him even though he didn’t want Angelina. Nor had he questioned his father buying a deli in the theater district he wanted to hand over to Sal like an inheritance.
So what was his true passion?
Well, he liked making food people came back for time and again. Sal had put several dishes on the menu at Mama Mello’s, and his pizzas made must-dine lists across the city. He loved experimenting with different toppings, pairing the unexpected with the traditional. But his pops didn’t like anything too different. Donnie was a red sauce kinda guy, and he’d nixed half of Sal’s suggestions for the pizza pie menu at the new location they’d open in late fall.
Beyond knowing cooking was his thing, Sal hadn’t discovered much else.
Before Hillary broke his heart, he’d vowed never to be like his brothers. Both Dom and Vincent had fallen in line with being part of the business, accepting it the same way they’d done as children when their mother had heaped peas on their plate. Eat what is given to you. Sal didn’t like peas and he’d been determined not to toe the line for his pop. No living in the city or working for someone else. He’d dreamed of opening his own Italian place in a coastal town or even a place in the mountains. He’d have a house with a yard. Maybe a dog. At night he’d hear crickets, and when he walked outside, the stars would glitter, unfazed by the glow of a city.
“Guess I’m passionate about cooking,” he said finally.
“You should be,” Rosemary said, accepting the glass the waitress handed her. The light pink wine bubbled on the top and she sighed when she sipped it. “I would have stabbed someone if he’d tried to take one of my meatballs.”
He smiled, set a twenty-dollar bill on the tray, and took a long draw on the cold brew. “That’s why we don’t leave sharp knives out. Too many instances of death by meatball.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes then took another sip of the wine. “This is good. Reminds me of home.”
“How?”
“Well, my friends Eden, Jess, and La—” She stopped and swallowed hard. “My friends and I drink this when we’re hanging out. It’s kind of girly and I know hardly any self-respecting wine enthusiast would drink it, but it fits us.”
“Bubbly and pink?”
“And sweet as sugah, darlin’.” Rosemary tilted her head and batted her long eyelashes.
“God, you’re good at that.” Sal held his beer aloft, waiting for her to clink her glass to his. Finally, she took the hint. “To a southern girl learning how to be a little bad in New York City.”
“Here, here,” she said with an impish twinkle in her eye. “And to an Italian guy who’s helping her take the plunge.”
Chapter Five
Flip-flops had never been her favorite shoe choice. The slap-slap-slap of them against her foot set her teeth on edge. But that was all that was available at the bodega right outside the hotel’s back door.
Unfortunately they were a bright yellow with a neon-orange flower. They looked like a nuclear explosion of
Similar Books
