Read Online Year of Living Blonde (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 1) by Andrea Simonne - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Simonne
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muses. They’d already decided Espresso Breve wasn’t married, since he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
“Probably,” Blair agrees. “Lucky woman, that’s for sure.”
Natalie tries to imagine the kind of woman Espresso Breve would be with. She pictures some hot blonde with a great body. Yuck. With disgust, she suddenly realizes she’s imagining Lena.
“So, what’s his name?” Natalie can’t resist asking.
Blair smiles. “Anthony Novello. It suits him, don’t you think?”
“Novello? That name sounds familiar.”
“He must be Italian.” Lindsay finishes her cake, licking the back of her fork. “There’s a lot of really hot Italian guys.”
Natalie is still thinking about the name, when it suddenly comes to her. “Wait a minute, Novello—that’s the name of our jerk landlord.”
“Really?” Blair says. “Well, it must be a coincidence.”
Natalie thinks about it. “Yeah, it must be. He does look kind of young to own this building. I pictured someone older and more stern. ”
“I’m sure it isn’t him. That would be too weird. He comes in here all the time. Why wouldn’t he want us to expand?”
After Lindsay leaves and Blair goes back into the kitchen, Natalie sits by herself for a moment, finishing her latte. She wiggles her shoulder around. It’s still sore.
What a crazy day.
She can’t believe any of it. Most of all, she can’t believe she acted just like her mom, something she never thought she’d do in a million years. Though at least I’m not making excuses for Peter’s infidelity. Her mom slapped more than a few of her father’s floozies, but she always placed the blame solely on them. Her father was a womanizer, but in her eyes he was a prince. Even after he died, predictably, in bed with someone, she wouldn’t let either her or Lindsay say a word against him. She loved him too much. That’s the conclusion Natalie always came to as a child. It frightened her. She never wanted to love a man like that.
I’m nothing like her, Natalie reminds herself. Peter is not a womanizer and I don’t only blame Lena. I blame them both. In fact, Peter is the betrayer here. She sucks in her breath as the familiar hurt and anger wash over her.
Trying to push it out of her mind, she gets up and grabs her mug along with the plate that Lindsay left behind. She sees another empty table that has a few dirty dishes on it and busses those, too.
Juggling an armful, she turns toward the kitchen and nearly bumps into someone.
“Excuse me,” she says to some guy, but her pulse jumps when she looks up and sees it’s Espresso Breve. Anthony, she corrects herself.
He glances at her, and then stops in recognition. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Natalie looks down at the cake box he’s holding and he follows her gaze. “Yeah, I came back and spoke to the owner. She helped me order the cake.”
“That’s . . . great.” It occurs to Natalie that this would be the perfect time to fix the false impression she gave him the other day and explain that she’s one of the owners herself. “Listen, I wanted to tell—”
To her surprise the cell phone in his hand starts blasting the Star Wars theme music. “Hang on.” He transfers the cake box to his left side and answers it. “Yeah, I’ve got it right here. No worries, bambina. I’ll be there soon. Okay, I love you, too.”
Anthony fumbles a little with the cell as he turns it off and Natalie is mesmerized by his hands. His fingers are tan and masculine. His nails clean and short. She feels a peculiar breathlessness staring at his hands, as if she wants something from them.
“Good luck,” he tells her, with a quick boyish grin that does something funny to her insides. “You’ll get the hang of things around here before you know it.”
“I . . . uh.”
In frustration, she watches him leave with the wrong idea. Again.
Natalie heads home with plans to put the whole ugly mess with Lena behind her.
“Oh, no,” Natalie groans as she
“Probably,” Blair agrees. “Lucky woman, that’s for sure.”
Natalie tries to imagine the kind of woman Espresso Breve would be with. She pictures some hot blonde with a great body. Yuck. With disgust, she suddenly realizes she’s imagining Lena.
“So, what’s his name?” Natalie can’t resist asking.
Blair smiles. “Anthony Novello. It suits him, don’t you think?”
“Novello? That name sounds familiar.”
“He must be Italian.” Lindsay finishes her cake, licking the back of her fork. “There’s a lot of really hot Italian guys.”
Natalie is still thinking about the name, when it suddenly comes to her. “Wait a minute, Novello—that’s the name of our jerk landlord.”
“Really?” Blair says. “Well, it must be a coincidence.”
Natalie thinks about it. “Yeah, it must be. He does look kind of young to own this building. I pictured someone older and more stern. ”
“I’m sure it isn’t him. That would be too weird. He comes in here all the time. Why wouldn’t he want us to expand?”
After Lindsay leaves and Blair goes back into the kitchen, Natalie sits by herself for a moment, finishing her latte. She wiggles her shoulder around. It’s still sore.
What a crazy day.
She can’t believe any of it. Most of all, she can’t believe she acted just like her mom, something she never thought she’d do in a million years. Though at least I’m not making excuses for Peter’s infidelity. Her mom slapped more than a few of her father’s floozies, but she always placed the blame solely on them. Her father was a womanizer, but in her eyes he was a prince. Even after he died, predictably, in bed with someone, she wouldn’t let either her or Lindsay say a word against him. She loved him too much. That’s the conclusion Natalie always came to as a child. It frightened her. She never wanted to love a man like that.
I’m nothing like her, Natalie reminds herself. Peter is not a womanizer and I don’t only blame Lena. I blame them both. In fact, Peter is the betrayer here. She sucks in her breath as the familiar hurt and anger wash over her.
Trying to push it out of her mind, she gets up and grabs her mug along with the plate that Lindsay left behind. She sees another empty table that has a few dirty dishes on it and busses those, too.
Juggling an armful, she turns toward the kitchen and nearly bumps into someone.
“Excuse me,” she says to some guy, but her pulse jumps when she looks up and sees it’s Espresso Breve. Anthony, she corrects herself.
He glances at her, and then stops in recognition. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Natalie looks down at the cake box he’s holding and he follows her gaze. “Yeah, I came back and spoke to the owner. She helped me order the cake.”
“That’s . . . great.” It occurs to Natalie that this would be the perfect time to fix the false impression she gave him the other day and explain that she’s one of the owners herself. “Listen, I wanted to tell—”
To her surprise the cell phone in his hand starts blasting the Star Wars theme music. “Hang on.” He transfers the cake box to his left side and answers it. “Yeah, I’ve got it right here. No worries, bambina. I’ll be there soon. Okay, I love you, too.”
Anthony fumbles a little with the cell as he turns it off and Natalie is mesmerized by his hands. His fingers are tan and masculine. His nails clean and short. She feels a peculiar breathlessness staring at his hands, as if she wants something from them.
“Good luck,” he tells her, with a quick boyish grin that does something funny to her insides. “You’ll get the hang of things around here before you know it.”
“I . . . uh.”
In frustration, she watches him leave with the wrong idea. Again.
Natalie heads home with plans to put the whole ugly mess with Lena behind her.
“Oh, no,” Natalie groans as she
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