The Next Mrs Russo - Jana Aston Page 0,14

shenanigans.

“Mrs Bianchi.” I cut her off the moment she said it, one hand on my hip and the sternest expression I could manage. “He absolutely, positively said no such thing and we both know it.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in reply, staring me down in return. Then she gave a defiant little shrug. “He thought it though. I know my son. And I have the Very Good—”

“Feeling,” I finished for her. “I know.”

So here I am, in my reworked designer dress, wearing borrowed heels and feeling like Cinderella without a helpful mouse in sight to keep me company while I watch the clock tick down to seven.

I double-checked. For mice, that is. The last thing I need is Gary pulling another stunt like he did earlier this week, but in front of Warren Russo. I would positively die of embarrassment. The rogue mouse has already been given a lovely retirement. By which I mean I left him in a flower patch over at Lincoln Park. Alive and well. I wished him luck in never finding his way back to me and included a little pep talk about his potential. I also left him with half an apple to tide him over till he figured out his new neighborhood because I’m not heartless.

Time moves really slowly when you’re waiting. I’ve been ready since a quarter to seven. At ten till I go downstairs to wait by the front door like it’s sophomore year and I’m waiting on my homecoming date to arrive.

At nine till I start questioning if he’s coming. Which is ridiculous, it’s still early.

At eight till I make a contingency plan for the evening, just in case. It involves wearing my fancy dress to Rain Modern for an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. It’s not actually a buffet restaurant, I just intend on going, getting a table for six and then ordering entrées for every seat. I might still do that sometime because honestly the more I think about it the more excited I get about the idea.

Maybe for my next birthday.

At six till I hear the drip.

At five till I revisit the all-I-can-eat Chinese food idea.

At four till I debate how bad the mystery drip can be, and if I should look or if it’ll hold till I get home in a few hours. It’ll hold, right? The bathroom plumbing has probably been disintegrating for a decade. It’s not like the ceiling is gonna cave in tonight.

At three till I take a peek into my kitchen and find the leak.

It’s fine.

Pretty sure.

Not a huge deal.

At two till there’s a light knock on my front door. My front door, which is also my shop door. I run back to swing it open and, yeah, there’s Warren Russo on my doorstep.

Totes normal.

“Hey!” I greet him like an overly familiar weirdo. I mentally rehearsed a bunch of ways to open the door in a sophisticated manner and trust me, none of them involved me whipping open the door and saying ‘hey.’

Ugh.

“Just one second.” I hold up a finger to emphasize. “I’m ready, I swear.” Then I leave him standing on my doorstep and bolt back to my kitchen to shove a trash can under the overhead light fixture, from which a drip of water is now coming.

It’s a small drip. Barely noticeable. Totally fine.

“You need to kill the circuit for that light.”

Great. This is so much less embarrassing than Gary dragging a mouse through my house. So. Much.

Because nope, Warren did not wait at the door and is now standing in the threshold of my kitchen witnessing my garbage can plumbing setup.

He looks perfect. Black suit, crisp white shirt, dark charcoal tie. Perfect fit, of course. It’d help my heart rate considerably if the suit was ill-fitting. But nope. No such luck. Perfectly polished black shoes. I have a thing for a nice dress shoe on a man, especially one with nary a scuff in sight.

He’s raised his arm to run his fingers across his jaw as he stares at the overhead light fixture. The move exposes a heavy watch on his wrist and we all know it’s a universal truth that a nice watch is sexy as hell.

I’m staring. A fact I realize when he finally raises an eyebrow and prompts, “Fuse box?” after an eternity of silence in which I’ve just been running my eyes over him like I’ve never seen a man before in my entire life.

I can’t catch a break.

“Right,” I agree, nodding quickly to shake off my lust stupor. “Fuse