Blue Smoke

eyebrows went up and down in a facial shrug.
    They argued—or so he assumed, since part of the byplay was in rapid Italian with lots of dramatic gestures. Bo played it safe and concentrated on his salad.
    Moments later, it was scooped away, and a plate of baked spaghetti set in its place. Gib dragged over a chair, sat at the end of the booth. “Where’s my daughter?” he asked Bo.
    “Ah . . . I don’t know. I haven’t been home yet, but she said she’d probably be working late.”
    “Look, Gib. Look at what Bo is building us.”
    Gib took the sketches, took a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. Lips pursed, he studied them. “Columns?”
    “You can go with posts.”
    “I want the columns,” Bianca said definitely, and jabbed a finger in her brother’s face when he opened his mouth. “Basta!”
    “It’s more than I thought.”
    “Better,” Bianca said, and her eyes narrowed on Gib’s face. “What, you need new glasses? You can’t see what’s in front of your face?”
    “I don’t see a price in front of my face.”
    Saying nothing, Bo opened his briefcase again, took out an estimate sheet. And had the pleasure of seeing Gib’s eyes widen.

    “This is pretty steep.” He passed the sheet to Sal, who had his hand out.
    “This is top-dollar labor rates.”
    “I’m worth top dollar,” Bo said easily. “But I’m not opposed to bartering. This is great spaghetti, Bianca.”
    “Thank you. Enjoy.”
    “Bartering what?” Gib demanded.
    “Meals, wine.” He grinned at Bianca. “Will work for cannoli. Word of mouth. I’m just getting established in this neighborhood. I can give you the material at my cost. Plus if you provide some of the grunt work—hauling, painting—that cuts it back.”
    Gib breathed through his nose. “How much does that cut it back?”
    Bo took a second estimate sheet out of his case, handed it to Gib.
    Gib took a long look. “You must really like cannoli.” Once again he passed the sheet toward Sal, but this time Bianca snatched it. “Idiot,” she said in Italian. “What he likes is your daughter.”
    Gib sat back, drummed his fingers on the table. “How soon can you start?” he asked. And offered his hand.

23
    “Bo, I don’t want you to feel obligated to cut your profit like this, to work for below your going rate just because it’s my family.”
    “Hmm.” He kept his eyes closed, continued to stroke his hand along her bare leg. “Did you say something? I’m in a cannoli coma complicated by a sexual haze.”
    Understandable, she thought, since he had had three of her mother’s outrageous cannolis before they’d—finally—done justice to his kitchen floor.
    “You do good work, and you deserve to get paid for it.”
    “I’m getting paid for it. I just ate most of my initial deposit. It’s good business,” he continued, anticipating her. “Sirico’s is a neighborhood landmark. This job will show off my work, get people talking. Your parents are leaders in the word-of-mouth department.”
    “Are you saying we’re blabbermouths?”
    “You guys sure can talk. My ears have been ringing since dinner. In a good way,” he added, and yawned. “I think I even won your uncle over by the time it was done.”
    “Uncle Sal, oldest son, renowned cheapskate. We love him anyway.”
    “So, they get a bargain, I get to do a job I’ll enjoy—and reap the advertising. And, oh God, eat your mother’s cooking until I die.”
    “You forgot the sexual bonus.”

    “That’s personal.” This time he walked his fingers up her thigh, down again. “Doesn’t factor. But since I’ve been fiddling with some plans for your place, you could always take me upstairs and bribe me with continued sexual favors.”
    She rolled over on top of him, made him moan. More from excess pastry than desire. “You’ve been working on plans for me?”
    “Fiddling. Haven’t had too much time. But your dining room table’s almost finished.”
    “I want to see. I want to see everything.”
    “Table’ll be done in another couple days. The sketches are rough yet.”
    “I have to see.” She rolled off, tugged his hand. “Right now. Right now.”
    He groaned, but sat up and reached for his pants. “Half of the plans are still in my head.”
    “I want to see the other half.” She dragged on her own pants, grabbed her shirt. Then she grabbed his face, smacked her lips to his. “Thanks in advance.”
    “Thank me after.” He pulled open the refrigerator