Since it fit really well, the last three days had been good.

I was definitely healing. I was getting around more, getting exhausted less, and the pain had gone from occasionally sharp and sometimes aching to randomly nagging.

This meant that I’d managed to get a lot done the last three days. Cleaning up my email and making arrangements with my clients to move them to new representatives. Gabbing with friends to let them know I was good and getting caught up with them.

And the last two mornings I went out with Mrs. Zambino on her power walks, which she took the “power” out of in deference to me, but still, the walks felt good. Getting out, moving, getting fresh air in my lungs, and getting a kick out of Mrs. Zambino, who was good company in a crotchety, know-it-all, old lady kind of way.

And the night before, I’d treated Asheeka to one of Benny’s pies at the pizzeria—another obstacle conquered, the first time I’d been there since we lost Vinnie. I’d asked Benny for Sela’s number and called her, asking her to join us, and she’d said yes.

The only weird part was seeing the sign with Benny’s name on it, and the weird part about that was that seeing it felt good. Like I was proud of him and what he was doing but also proud to be the woman who was with him, walking into a restaurant that had his name over the door. Something tangible. Real. Benny didn’t create that pizzeria, but I knew he took over the kitchen what was now years ago and it had lost none of its popularity. Therefore, it was Benny who kept it going.

No, kept it thriving.

So I was proud of him and proud to have a man who could do that want to be with me. And that pride came with a strange sense of peace.

It would have been easy to twist that, to think back to my time with Vinnie, who made all the wrong moves in life and paid for it in an ugly way in the end.

But I didn’t twist it. I walked with the girls into that restaurant with my head held high, knowing my man would wow them with his pie, and knowing if I kept my shit together and didn’t twist things that didn’t need to be twisted, the real wow behind that man was all for me.

The girls and I’d had fun, and with Benny working in the kitchen and not playing watchdog over me, I’d been able to down a couple of glasses of Chianti, which didn’t suck.

Man, who worked the front of the house—sometimes with Theresa, sometimes she’d take the night off—came to our table often, mostly because Sela was there and it was cute how they’d been together for a while and he still took as much time as he could get with her.

Vinnie Senior, like Theresa, had “retired,” but the retirement part was a loose interpretation of the word. Ben told me he came around, stuck his nose in, even worked in the kitchen, helping Ben, or came in so he could have the night off. But he mostly left it to Benny.

Theresa, not one to kick back at night and watch games or cop shows, or kick back at all, had also retired loosely. This meant her form of retirement was still showing at the restaurant more than occasionally to work.

Theresa wasn’t on last night, but with his girl there, Man found his times to come to our table to entertain us.

Ben had also showed once to give me a kiss, the girls a welcome, and to ask Asheeka if she enjoyed the pie.

Asheeka had.

In fact, she told me, after eating the pie (and the fresh breadsticks, and partaking of her portion of the big salad with banana peppers, olives, homemade croutons, and a healthy dusting of freshly shaved parmesan cheese in a light oil-based dressing) that I didn’t owe her for shower duty. My marker was paid.

I got that. The food was that good, and the warm and welcoming feel of the red-and-white-checkered-tablecloth-table-filled room, with pictures of family mounted all over the walls, couldn’t be beat.

Still, I was going to do something more for her. I had to. I was me.

I’d woken up four mornings in a row in Benny’s arms to soft “heys,” nuzzles, and warm arm squeezes, but Benny didn’t push it any further. We kissed, often. No hot and heavy make out sessions, but he frequently laid one on me, either claiming my mouth in a sweet kiss, brushing his lips against mine, or taking his time to make it deeper, but there was no pressure. No pushing.

With other displays of affection, like hand-holding, turning me in his arms every once in a while just to give me a hug and touch his mouth to my neck, I had the feeling he was giving me the chance to get used to him. It wasn’t about making certain I was fit and healthy. It was about making certain I was fit and healthy, mentally. Ready to go there with him, take the next step.

It was like we were living together, but Benny was still giving me the dating-to-get-to-know-you-better part of the relationship and that was pure Benny. Thoughtful. Generous. Sweet.

Awesome.

So it had been a good three days.

No, outside of my own issues that messed up the first part, it had been a good nine days, made good by Benny from the beginning.

Minute by minute was working.

Fabulously.

Or it had been.

Until ten minutes earlier.

Now I was worried the minute-by-minute business was going to fail and do it miserably.

This was on my mind when I hit the alley behind the pizzeria and parked next to Benny’s Explorer, the only car in a lot that was used only by employees.

It was relatively early. The pizzeria didn’t open for lunch, dinner only. They started taking walk-ins at four thirty for orders of takeaway, but didn’t start seating until five.

But Ben had gone in because he had sauce to make. I’d learned in the last three days that he had kids who could make the croutons, whip up the homemade Caesar dressing they used, toss the salads, prepare the homemade pasta, assemble the casseroles, and roll the meatballs.

But the sauce and the pizza dough were made only by Vinnie or Benny.

I parked and got out, walking swiftly to the back door. I prayed it was open because I needed to get to Benny and not do it after pounding on the door, hoping he’d hear me. I tried the door, and for once, my prayers were answered.

I walked in and saw what I’d seen the hundreds of times I’d entered the pizzeria through the kitchen’s back in the days when I was with Vinnie. Stacked up in the space around the door were used kegs. Empty crates that had held vegetables. Discarded boxes.

There was a door to an employee washroom to one side, to the other, a big room lined in stainless steel shelves that held everything the pizzeria needed, from durum flour to toilet paper.

Down the hall I went, passing two more doors: one side, the door to what was now Benny’s office; the other side, a stainless steel door that led into a walk-in fridge.

I was curious to see how Benny had claimed Vinnie’s office, but I was on a mission fueled by a freak out so I kept going, past the last door, which was a walk-in freezer, then I was in the kitchen.

Stainless steel worktable down the middle with a shelf unit that had heating lights where they put prepared plates or pies. Three spindles hanging where they clipped orders. Utensils on hooks. More stainless steel tables around the walls. Big sinks. A back area where more sinks and the industrial dishwashers were. Stainless steel cabinets mounted on the walls that held plates, bowls, glasses. Lower cabinets that held pots, pans, skillets, trays, and drawers with cutlery. Smaller wire shelving under the wall cabinets that gave easy access to herbs and spices. Massive pizza ovens and three enormous restaurant-quality stoves.

Benny’s domain. His kingdom. Where he worked to pay his mortgage and did it in a way that his twenty-five employees could pay their rent.

I stopped just in the kitchen, suddenly not thinking of my problem but, instead, thinking of what could be the crushing weight of being the driving force behind a business where people depended on you to do a large variety of things right on a day-to-day basis. From scheduling correctly, to not over- or under-purchasing tomatoes, to making certain wait staff was trained right, to ensuring every pizza pie and breadstick went out with equal quality, making the dinner an experience to remember and leaving the patron always wanting to come back for more.

With these thoughts coming to me, I turned my eyes to the left to see Ben in his white t-shirt and jeans, standing at one of the stoves, stirring what was in one of two humongous pots there.

The air was filled with the mouth-watering smell of garlic mixed with a subtle hint of fresh cut herbs and I saw big cutting boards on the worktable behind Benny that had the residue of green on one, the juice and seeds of tomatoes on another.

“Babe.”

He spoke and my eyes went to him.

When they did, his gaze moved over my face, his head cocked to the side, and he immediately moved to me, saying, “Jesus, what happened?”

“You know minute by minute?” I asked. He came to a stop a foot away, holding my gaze and nodding slowly. “Well, the next minute is gonna be a lot harder than the last bazillion of them,” I declared.

“Talk to me,” he demanded.

“You’re working,” I replied.

His head jerked slightly in surprise at my words and he said, “Yeah, I am, and you’re here because you’re freaked so now I’m not. Now, I’m standin’ here waitin’ for you to talk to me.”

I shook my head. “What I mean is, you’re working. This is me. I’m freaking and you’re working and I should be good, have a mind to that, keep my shit together, and wait to discuss this with you at a time when you can focus on it, not at a time when you might burn the sauce.”