Just a Taste by Deirdre Martin Page B

Little Ant pressed.
    “Nah.”
    Little Ant seemed to consider this. “Me, neither,” he said eventually.
    “Great minds think alike,” Anthony teased.
    “Do you ever get mad at God for taking Aunt Angie away?”
    Anthony swallowed. “Sad stuff happens sometimes. You can’t blame God.”
    Little Ant nodded thoughtfully. Please, let the kid be done with the questions. It was kicking up a lot of emotion, much of it confusing. That kiss with Vivi…what the hell was that about? If ever there was a testament to how lonely he felt sometimes, it was that. Or maybe it was testament to their mutual love of food. Start discussing gas stoves versus electric and the next thing you know, you’re in a lip lock. Talk about scary.
    “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
    Anthony coughed into his balled fist. He should have seen that one coming. “I don’t know,” he said, sounding curter than he meant to be. “I haven’t really thought about it.” He wondered if Little Ant was driven to ask by his own curiosity, or if he’d overheard his parents talking about how it was time for Anthony to move on. “Why do you ask?”
    Little Ant shrugged. “I dunno. I just think it would be cool to have a new aunt and stuff.”
    “Uh-huh.” Anthony turned down the heat under the saucepan. “You ready to add the vino?”
     
    “V ivi hurried down Twentieth Avenue, intent on one thing and one thing only: dropping off Anthony’s plastic container at Dante’s undetected. Ever since his visit to her apartment a week earlier, her emotions had been in an uproar. No matter how many times she reminded herself that he was arrogant, was less than thrilled to have her as a neighbor, and had insulted her more than once, her mind could not let go of the kiss. She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d enjoyed it. But so what? She didn’t have time for a romance. More importantly, he was the last man on earth she wanted to have a romance with.
    They’d been avoiding each other all week, that much was clear. She’d seen him on the street a number of times, but not once had his head turned in the direction of the candy store, even with the DiDinatos finally beginning construction. That was fine with Vivi. She wasn’t exactly breaking her neck to scurry across the street to his place, either.
    She knew from observing Anthony that he usually left Dante’s around eight a.m. to pick up a newspaper and chat with the men up at Cuccio’s Pork Store, who were obviously longtime friends. He usually returned to the restaurant around eight thirty or so. Vivi checked her watch—ten minutes after eight. Perfect. She’d drop off the container with the kitchen staff and be out and back across the street before he even knew she was there.
    She shouldn’t have been surprised when she tried the front door to the restaurant and found it locked. Undeterred, she walked around to the back. The kitchen door would probably be unlocked, and even if it wasn’t, she was certain there’d be staff in the kitchen who’d let her in if she knocked.
    She was gratified to see the kitchen door was indeed open. She could see people moving around through the screen door as the sounds of voices and laughter rose above the tinny sound of a radio. She was in luck.
    The door gave a small squeak as she opened it, popping her head inside. “Hello?” she called out tentatively. “It’s Vivi from across the street.”
    “Vivi.” Anthony’s brother came toward her, a pleasant but puzzled look on his face.
    “Hello, Michael. Is Anthony here?” What a fraud you are, Vivi thought to herself. You know damn well he isn’t.
    “Actually, he just ran up to the deli to pick up the paper. What’s up?”
    Vivi thrust the container at him. “Can you give this back to him?”
    “Sure.” Michael took the container, but the puzzled expression remained on his face. “You borrow it?”
    “No. He made me fritters and I’m just returning it.”
    Michael’s eyes widened with