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But the truth was that no, Carmela couldn’t say anything.

She was afraid of what might explode out of her if she opened her mouth. Instead of speaking, she got up and walked out of the o ce.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DRIVING along the coast and heading north, Carmela didn’t have a real destination. It felt good just to speed with the convertible’s top down and her favorite Paula Abdul jam from 1988 blasting through her speakers. She’d look like the Bride of Frankenstein when she got out, but it was worth it to feel the rush of wind in her hair.

By lunch, she’d made it back to town and found herself parking in front of her and Liz’s favorite restaurant. Before stepping out, she responded to the dozen calls, texts, and emails she’d missed during her long drive.

“Ciao, Carmela, benvenuta,” her regular server greeted her as she walked in. She never had the heart to tell him that despite her Italian name, she didn’t speak the language. Her parents had never bothered to teach her.

“Hey, Carlo. I’m just going to sit at the bar and grab something quick,” she said before he could start for her and Liz’s regular table.

At the bar, she ordered lunch and a glass of wine to drown her sorrows in.

“Rough day?” the bartender asked as he dried beer glasses.

Carmela managed a half smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, I’m just really good at my job,” he responded, making Carmela chuckle in earnest. “So what’s his name and how long has it been since he called?”

Carmela shook her head. “It’s not that kind of problem.”

“I should’ve known. You’re too gorgeous

for anyone to let you slip through their fingers,” he responded with a grin.

He was nowhere near her type, but she enjoyed the compliment anyway. It was fun to be flirted with, even if it was for a better tip.

“So, lay it on me. What’s got you looking so sad?”

Normally, Carmela would never unburden herself on a stranger. But Liz was her best friend and confidant. Without her to vent to, she was out of options. “Have you ever wanted something really badly? And I mean really wanted it.

Like worked for years to get it kind of thing?”

The bartender nodded.

“Has someone probably half your age ever swooped in and stolen that thing from you? Except instead of taking it outright, you were forced to either share it with the little rat or forgo it yourself?”

He set his glass down. “That is at once extremely specific and super vague.”

Carmela chuckled before explaining what happened with the Yeardsley house. She paused only when a server set her lunch in front of her, and the bartender listened like he was watching a soap opera.

“So this kid stole that house from you? And that’s not against the rules?” he asked, reflecting her outrage.

“I know, right!” she shouted, relieved at the modicum of validation.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, setting a glass of ice water on the bar for her.

“I have no idea. I want to turn it down on principle. Let that little twerp su er the consequences of her actions. I

mean, there’s no way she’d be able to handle it on her own.

Not unless Liz helped her, and Liz hasn’t listed a house in a decade,” she explained as she thought out loud.

“But then you’d be screwing yourself over too,” the bartender guessed, finishing her thought.

“Exactly. And these deals are not easy to get. It’s not like another one will just materialize. I’ve been trying to break in on my own forever. Giving this one up out of spite might kill my chances of getting in on that market,” she admitted as much to herself as the bartender.