Suitor by Design. Christine Johnson
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reached the porch. He’d better come up with another plan and quick.
Minnie climbed the steps ahead of him and stopped at the front door. “Are you coming? I thought you wanted to talk to your friend.”
He dragged himself up the steps like an old man.
Minnie rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “I’m waiting.”
When he finally got to the door, she stood aside. No door had ever looked so imposing. Peter licked his lips.
“Well, aren’t you going to knock?” Minnie said.
He glanced at her. That was a mistake. His stomach lurched, and the last glimmer of thought exited his brain.
“Guess I’ll have to do it,” she huffed, reaching around him to rap the brass knocker three times.
The sound of the knocker against the wooden door gave Peter an idea. He could ask Vince if he wanted the lower compartment to hinge or lock. Better yet, he could then ask Minnie about doing the upholstery.
The door opened, and Terchie greeted them, her plump cheeks rosy and her portly figure topped with a flour-dusted apron.
“I’m looking for Vince,” Peter said. At the woman’s blank stare, he added, “Mr. Galbini.”
“Oh, the Italian fellow. Most folks are eating breakfast,” the cheerful proprietress responded. “Come on in. I’ll see if he’s in the dining room.”
Only after Peter stepped into the warmth of the parlor did he realize how cold he’d gotten. While he waited, he held his hands over the steam radiator and noticed Minnie looking longingly at it.
He stepped to the side. “There’s room for two.”
She hurried over and tugged off her thin going-to-church gloves. No wonder her hands were cold. Those dainty things couldn’t warm a mouse. Moreover, she’d worn shoes instead of boots. Her feet must be frozen.
When she thrust her hands over the radiator, her arm brushed his. Even through his thick coat, he shivered at her touch.
“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes fixed firmly on her hands.
Had she felt it, too? Peter took a breath. Now was the perfect time to ask her to the church supper. “I was wondering—” he began.
“Peter!” Vince interrupted. “What you doin’ here, old sport?” He clapped Peter’s back so hard that he coughed. “See you brought a gal with ya. Howdy, miss.”
Minnie blushed and ducked her head.
Peter felt sick. His suspicions were correct. She was sweet on Vince.
“You gonna make introductions, sport?” Vince gripped his shoulder so hard that Peter winced.
Peter supposed he didn’t have a choice. “Miss Fox, this is an old, old friend of mine, Mr. Vincent Galbini. Mr. Galbini, this is Miss Fox.”
“Buongiorno.” Vince threw his arms wide and kissed Minnie on each cheek. “You have a first name, darlin’?”
“Minnie.” Her blush deepened to red, and she patted her hair. Little beads of melted snow gleamed like diamonds in the electrical lighting.
“You can call me Vince.”
Peter flexed his hands. He wanted to pound sense into Vincent Galbini. Minnie wasn’t some floozy who frequented speakeasies and smoked cigarettes. She was a good Christian gal worth more than a hundred of that type of woman.
“You Peter’s gal?” Vince asked.
“No!” The rapidity of her reply plunged an icy knife into Peter’s gut, but then she darted a shy glance at him and twisted a lock of wavy hair around her index finger, and his pain eased. “We’re friends. Good friends.”
Good friends might have satisfied Peter a year ago, but now he wanted more. He wanted her to respect him, to want to be with him, maybe even to love him. He sure didn’t want her to get tangled up with Vince. Visions of her leaving town in the Pierce-Arrow sucked the air from his lungs. He had to do something to keep her here, close enough to him that she’d forget all about Galbini.
“Minnie’s a seamstress,” he blurted out.
Galbini’s brow lifted. “That so?” He clearly didn’t understand what Peter was getting at.
“She can do the upholstery.” There, he’d said it.
Vince grinned. “Good. I’m glad to have your gal on board.”
His gal. Peter liked the sound of that. He dared to glance at Minnie.
Her brow was drawn in pure fury. Peter stared, speechless. She was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to like him even more. He was giving her work. Why would that make her angry?
“I can do what?” she demanded, even though she’d heard every word.
“S-s-sew upholstery,” Peter stammered, the confidence ebbing out quicker than oil into a drip pan. “For pay.”
“You? Pay me? With what?” Her lips thinned as she crossed her arms.
Now he’d gone and done it. In that state, she’d never agree to go to the church supper with him. “Uh...” he croaked.
Vince roared with laughter. “Don’t worry, darlin’. The boss is paying.”
“The boss?” Minnie looked from Vince to Peter. “Whose boss?”
Vince answered, “Mine, darlin’.”
Something like excitement lit her eyes. “Do you work for a motion-picture company?”
“Naw, but I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Capone to give that a shot, too.”
Capone. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite place it. What he did know was that the bad feeling that’d been hounding him since Vince’s arrival got a whole lot worse.
Peter Simmons had some nerve. Minnie would give him a piece of her mind the moment they were out of Vincent Galbini’s earshot. How dare he volunteer her to sew upholstery for some furniture he was making for Vince?
What was he thinking?
She had no idea how to upholster anything, least of all something for the man she was trying to impress. Her family ran a dress shop. They worked with voile and crepe de chine and georgette, not the thick fabrics used by upholsterers. She wasn’t even sure their sewing machine could handle the heavier fabric, but she couldn’t say that in front of Vince. She had to bite her tongue until she and Peter left the boardinghouse.
He closed the door behind her and followed her down the steps. The moment they reached the walkway, she punched him in the arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed his biceps. “What’s that for?”
“For saying I would do something I don’t know how to do.”
He stared at her blankly.
She glared back. “Sewing.”
“You don’t know how to sew?”
“I don’t know how to upholster furniture.”
“Furniture? Who said anything about furniture?”
“You did.” Minnie hugged her arms around her midsection to ward against the bitter cold. “Don’t tell me you forgot already that you volunteered me to do some upholstery for your friend.”
“No, uh—” his neck flushed red “—maybe I should have asked you first.”
“Maybe?” She flung her hands into