“How did they start working for you?”
“That’s a long story, and I do have to get to work at some point today,” Nate says. “Remind me later, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He looks at me intently for a moment. “Better yet, if you join me for our family dinner on Wednesday, you could ask them yourself.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I say quietly, looking away.
“Do they frighten you already?”
“Intimidate, mostly.” I glance up as Nate reaches over and places his finger under my chin. “I mean, how big of a table do you have to fit all those people?”
“The dining room seats fourteen,” he replies. He strokes my jaw with his fingers as he looks into my eyes.
I swallow hard, seriously considering agreeing to anything and everything he might want, but when I try to imagine more than a dozen people sitting at the same table, my stomach knots up.
“Fourteen is a lot,” I say quietly. “Our dining room table sat six, but I don’t think we ever had more than four people there at once.”
“Our table isn’t often full,” Nate says. “Please don’t feel intimidated. We’re really a pretty laid-back bunch when it comes to family dinner. It might look a little formal, but it isn’t.”
“Formal?” My stomach drops as I try to figure out if I own anything to wear to a formal dinner.
“Just in the place setting,” Nate clarifies. “No one dresses up for it, not anymore. Back in the day, I understand it was quite an affair, but now the household is run by us millennials, and we don’t give a shit about such things.”
I snicker, and Nate smiles as he strokes my chin once more before dropping his hand. He collects our empty trays and their domes, placing them back in the bags.
“The remaining syrup is a gift for you,” he says. He screws the lid of the little glass bottle on tight before placing it in the refrigerator. “No Eastsider’s home should be without some Rosa’s syrup in the fridge.”
He’s given me the perfect opportunity, and I can’t let it slide.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” I say. “What is with the whole rivalry regarding cardinal directions in this town?”
“You really do want the long, drawn-out stories, don’t you?” Nate laughs. “The very short version is that a business rivalry between my family and the Ramsay family caused a lot of turmoil back in the sixties, primarily over real estate development. My grandfather, also named Nataniele Orso, along with Kelvin Ramsay agreed to split the town in half to stop from constantly getting in each other’s way. As the lines were drawn up, a lot of people in town took it to heart. People started moving from west to east and east to west, depending on whose business practices they preferred. Since then, people stick to one side or the other.”
“That’s it?” I narrow my eyes. It’s too simple an explanation to account for all the discord I’ve witnessed in my short time here, and I’m sure he’s leaving out something important.
“I did say that was the short version.”
“So why do people bend over backward for your family?”
“Chances are, I’m their landlord.” Nate chuckles. “My family owns most of the commercial property on the east side of town.”
“So, what would you do? Raise their rent for being late with the appetizer?” I sound much testier than I intend, but this whole mindset bothers me, and I’m sure there is a lot more to the story. It seems to be exactly the kind of rich people’s attitude Aunt Ginny always warned me about.
“That would go against the lease,” he says. He tries to smile, but when he looks at me, the smile falters. “I suppose they think I might. I wouldn’t do that—it’s not a good business practice. I make money when the businesses in the buildings make money.”
I start twisting my fingers together nervously, not sure how I should respond.
“I’ve upset you,” Nate says quietly.
“It’s not that. It’s just…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. That kindness curse strikes, and I can’t come right out and tell him I think he’s lying. I have no proof of that. “I’m not used to being around someone with so much…control over other people.”
Nate hesitates before answering.
“Sometimes, a landlord has to be a bastard,” he says. “Sometimes, a tenant deserves it. That said, you have a landlord—”
“Someone in your family, apparently,” I interrupt.
“In my family, yes, but Reid owns his own rental properties. They aren’t part of Orso Unlimited Properties. Anyway, Reid is your landlord, but it’s not like he has any real control over your actions. You always have choices. If you decided, for instance, that you didn’t want to live here for the duration of your lease, you could leave whenever you wanted to. He also couldn’t have you removed from the apartment without cause. That’s why you have a contract with him. Commercial properties under the Orso family business have similar contracts though their terms are quite a bit more complicated.”
“So, I could break my lease, pick up and move to the west side, and you’d be okay with that?”
Nate’s eyes darken, and I’ve clearly hit a nerve.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“You’re perceptive,” he says quietly. “And to answer your question, no. I would not be okay with that. Not at all.”
“Why not?”
“I wish I could explain it all to you right now,” he says, “but I can’t. I need to leave soon. What time do you work Monday?”
“Noon until six,” I say, not missing his abrupt
