Jack decided to give the locksmith lady a call. He wondered if that was the right name for what she did. A woman who cleaned houses was a cleaning lady, but maybe a woman who smithed locks was just a locksmith.
He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all weekend. Once he even hauled himself out of bed in the middle of the night and staggered to the front door, barely conscious, to make sure the new lock was still there.
Man, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, hunkered down out there in the hall, her shirt riding up a little so he could see the tight muscles in the small of her back. And she was Italian. He knew what that meant: the signorina could cook. Saturday night, he was just about to drift off when he bolted upright, positive she’d slipped into bed beside him.
signorinaHe held out till
