Skyline City, 1929.
Salvatore Napolitano doesn't drink or gamble; he gives his pay packet each week to his brother's wife, to pay for his room and board, and whatever's left over is put aside toward someday bringing his mother and sister over from Italy. The only thing he keeps for himself is ten cents each week, which he takes down to Fontana's candy store for his secret pleasure.
Ten cents is enough to buy him a packet of twenty lemon drops, his favorite candy, which he will make last the whole week. But even more than the candy, though he would never dare admit it to anyone else, he looks forward to seeing the girl who works at the counter.
Her name is Rita--he knows this because once when he was waiting at the counter, he overheard a young man (her brother) address her by name. Sal had already been coming to the shop every Friday evening for two months by then, and was already in love, but it had made it feel that much more real to have a name to put to that beautiful face.
She certainly is beautiful, with her shining blue eyes and the graceful curve of her neck. Her bobbed hair, dark and wavy, looks so soft that he wants to touch it. He loves the way she purses her lips in concentration as she counts out the candies and folds the top of the little paper bag just so, followed immediately by a bright smile as she hands it over. She has a way of making a customer feel like he's the only man in the world, at least for that moment.
Of course, she is a shining star of the neighborhood, a properly American girl from a political family, where Sal himself is an ordinary steelworker, and an immigrant besides. His halting and heavily-accented English embarrass him around her, but though he has made some progress with the language by reading the newspaper and listening to the radio, it isn't easy for him.
Still, he wouldn't trade these few minutes a week for anything in the world. He waits at the counter, dime in hand, watching as she counts out chocolates for an older woman in a fur coat. He doesn't mind having to wait; it just means more time in her presence, even if he isn't the focus of her attention.
Soon enough she is done, and it's his turn. She gives him one of those smiles that make him melt a little more inside. "Ah, Friday already? I know what you're here for. The usual?"
"Yes," he says, "thank you."
She has beautiful hands, too. He can never decide where to look, while she's counting the candies--he doesn't want to stare at her face too intently, in case he makes her uncomfortable. He likes looking at her hands, but he doesn't want her to think he doesn't trust her ability to count. Usually he'll alternate, making sure to look up as she counts the last one, so as not to miss a moment of that smile.
A man comes into the shop; Sal barely spares him a glance as the bell over the door rings, but Rita gives him a polite nod. "I'll be with you in just a moment, Mr. Orsini."
The man moves to look at the chocolates in the case by the till, while Rita continues to count the lemon drops. And then--ah yes, that smile. "That'll be ten cents, please."
He hands over the dime, as she punches up the order on the till--but that isn't the sound of the cash drawer opening, it's too sharp, too--
Everything seems to happen at once. The glass window of the shop shatters, as does the front of the display case near the till; the other man tries to dive for cover, but all that Sal can think of is not wanting Rita hurt. The next thing he knows, he has leapt over the counter and is pinning her to the floor, shielding her from falling fragments of glass and wood and candy with his body.
Then everything is silent, except for her muffled breathing and the pounding of his heart.
It takes him a moment to realize that he is on top of her. He slides over, awkwardly, looking up and around at the bulletholes and the ruins of the displays, realizing just how close they had both come to death--and seeing that the other customer had not been so lucky--before he looks back down at her.
"You hurt?" he asks softly.
"I'm fine," she says, patting herself down as though to make sure that she is, in fact, unhurt. "How about you?"
"I'm fine," he echoes.
"I'm glad," she says softly, giving him a smile unlike any he has ever seen her give before. "Because now you have to marry me."
He doesn't know at the time about the fortune-teller or about Rita's stubbornness; in fact, he isn't entirely sure that, given his poor grasp of English, it isn't all some strange misunderstanding. But he'll learn.