Goodnight, My Love

By Connie Keenan

While still in high school, Gina Bertoletti finds her free time taken up with working in her family’s bakery. Life suddenly takes an exciting turn the first time she lays eyes on handsome and charming Tony La Rosa. Gina is convinced that Tony, a local young man with dreams of leaving that seaside town for Hollywood, is destined to become her own personal leading man.

Enter Kelly Whelan, a rugged fisherman with responsibilities beyond his years, who is almost the polar opposite of Tony. Both men will have an impact on Gina, whose heart will learn the difference between that thrilling first love and the much more rare and lasting true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Keenan
• Release date: Nov 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311107763

Connie Keenan

Connie Keenan, who has also written under the pseudonym Consuelo Vazquez, is the author of more than twenty-five novels and novellas and over one hundred short stories. With many more works to come, she's mostly written Christian fiction and sweet contemporary romance. She loves hiking, discovering fun little shops, trying out new recipes, and spending time with her family. Connie and her husband Bill live in North Carolina with a spoiled German Shepherd and two sassy Chihuahuas.

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GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE

Connie Keenan

Goodnight My Love

By Connie Keenan

Copyright 2015 by Connie Keenan

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

RECENT BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

Once Upon a Painted Horse

Crystal Waves

If I May But Touch (short story)

Distant Fire

Unconditional

One Sweet Day

Greetings from My Sandy Dreams

Forever in My Heart

More Than Sparrows

The Christmas Waltz

Glimmers of Heaven

Stealing Thunder (writing as Consuelo Vazquez)

About the Author

Connie Keenan, who has also written under the pseudonym Consuelo Vazquez, is the author of more than twenty-five novels and novellas and over one hundred short stories. With many more works to come, she's mostly written Christian fiction and sweet contemporary romance. She loves hiking, discovering fun little shops, trying out new recipes, and spending time with her family. Connie and her husband Bill live in North Carolina with a spoiled German Shepherd and a mellow Chorkie.

For news on her upcoming novels and special promotions, visit her blog at http://conniekeenanwriter.blogspot.com.

CHAPTER ONE

For the rest of her life, Gina Bertoletti would remember that day.

It didn’t start out as anything special. For one thing, that Saturday found her at her family’s bakery so early that the sun hadn’t totally come out yet and before the birds began their songs. She’d given herself a few minutes to lament the fact that she couldn't go over to her best friend, Charlotte’s, house, for one of their beauty sessions, followed by an afternoon at the local movie theater.

Instead, she got dressed, pinned her long, dark brown hair up and away from her face, and hopped into her big brother’s car for the short drive from their home to the bakery. Without a doubt, there were more fun things for a seventeen-year-old girl to do, yet she wouldn’t be doing any of them on a day when there was work to do at the bakery.

That held true especially when the most important order to be filled for the day was a wedding cake.

Really, it’s the most beautiful cake we’ve ever made. Gina thought no one had heard her, that her musing, spoken out loud, hadn’t risen above a whisper. I want one like that someday.

Ahhh, if you don’t stop daydreaming, little sis, you’re never going to get married! Her brother, Donato, was teasing her, but he was scolding her, too. No guy wants a wife with her head up in the clouds all the time.

"I don’t have my head up in the clouds, she protested crossly. For your information."

"Hey. Don't get smart. Her brother was still being good-natured, but the undertone was that he meant what he said. Tell Mrs. Marchesano I’ll be out in a minute with her cake. Ring her up in the meantime."

Yeah. Okay.

Gina started for the door leading into the bakery from the kitchen, tossing one last glance at the cake over her shoulder. Three tiers of white cake, adorned with real, light pink roses and tiny, edible gold sequins. The topper was a plastic bride in a flowing, white grown, holding a pink bouquet, her other arm tucked through the crook of the groom’s arm. It almost felt like her heart stopped for a moment.

It figures that would be Rosalie Marchesano’s wedding cake, she thought, instantly replacing her resentment with as gracious a smile as she could conjure up.

Considering Rosalie’s father was a longtime friend of Gina’s dad, she had no choice but to be nice. Neither did it help that the Bertoletti family would be attending the nuptials and reception that evening.

Gina said nothing, only did what she was told. Her parents had laid the law down on that: Whatever Donnie says, goes. Her brother, who had just turned twenty-four, would eventually own the bakery when their parents retired.

That was fine with Gina. Let her brother have it. She couldn’t see herself owning the bakery, anyway, working there until all her hair turned silver. If she had her way, she wouldn’t even be living there, in that small, seaside town, much longer after graduation. She would come back to visit, of course, because she would miss her family too much. But Gina Bertoletti had big plans for her tomorrows.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love the bakery, because she did. It was the family business, for one thing. As she breezed in from the kitchen, she took in the sight of the fresh loaves of bread on the shelves, her favorite of which was the seeded semolina. The cookies, displayed beneath the glass case, the most popular of which were the pizzelles, the ricotta cookies with the multi-colored sprinkles, the frosted lemon drop cookies and the biscottis.

There were the French Napoleons on the other side of the case, displayed between the cream puffs and Gina’s favorite pastries, the ones she couldn’t imagine anything ever topping, the cannolis. She preferred the ones with the chocolate chips to those with crushed pistachios.

Behind the counter was the framed, colorful flags of both Italy and Sicily, in a prominent, proud spot for all who entered the business to see. Framed, too, was an old photo of her father and grandfather, taken in their native Palermo, before Nonno brought the family to America. Displayed equally proudly was the first dollar the Bertoletti Bakery had ever made. All of those things, Gina barely looked at anymore, mostly taking them for granted, having been there so long.

Music also had its place in the bakery. Her father, when he was there, insisted on good music, which not surprisingly didn’t agree with his kids’ idea of good music. Pop liked Sinatra and Dean Martin equally, though the radio station he’d have tuned in for the customers included Andy Williams, Perry Como, and others of her parents’ generation.

That morning, she and Donnie were in charge of the radio—the reason it was currently on a station playing the Temptations’ The Way You Do the Things You Do. It was hard for Gina to hear that song and not break into dance, but with an important customer in the shop—Mrs. Marchesano, the mother of the bride—she caught herself in time.

Donnie says he’s coming right out with the cake, ma’am, she announced dutifully.

Mrs. Marchesano, who had been chattering away with her friend and neighbor, Mrs. Delaney, stopped long enough to smile at Gina.

Thank you, honey. So excited to see it!she exclaimed. In fact, I was just telling my sister-in-law because, you know, she asked me where we were getting the cake. And, oh, I say… Mrs. Marchesano gave a little gasp of breath before going on, Bertoletti’s, of course. I mean, where else would I go? Your family’s bakery is the best around.

Ohhh. Thank you. Gina smiled back.

She did like Mrs. Marchesano. Nice lady, always well groomed and well dressed, even if she was just going out on errands around town. Her husband, Mr. Marchesano, was pleasant, too, though not as chatty.

It was the woman’s daughter, Rosalie, the one closest to Gina’s age, whom she didn't like.

That was no new enmity between the girls, either. Gina’s feelings went back all the way to grade school, after that little incident in the schoolyard. She had disliked—as well as resented—Rosalie Marchesano ever since that day.

Someone to her left cleared his throat. Looking up, Gina saw Kelly Whelan.

I’d just like some Italian bread, Gina, he mumbled. If you’re not too busy.

Was that a trace, slight as it was, of irritation in his voice? She bit back the urge to huff at him and to inform him that he might have been her neighbor, plus four years older than her, but he had to wait his turn, too, just like everybody else.

Sure. How many loaves? She adopted a businesslike attitude with him.

That had been one of her father’s earliest bits of advice to both her and Donnie when both brother and sister had first started working at the bakery: A customer ever gets huffy with you, don’t you be rude with them. You be businesslike and call me if they give you a hard time. Don’t try to handle it; that’ll be up to me when I get there.

Luckily, that hadn’t happened very often. Still, it was comforting to know that Dad would come running to take care of the matter himself.

I’ll take four, please, he replied. That should be enough. I’m taking them on a trip with me.

Her demeanor changed. Oh. Okay. Four loaves, comin’ right up.

Kelly Whelan had become one of the local fishermen. Some of them tended to do that; they would drop by the shop, pick up a box of cookies, one of the large boxes, or some loaves of bread to share with the rest of the men onboard during their long days and nights away at sea.

In the mirror on the wall behind the counter, Gina caught both her reflection and Kelly’s as she selected the loaves from the bin. He was staring at her but immediately looked away, turning his attention to the pastries in the glass case instead.

Sometimes, if he wasn’t working, he would come in for cookies, or just a cup of coffee in the mornings. Kelly probably never knew it, because guys were clueless like that, but she’d had a crush on him. When she was younger—twelve, thirteen or so. He hadn’t known about that or he hadn’t cared. Being older than her, Kelly had had a girlfriend back then, a girl from school he’d dated.

Now it didn’t matter whether he was attached or not. Through the grapevine, which was always ripe because that was a small town, Gina had heard he’d broken up with Kimberly. Gina couldn’t imagine what she’d seen in Kelly Whalen back then, with his longish hair and acne. He was tall and skinny back then, too. She chalked it up to being a silly, little almost-teenager.

After Tony came along, all other guys seemed to have ceased to exist for her.

You going out today or tomorrow? she asked him as she rang up his order.

Tomorrow.

Oh. Well, they should still be good tomorrow.

Trust me. Those guys won’t turn it down.

Grinning, she handed him his change. He smiled back, barely. Was he shy or just in a mood that day? Did she care? He was only her neighbor. He’d lived next door to her, he and his mother and siblings. Still, he was older and ran in different circles.

You going to the wedding? she asked. Quietly, so as not to be heard by Mrs. Marchesano, who was now talking with Donnie, who was showing off her daughter’s wedding cake.

I wasn’t invited. Kelly looked up after tucking the change into his jeans’ pocket. You were, I guess.

Well, yeah. Why did she bother making conversation with him? He didn’t look like he was into chit-chat with her.

His acne had sure cleared up. That, she did notice. Kelly was also taller than she remembered, and not as rail-thin anymore. Not that he was fat—not at all. He was muscular now, most likely because those fishermen did a lot of physical work on those boats.

He had some tan, too. A deep one. The tan of a young man who spent a lot of time out on the ocean.

Kelly Whelan was handsome. Scruffy, but handsome. He could have used a trip to the barber shop for a trim, plus he had some stubble on his cheeks and chin. He didn’t seem all that interested in his appearance, usually showing up around town in a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, jeans, and work boots.

So different from Tony, who always, even in casual clothes, had the look of a movie star.

How’s your mom and dad?

Gina glanced up. Weren’t they done with their transaction? Now he was making small talk?

They’re good. They’ll be along later. Out of politeness, she asked, And how’s your family?

Everybody’s good. My cousin, Danny, he’s going into the service and his sister, Annie’s, getting married.

Oh, that’s nice.

Yeah. She always liked you, Annie. The first genuine smile since Kelly had walked in crossed his face. Nodding, he took his purchase and said, Well, anyway, you have a good time tonight, Gina.

I will. Thanks.

And I know Donnie’s busy right now, but be sure to tell him to give me a call. We’ll go do something sometime. Have a beer, shoot pool, maybe.

Sure. ’Bye, Kelly.

Well, Donnie, thank you. It’s beautiful. I know Rosalie’s going to love it. And you know how fussy she is.

Distracted by Mrs. Marchesano, Gina didn’t see Kelly give her one last glance over his shoulder before heading out through the bakery’s door.

"Fussy. Spoiled" is more like it! She didn’t dare say what she really thought out loud.

Because, in a family with four children, Rosalie was Mr. and Mrs. Marchesano’s only daughter. She was their spoiled, little princess.

Secretly, a big part of Gina Bertoletti was dreading that evening. Rosalie Marchesano, beautiful but vain, had always been an overbearing showoff. That being her wedding night, she would undoubtedly be more overbearing than ever.

Then again, there was another part of her that couldn’t wait. If for no other reason because Tony La Rosa would be there.

Seeing Tony later on that night was the only thing that would make that evening shine for her.

Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. M. You let us take care of it, Donnie promised, returning the woman’s wave on her way out the door. We’ll make sure the cake gets there on time. We wouldn’t want to get in hot water with the beautiful bride.

Donnie laughed with Mrs. Marchesano until both she and her friend disappeared through the door. Once alone in the bakery with his sister, he confided snidely to Gina, Don’t worry, little girl. If I know Jimmy, he’ll put that brat straight when they get back from their honeymoon.

Gina laughed. "Hmmm. We’ll see about that. She’s spoiled rotten."

Nah, nah. No two ways about it. Jimmy knows Rosalie’s impossible. And conceited. Wagging an index finger at her, Donnie admonished her with, She ain’t better than you and me. Well—maybe better than me, but not better than you.

"She’s not better than you. But she would disagree with you about me."

"Hey—and she’d be wrong, he corrected her, speaking forcefully. Nobody’s better than you. You’re not better than anybody, but nobody's better than you, either. Always remember that."

"Yes, Mr. Bertoletti. Teacher!"

He responded to her teasing by sticking out his tongue at her and making her laugh. As far as big brothers went, Donnie was bossy but fun.

What did Kelly say? I heard him say my name but I didn’t want to interrupt Mrs. Marchesano.

He said to call him sometime.

Yeah. I have to do that. If I ever get the time. We work too hard, me and Kelly. Never get time anymore.

You’re not friends with Tony La Rosa, are you? He’s going to be there tonight.

Tony La Rosa? Donnie made a face. "Why’s he gonna be there? He knows the Marchesanos?"

He’s singing. He’s part of the entertainment.

"He’s singing? Oh, yeah. That’s right. He’s gonna be a star!"

Hearing the derision in her brother’s voice, Gina changed the subject. I’ll go check on that other cake.

Why do you like him? Pretty boy. You got a crush on him, huh?

"No. I don’t have a crush on him. Geez, I just asked about him."

Yet she could