Okay, don't know if you've noticed or not, but a few chapters of this story kind of went missing... what happened was i read over them, realized they sounded a little stupid, and decided to re type them. its all basically the same - similar plot, practically the same ending, but a few changes and more romance. hope you like.

p.s. - ill be uploading a few chapters at a time. these three and about four or five more later.

~Fhyre

Ch. 10

Dad wouldn't miss the $500; Or at least, I didn't think he would. I just prayed that it would be enough for the bus tickets to New York. Cliché as it was, the big apple had opportunities, even if I didn't know where the hell I was going.

The bus left from Astoria at 1:00 am and arrived in Cheyenne, Wyoming around 2:00 pm the next day. From there, I took a bus to Des Moines, Iowa that arrived at 10:15 that night. The next bus I caught got me to New York, and it took somewhere around 24 hours to get there.

I was the first one off the bus the second it stopped near the airport, eager to stretch my sore limbs and find a bathroom. As soon as both were accomplished, I started towards the main portion city, trying to avoid spending as much money as possible. Taxis were part of that. From there on out, walking was it for transportation.

First on my list was to find a motel, bed & breakfast, boarding house, or whatever roach house I had to stay in. And, not surprisingly, I found one right off the bat. I walked in, holding down the bile in my stomach at merely the stench of the receptionist's office. A woman who had seen better hair-days sat behind the desk half asleep and chewing a piece of gum loudly.

"You lookin' for something hun?" she asked, turning her attention to me.

I walked a little closer to the desk. "Uh, yeah, I can get a room; single king?"

She looked drowsily up at me. "How long?"

"One week."

The bill was higher than I thought it would be, but I paid the amount and took my room key. When I walked into the room, I was glad to find out that the smell was a lot easier to stomach. Dropping my duffel on the small available table, I flopped down on the bed, and immediately fell asleep, shoes and jacket still on.

The next morning I woke up around 10, stiff and crooked. I grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom to take a shower. When I got out, my hair was still wet, but I didn't care. I quickly put my boots back on, then grabbed my jacket, wallet, and room key and left the room.

I had to find work, whether I liked it or not (hunting was out of the question – Dad could track me down more easily). New York was full of people looking to hire others, just like in the movies, right?

Wrong. Or, maybe I was just blind.

For hours, I walked along the streets, searching for help wanted signs in the windows of odd shops and stores. I even went into a few of the shops and asked managers if they had job openings. My question was turned down by every one of them. By 7:00 that evening, I had found nothing.

I bought a map of the city from a souvenir vendor and went back to the motel. Grabbing a pen and a few pins from my duffel, I stuck the map to the wall and started crossing off streets that I had already checked. I made marks next to the ones I would try the next day, then went off to bed to get some sleep.

I got up earlier, more around 8:00, and did the same routine as the morning before: shower, shoes, and shit-I-need. As I walked out the door, my stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in a few days. That can wait, I thought, and headed towards the main streets once again.

It was noon before I came up lucky. I traveled inside a crowd of pedestrians, trying to look normal. If the crowd had kept going, I would have missed the place, but just my odd luck lately, the crowd turned into the entrance of a restaurant, it's sign reading A Little Piece of Venice. Like a sign from heaven, a help wanted sign was plastered in the front window, just catching my eye as I was forced in there.

Immediately, the tantalizing aroma of roasted garlic and fresh cut herbs hit my senses and I felt my stomach grumble again. The lunch rush had already hit the establishment fast, every varnished, oak table packed to the brim with customers that didn't even look like they knew each other, but chatted with friendly tones anyways. The buzz of conversation clouded my head fairly well, but nothing could have kept out the next thing I heard, which happened to be an argument I didn't understand. If I got this job, the next thing I would learn was how to speak Italian.

"Si hai fatto con la pasta?" an older voice asked, first drawing my attention.

A younger and definitely more boyish one answered. "No, non e finito."

"Sei troppo lento. Tua sorella puo farlo piu velocemente."

"Teresa puo essere piu, ma il suo e un gusto orribile."

The voices begtan to get louder, angrier, and taunting.

"Appena in fretta e finire ragazzo!"

"E` difficile lavorare con voi a gridare contro di me!"

"Beh, e difficile esguire questo luogo con un figlio arrogante come te."

The younger voice sighed. "Dio mio... veramente?"

"Veramente," the older one chuckled.

I was about to go over the counter to ring the bell when the owner of the younger voice became visible through one of the windows in the kitchen.

I could have sworn my jaw hit the floor.

He was tall, about 6' 5", all lean muscle and golden tanned skin. My gaze traveled up his body, from his legs to his chest and broad shoulders, and stopped at his face. Dark strands of chocolate brown hair, dangled in front of his forehead. And then, I caught sight of his eyes: deep, stormy greys.

God, those eyes...

I heard someone clear their throat, and break my trance. My gaze came back down to see an Italian man in his 50's – 60's? – slightly taller than me, and a full head of silvery hair.

"Oh, I was just – uh – watching the pasta.. being made.." I stuttered out, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly.

He smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. I saw your sign outside – for a job?"

"Lookin' for work, huh?" he chuckled. "How old are you?"

"21," I answered, knowing that I looked old enough to pass for it.

"You've got the job."

I raised an eyebrow, but decided not to question his decision. He held out a hand and I shook it. "Giovanni Colucci."

"Dean Warren," I managed to think of a name in time for Giovanni to ask. "So, uh, what am I doing?"

"You're our new dishwasher."

He gestured towards the kitchen, so I followed him back. I can do this, I thought, as we entered the kitchen and I nearly tripped head over heels into someone.

The woman, about the same age as Giovanni with curly black hair that swung down to her lower back, looked me up and down, balancing plates on her hands. "So, you finally found someone?" she asked, switching her gaze to the Italian man.

"Yes – I did," he stated, clearly proud and smug about it. "Dean, this is my wife and co-owner, Eliana."

She turned back to me. "Well, it's nice to have some new blood around here. I was worried my husband's buddies were beginning to take over."

"They're family and jobless, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Tell them to find a new house. Half of them live with us."

Giovanni gave her a "look".

She sighed. "Well, anyways, welcome to our restaurant, Dean."

I smiled and said my thanks, then followed Giovanni into the kitchen. Just during the time it took to get to the sink, I nearly had my head cut off five different times due to the activities of the waitresses with their plates and the casually dressed chefs with their... butcher knives. If I wasn't completely paying attention to my surroundings, I'm pretty sure I would have been bleeding to death on the floor by the time we made it to the sink.

"Well, here's your work station," Giovanni waved his hand in front of the preformed mountains of dishes.

"Oh...wow."

"Better get started. Here's an apron," the Italian chuckled at my expression. "Just to let you know, we close at 10. Most of the customers are gone by then though."

I took the piece of cloth from him, just as another person came by. I involuntarily flinched, prepared to duck more knives or pans. But instead of a kitchen tool, I was greeted by the other voice I had heard earlier.

"Hi. You must be Dean. Word travels fast."

My heart leaped into my throat and my lungs failed to breath as I came face to face with the God I had seen behind the counter earlier

"This is my son, Teo. If you've got any questions, he's the person to ask," Giovanni said. "Are you done with that pasta yet?"

"I've got Armando finishing up the last batch."

"About time. Our lunch crowd hasn't died down yet and we've still got people coming."

Teo turned to me. "Well, anyways. If you need any help finding where things go, just ask."

He left as quickly as he had come, which was disappointing. I turned back to where Giovanni had been standing, but saw that he too was gone.

"Great..."

I thought the lunch rush was busy, but of course, my judgment was inaccurate and the dinner rush was enormous. The fact that the Colucci's didn't have a dishwasher and that every utensil and plate had to be washed by hand made it that much worse. And that wasn't the half of it. Not only did I have to clean the plates, bowls, etc. that the customers used, but I also had to scrub each pot and pan that the cooks used.

At almost closing time, Giovanni remembered to come back by me and mention that I also had to wipe down the tables and sweep the floors before I left. I groaned in frustration as he left to go finish up a few things, but kept scrubbing the pan I was currently working on.

Little of the staff remained by the time I got to wiping down the tables. It was mostly a few of the cooks preparing things for the next day. I didn't acknowledge them at all, but I still got odd looks and glares. I even got a few comments, not directed at me, but about me.

I grimaced but continued to clean the tables. They were soon finished, so I moved on to the sweeping, managing to find a broom without too much trouble. Back, forth, back, forth, the movements of the broom put me in a trance, so I didn't hear anyone walk into the room.

"You're still here?"

I turned around to see Teo standing at the junction between the dining room and the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah," I chuckled. "It's taking me longer than I thought."

Teo walked further into the room and grabbed the other broom from the nearby supply closet. "Let me help you."

I was about to protest, but decided to go against my usual mantra of "I'm fine" and instead thank him. Plus, I didn't mind having a little company to keep me from going completely awol.

It took us a while between small conversations, but we eventually finished cleaning up the mess the customers had made.

"Thanks again for the help," I told him as we put the cleaning supplies away.

"It's no problem," he replied with that killer smile. "Oh, and don't let the others get to you."

I nodded, untying my apron and grabbing my jacket. I hung the apron up and headed back out to the dining room towards the entrance. As soon as my hand hit the door handle, I remembered something and turned back to Teo who was grabbing his own coat.

"What time should I be here tomorrow?" I asked.

He thought for a moment. "Don't be any later than 10:30. My dad gets pissy with people who show up late."

I chuckled. "Thanks for the advice."

I turned and left out the door, listening to the jingle of the bell on my out. My mind and body were exhausted, but I was happy.