December 1981

Angela was officially lost. She wove her way up and down streets that she recognized as being part of New York, but whether she was in Queens or Brooklyn, she couldn't say. One thing was certain: The neighborhoods weren't improving the longer she drove, and neither was the weather. The cold rain began to change from a light drizzle into a frozen sleet. She knew she should have taken a taxi, but she'd really wanted an excuse to drive her new Jaguar. And one wrong turn on her way back from meeting with a client had left her crisscrossing what she thought and hoped was Brooklyn, looking for some recognizable landmark or interstate sign.

The little shop on the corner of what she'd finally discovered was Pitkin Avenue look as good a place as any to ask for directions. The sign on the window identified it as Rossini's Fish Market. Angela walked in and saw a long counter full of every kind of fish she'd ever heard of. Behind it stood a young man in a white apron that was covered in what Angela feared was fish blood.

Before she had taken two steps in, the man called out, "Hi there, can I help you?"

"Um, I hope so. I seemed to have gotten a little turned around and can't find my way back to the interstate." As she got closer, she saw that he was a strikingly handsome man, obviously of Italian descent, and positively radiating warmth and charm. It was a potent combination.

She also couldn't help but notice the way he was looking at her. His eyes were intense as they took in her rumpled business suit and damp hair. She knew she looked terrible, but that's not what she saw on his face.

"Where ya headed?" he asked.

"Connecticut. Fairfield," she specified, fidgeting with her purse and struggling to meet his penetrating gaze.

"Oh yeah, nice area. You live there?"

By now, she was standing at the counter, barely two feet away from him. "Yes, yes, I do. And I've never gotten lost before, but I had a meeting in an unfamiliar area, and somehow ended up here."

Her voice was soft and breathy to her own years. She didn't know what it was about him, but she felt as though she'd known this man her whole life. And she didn't even know his name. His next few words took care of that deficiency. "Yeah, that can happen. I'm Tony, by the way, Tony Micelli."

"Micelli? I would have guessed Rossini," she said, indicating the little market's nameplate above the counter.

"Nah, I just work here. Mr. and Mrs. R, they've owed this place for about thirty years now. So, ah, you gonna make me guess your name?"

She smiled, and inexplicably felt heat rise into her cheeks. "Angela Bower."

"Angela, huh? Nice to meet you." He stuck out his hand, and she moved hers slowly toward it, feeling the energy in the room become more concentrated with every centimeter. When their hands met, their eyes flew to each others' as what felt like an electric current coursed through them. Yet neither let go. It was as though the whole world had stopped and both of them realized their lives had been leading to this moment.

Angela lost herself in the warm depths of his eyes and knew that even with a lifetime to explore, she would never find her way out. His hand was warm and calloused in hers, yet she somehow knew he possessed a tenderness that would take her breath away, given the chance.

The sound of the back door creaking opened snapped them both back to reality. She let go of his hand just as a middle-aged woman entered, carrying a large box of fresh fish. When the woman placed the box on the counter, she nodded a greeting toward Angela, who still stood there dumbstruck by the unfamiliar emotions she felt at this man's touch. Then the woman turned her attention back to Tony. "Before you leave, can you get these cod into the cooler?"

Tony held Angela's gaze a moment longer, then turned to the older woman. "Sure, Mrs. R. Is Samantha all packed?"

"Packed and ready. Go ahead and finish up with your customer, and I'll meet you out back." Mrs. Rossini left the way she'd come in, and Angela was once again alone with this stranger who somehow wasn't.

He seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts, mumbled, "Right, directions," then grabbed a piece of white paper from the spool used to wrap fish, and began writing. He didn't meet her eyes, but talked her through each turn as he wrote.

Without thinking, and seemingly from nowhere, Angela blurted out, "Who's Samantha?"

Tony finished writing, then finally looked up at her. "My daughter. She's nine, and I've decided it's time to get her out of this neighborhood."

"Does her mother agree?" Angela knew it sounded like she was fishing for information, be she couldn't stop herself from asking.

Tony's eyes glazed over, and Angela was struck by the wave of grief that washed over his face. "My wife died, 'bout fifteen months ago. So, Sam and I are packing up, heading to my friend Bobby's place in L.A. Just need a fresh start, you know? We're making an adventure of it."

Angela nodded, numb, and not even sure why. Where was this sense of loss coming from? He was a complete stranger, and yet she felt the promise of something so profound that she couldn't even comprehend it. But then the feeling was gone, and all she felt was emptiness.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and tried her best to recover her wits. "Yes, I'm sure it's been terribly difficult for you both." The silence stretched between them, and then Angela realized she had no reason to still be there. The directions to the freeway were right in front of her, so she picked them up, and finally managed to say, "Well, thank you for your help."

"Sure, any time."

"And best of luck in L.A. It's a beautiful city."

Tony nodded, and Angela met his gaze, then turned and began walking toward the door. When she reached it, she felt his eyes on her, and turned toward him one more time. She was once again unprepared for the force of the emotion she felt when she looked at him. It was something she would reflect on for years to come.

"It was nice meeting you, Angela. Look me up if you ever go back to L.A.," he said with more sincerity than their five-minute encounter deserved.

"It was nice meeting you too, Tony." And then, impulsively, "I will."

Feeling the heat creep up her neck, she quickly turned and walked through the door to her waiting car.