Free A Little Slice of Heaven by Gina Ardito Page B

every tightened mouth, every wrinkled forehead, every knitted pair of eyebrows, and every sigh.
    “ You go there.” Gianna pointed to the end of the line, somewhere in Albuquerque. “I have some personal business to attend to. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
    While Gianna walked toward the row of desks to the right, he headed to the end of the line on the left. His attention, however, remained fixed on her. He watched as a woman in an ill-fitting purple pinstriped suit and lavender blouse came forward, one hand outstretched in greeting. After shaking the offered hand, Gianna followed the woman to one of the desks and sat. The usual pleasantries followed—a smile, a few nods, and a nervous giggle he knew came from Gianna when the sound rippled from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine.
    He shook his head. Useless to force a lighthearted air to disguise her anxiety. Anyone who knew her moods would see right through her deliberate attempt. Did Ms. Purple Pinstripe sense Gianna’s nervousness? Dumb question. Did a shark sense wounded prey in bloodied waters?
    A moment later, Gianna placed her hands on the edge of the desk to pull her chair closer. Tension snapped and crackled in the air. Meanwhile, the woman on the other side lost all pretense of friendliness. Her expression froze into a business demeanor he recognized from images in his mirror at home. The downcast mouth and narrowed eyes communicated the firm, unequivocal, no-holds-barred message, “No.”
    But “no” to what? He hadn’t a clue.
    A poke in his right shoulder prompted him to look forward. While he’d pondered the interaction between Gianna and the purple lady, the line had moved. To prevent another finger stab from the beefy woman behind him, he shuffled up the three footsteps and closed the gap. By the time he returned his gaze to the desk area, Gianna had risen, nodding solemnly. The misery on her face had the force of a prizefighter’s punch to his stomach. Jeez, her world had crumbled. Disaster flashed like a neon sign. The misty eyes, slumped shoulders, and shaky smile all added up to bad news.
    “ Next!”
    His head snapped to the row of tellers in front of him, and more specifically, to the woman at the end beckoning with an impatient finger. When he reached the counter, Gianna met him, her face failing to hide her sorrow.
    “ What was that all about?”
    “ Nothing important.”
    Every impulse crackling between them assured him she lied.
    ****
    Denied.
    Gianna sank deeper into the hot water and citrus-scented bubbles, wishing to drown her troubles.
    The bank had turned down her loan application, citing her lack of business experience and suitable collateral as reasons for destroying every dream she’d harbored for the last ten years.
    “ Perhaps if you had a co-signer?” Ms. Manning had suggested with a haughty sneer. “If your parents would be willing to—”
    No! Not in a million years. Somehow, she’d raise the money, but she refused to ask her parents. She wasn’t nineteen, for God’s sake—she was ten years older. Ten years older, and not much wiser, still floundering for a future.
    Without the bank loan, she’d never get enough financing for her daycare center. A state grant would only take her so far. And since this was an election year for local representatives, every penny of state funds would be carefully monitored before filling public coffers.
    A pity she didn’t have a rich and powerful lobbyist backing her. Then, she’d have no trouble getting her congressman to approve the funds. But a woman of moderate means doing something important for the underprivileged didn’t stand a chance of receiving the monies supposedly earmarked for just that cause. How ironic.
    The telephone’s wail interrupted her melancholy, but she sank lower, immersing her earlobes, and ignored the nagging ring. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. The noise stopped when the machine clicked on, but the caller left no