Page 49 of Hooked

I’m sad that my cousins won’t be there to celebrate with us tomorrow. I hope Murphy feels well enough to have a good holiday, though. He deserves all the warmth and love his family has to offer.

When I get back to the inn, Uncle Danny helps unpack the food and thankfully doesn’t say anything about the amount.

I’d found out from Danny that Vinny likes making fried fish and chips.

That’s it.

That’s all he knew after years of living next door. Kristi had told me he only made two things too, but that’s what he sold, not necessarily what he likes to eat.

I went with an ocean theme and got him some fresh shrimp, scallops, mussels, clams, and red snapper. I’d gotten the basics too—all the condiments he’d probably lost. Butter and milk for making a good batter. I don’t know if Vinny’s a produce guy or not, but I got some anyway, just in case.

It strikes me that there’s a lot I don’t know about him. There’s a lot that no one knows about him.

I’m finishing putting the groceries away when I hear the door creak open.

I peer out of his kitchen into the hall.

He stares at me, mouth agape.

He’s the one who leaves his door unlocked.

He’s got my suitcases.

What? How?

“Where did you get those? Kristi told me they hadn’t found them.”

“Um. Yeah. Oscar wanted it to be a surprise. These ones made it. I had your stuff cleaned up.”

I don’t know what to say and just walk over to my bags, opening them and touching everything inside. My clothes and shoes are like new, polished and clean. Everything is there, including my jewelry.

No sign of my leopard print Jimmy Choos. Too bad.

The second bag has some of my Christmas supplies. I’m not surprised the catalogs didn’t make it. I wish my portfolios had—I’d saved the original files to my laptop, which hadn’t survived the trip. But this is incredible. So thoughtful and kind.

“I can’t believe it,” I say. “This is so wonderful.”

“Yeah, well, I know how you feel about your stuff,” he says. It’s not a joke. I can tell by his tone. I thought we were over this? I’m having trouble reading the expression on his face.

“It’s not the stuff,” I explain. “It’s wonderful that Oscar, and Kristi, and you did this for me.” I walk over and touch his shoulder. “Vinny, what’s going on?”

I half expect him to jerk away, but he doesn’t. He runs a hand over his beard and under his jaw. “It’s just that it’s no big deal. The hard work was done at the dry cleaners.”

I feel his muscles tense through the soft fabric of his shirt. His body is tight, like an overly wound spring. I swallow nervously and move my hand, taking a step back. “I just wish you’d just let me be grateful.” I hate the sound of my own voice right now, laced with quiet pleading.Don’t do this.“I know how you feel about Christmas.”

He interrupts. “Stop saying that. Stop assuming you know how I feel.” He folds his arms across his chest. Putting up barriers. I take another step back.

My uncle had said the same thing to me, that I had no idea how he’d felt, when I’d tried to empathize with him over Drew’s death. And maybe I didn’t know exactly, but I do know what pain feels like.

Why doesn’t anyone understand that?

Danny had told me yesterday that it was wrong to blame myself for his reaction, but I’m finding that so hard to believe. I’ve spent years analyzing how I could’ve handled that situation better, and a vague sense of panic rises in my throat as I’m faced with something similar here. I don’t want to mess this up.

“You can tell me?” I offer. “If I don’t know how you feel. You can always tell me?”

He doesn’t respond. Just stands there like a statue, hard and cold. So different from yesterday. Had I been imagining things? Did he just feel bad for me and decide to give me a pity fuck?

I don’t know how to give him what he needs in this moment. Just like I hadn’t known what to give Danny. And Drew.

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