Page 27 of Call Out
“If you can’t be good, be careful.”
“Be careful? You’re the one who told me to put myself out there.”
“There’s good fashioned nooky, and then there’s falling in love.”
“You sound like Nonna. I’m not in love. Well—”
“Take it slowly. The honeymoon phase doesn't last forever,” she warns.
It's not like Wini to be so down on love. She’s the person who basically pushed Danny into my life. “I’ll go slowly. I promise.” I giggle and prance out of the door.
Sure I will. It's still early days. He’s commanding and godly in the bedroom, or wherever he decides we need to have sex, and generous and respectful when we’re hanging out. I love that about him. I love everything about him.
No way, it’s notmarriagelove. Pfff! It’s way too soon to plan out bouquets and wedding venues. Although now I’m thinking about it, how will I know when I’m truly in love with him? So far, my heart pitter-patters when he cracks a smile, my skin electrifies when he licks his lips, and my daydreams consist of scenarios of a future together. Not having him in my life makes me sick to the pit of my stomach.
My car starts with a cough, and I floor the pedal. First stop, extra virgin olive oil and a cheesecake for Wini. I wonder if Danny likes desserts. If I had a choice between a chocolate cake and his meaty skewer, I’d fire up the grill, smother him in BBQ sauce, then lick it all off when he was scorching for me.
Yanking up the handbrake, I exit the car and rush into the store. My phone buzzes when I reach the cashier, so I ignore it and finish up. I dash back to my car, flinging the shopping bag into the passenger seat and check the caller. One missed call from Danny.
I tap out a quick text message telling him I’m nearly home, and if he gets there early, the spare key is under the purple flowerpot on the windowsill. He’s not due until this evening, but who knows, he might have plans to join me for lunch, too. Hopefully he finds my place without a hitch. We always hang out at his place. It’s only fair I invite him over to mine.
When I pull up outside my house, I notice the box of goodies waiting on the front step beside the welcome mat. This is going to be a night to remember. I unlock the door and nudge the weighty delivery across the floor with my foot.
I’m buzzed. Floating around the house on a cloud of Danny daydreams for the next few hours. Eventually, after changing my bedsheets and cleaning the bathroom, I start making dinner. I’ve pinned the list of the chef’s instructions to the corkboard, and I set all the ingredients out in alphabetical order to aid the process. Throwing the raw chicken pieces into a bowl, I toss in a dash of seasoning and a sprinkle of spices, then cover it over to rest before frying them.
With the old wooden grandfather clock chiming at seven o’clock, I grab my phone and call Danny, but he doesn’t answer. He’s running late. Hopefully, he’s not caught up with a horrific traffic accident.
I think that’s one of his most adorable qualities. He’s so macho and heroic. Last week I begged him to keep his uniform on in the bedroom. He laughed it off and said he’d need to change into a clean one. By the time he took off his shirt to swap it out, I was wrestling him to the floor.
An engine roar makes me skittish. He’s finally here. I rip off the hair elastic and ruffle my waves, skipping past the unpacked nylons. Swinging open the door, I find him on the porch surrounded by a Persian pink sunset. He drags the helmet off and tucks it under his arm, scraping fingers through chocolate choppy lengths, so it tousles with the ‘I want to fuck you’ look. It’s only when serious amber eyes meet mine that I sense his mood is anything but flirtatious. The leather is zipped up to his throat, and he wears a fully loaded backpack.
“Staying the night?” I quip.
Danny scratches his chin and blinks slowly. “Viv, I’m heading home to see my parents. Can we do this another night?”
“Home? When?”
“Now.” His tone isn’t charming or playful. “My mom wants to talk to me about family stuff, so I’ll have to bail on dinner. I’m really sorry.”
“Is she okay?”
His gaze cuts to the potted plants lining the porch fence. “Yeah. I’ll call you when I get back.”
My brow scrunches. “Where exactly is home?”
“Texas,” he replies, with no address or hometown.
He seems preoccupied with his eyes low and conversation stilted. “How long will you be away for?” I’m thinking maybe one day, and that’s why he’ll call me when he returns rather than when he gets there.
“A few days.” He peers over his shoulder as if he doesn’t want to be here. “I don’t know. Hopefully not that long.”
“Is there something wrong, Danny? You’re distracted.”
His shoulders rise. “I’m tired after a rough day, and now I have to catch a flight. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble for tonight?” he says with a gravelly, low voice.
“Pfff.” I force nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. I was only tossing lettuce in a bowl.”
The fact is, I’m devastated. Completely and utterly shook up. His capricious mannerisms are edgy and withheld, and he won’t look me in the eye longer than a heartbeat. He clearly doesn’t want to take me home to meet his parents or tell me why he’s visiting them at short notice.
