Page 16 of Hail Marry
Luca
I’ll be there at six.
Tori
I’ll have the mace ready ;)
“Quick question,” I say to Jess. “How do you thank a guy who snatched you from the jaws of death?”
She doesn’t take her eyes off her computer screen as she taps away on the 10-key. “Easy. First, you show me a picture of him. Then you bow down and become his servant because you owe literally every second of your life to him.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
I really am at a loss, though. Inside, I’ve got this swirl of intense emotions around yesterday—a need to seize the day and live without regrets on the one hand, and on the other, a deep sense of debt to Luca that I have no idea how to repay.
At least I’ve got a few hours to figure it out.
5
TORI
I don’t quite knowhow I ended up on Groupon. It must be some convoluted mixture of trying to find a way to say thank you to Luca and attempting to explore what exciting options I can embrace now that I’ve decided to go full Spice Girl and spice up my life.
But paint nights and laser hair removal and spa packages just don’t scream “Thanks for saving my life, Luca!” Neither do they feel quite like the personal revival I’m looking for.
There’s a knock, and I look at the clock on my laptop. Time is officially out.
I make my way to the door, grateful I’m not wearing a hospital gown this time. I open the door, and my view fills with Luca. I’d forgotten how large the man is. His head nearly reaches the top of the doorframe, and his shoulders fill the width of it.
He’s wearing a beige T-shirt and short tracksuit and a pair of bright-white Nikes. His hair is tied back again, and in his hand, he’s got my leather cross-body purse and a half-full plastic bag.
The fact I didn’t realize I’d lost my purse speaks to how many directions my brain has been going since yesterday.
“Hey,” I say with a smile. “Come on in.”
He hesitates and looks at my hands. “Got your mace?”
“If I told you that, it’d spoil my surprise attack, wouldn’t it?”
He chuckles softly, then steps inside.
Maybe I shouldn’t invite a near-stranger into my home, but I’m not scared of Luca. That could be dumb of me—heisgigantic, after all, and pretty dang grumpy—but the man saved my life at serious risk to himself and his career,andhe made sure that cute little granny at the hospital got her pink sprinkle cookies.
“Here’s your purse.” He hands it to me as he stands in my living room, taking up more space than any other human who’s been here.
“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t go snooping in it, did you?”
“What? No.” He’s horrified.
“I’m totally kidding. My purse is a very boring place—unless you’re looking for old gum wrappers or an assortment of leaking pens.” I hesitate for a second, unsure how to handle things now that he’s accomplished the purpose of his visit and I still have no game plan for expressing my gratitude. “Have a seat.”
He sits on the loveseat, taking up most of it as he sets his plastic grocery bag next to him. If a girl were sharing the loveseat with him, it would be a cozy fit. His shoulder would provide an ample place to lay her head too.
He leans his elbows on his knees and looks at me. “How’re you doing?”
“Awesome!” I purposely leave out the whole quarter-life crisis. He’s asking about my brain, which, in all fairness, is the source of my crisis, but not because of a concussion.
His brown eyes narrow like he doubts my response.
