Page 15 of The Woman in the Hollow
“Is a possible serial killer of men supposed to be comforting to me?” I asked, brows scrunching.
“Well, the women are safe from him if he exists.”
The food arrived then, and the conversation turned toward local attractions that I could check out over the next year, including a big local fair, movies and music on the beach, apple picking, dinner cruises, and a really cool-sounding giant koi pond that moved up high on my priority list.
The food and wine were gone too soon, and as a rush of other customers came through looking for places to sit, it seemed rude to keep taking up a table.
Dante insisted on paying, then walking me all the way to my car, even though it meant he would have to double back to his own car closer to the restaurant.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said, just barely able to stop my gaze from drifting to his lips that I couldn’t help but wonder if they tasted like pasta sauce or wine.
“Of course. I’ll see you at work. And apologize in advance for my mother’s inevitable drop-in.”
“I’m sure you’re worried for nothing.”
To that, Dante gave me a knowing smile.
And I found out soon enough why.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dante
“I got the wine,” I said, making my way through the kitchen door at my mom’s place, my arms weighed down with two bags from the liquor store. “Why do we need this many bottles? Did you invite half the neighborhood over?”
“Well, the whole family is here, so kind of,” Valley said from her perch on top of the island. She was in another of her professional pantsuits, but her gray jacket was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. Her dark, wavy hair was pulled back in a clip and her mascara was a little smudged around her green eyes. A long day of work explained the wine glass in her hand that was nearly two-thirds filled.
“Oh, don’t you look handsome,” my mother said, putting down her slotted spoon, wiping her hands on her apron, then coming over to straighten my lapels. “I made a handsome boy, didn’t I?”
“I dunno. I remember his faux hawk and porn-stache stage,” Valley said. “I think a good haircut does a lot of the heavy lifting.”
“Careful, Val. I remember your blonde stage. Or should I say orange, since you never got it fully lifted?”
“Goth stage,” she shot back.
“Trucker hats and tube tops,” I said, smirking when she winced.
“That was a rough one.”
“Stop teasing your brother,” Mom demanded, making me look toward my sister. Being the only girl, our mother was usually first to defend her against the rest of us.
“What’s going on?” I asked, then watched my mother turn quickly away, pretending that she desperately needed to check for something in the fridge. “Oh, Dante, dear, can you get the door?” she asked when the chime rang out through the house.
“Sure,” I said, putting down the wine bottles, then making my way through the house.
“I don’t think you should be playing with Grandma’s angel figurines,” I said as I made my way down the hall to find one of my nieces marrying one of her tiger figurines to one of my mom’s angels.
“Grammy lets me.”
My mother would have put me on weeding duty for a whole summer if I’d played with her collectibles. But the grandmother she’d become was much softer than the mother who raised me.
“Alrighty then,” I agreed, ruffling her dark hair before going to the door.
Only to open it and find Hazel standing there, glancing back over her shoulder toward the front gardens.
There was a covered dish in her hand, and she was wearing a burnt orange sundress with a lightweight brown sweater over it.
“Hazel,” I said as her head whipped over. “Hey.”
