Page 108 of The Woman in the Hollow
The cut was deep and a little ragged at the edges, the skin dangling.
“Um, I think this actually does need to be closed up,” I said after placing a rag underneath his hand and pouring a tube of sterile saline on the wound.
Digging around in the kit, I found a package of butterfly closures. I had a vague memory of my grandma putting them on my mother’s finger when she’d sliced it while chopping vegetables one night.
“These will work, I think,” I said, opening the kit. “This might not feel great,” I warned, placing the first closure and pulling the skin closed around it.
I worked my way down the whole cut before wrapping it all in some fresh gauze.
“There we go. I think that will be better. Don’t try to pull those off,” I warned, reading the instructions. “And don’t get them wet, if possible.”
Something had Domenico’s attention. Following it, I saw Dante making his way into the kitchen from the backyard.
He paused, taking in the scene, his face unreadable.
“I was just fixing Ant’s hand. It was bleeding,” I said, cleaning up the kit. “You were right,” I added, standing and picking up the kit.
“About what?”
“My first aid kit is pathetic. Everyone should have one like this. I’ll just get out of your hair while you guys talk,” I offered.
Dante snagged me around the waist. “We’re done talking. I’m about to make breakfast sandwiches for everyone.”
“Can I do it?” I offered.
“No egg whites and spinach.”
I made a choking sound that had Dante smiling.
“I think I can hold myself back from incorporating that.”
“Do you want any help?” he asked, taking the kit from me.
“No. I want to cook.”
I wanted to cook so much that I not only prepared the eggs, cheese, and bacon sandwiches, but a side of breakfast potatoes and a towering stack of golden pancakes.
Ant ate like a starving man. True, he might not have had a chance to eat since before work last night. I had no idea what kind of questioning the Family had to put them through. I suspected, though, that the hunger was more about the comfort of a home-cooked meal.
Eventually, Domenico and Ant cleared out.
“Thanks for fixing my hand,” Ant said with a wave.
“Thanks for saving my life.”
Dante loaded the dishwasher while I grabbed another cup of coffee.
I’d just had my first sip when he came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my center, and his head resting on my shoulder.
“I haven’t had a woman cook for me before,” he admitted.
“Now I know that’s a lie.”
“Outside of my family,” he clarified. “I liked it.”
“I had to eat the one funky first pancake so you didn’t see it,” I admitted.
His chuckle moved through me too. “We all make a funky first pancake. They all taste the same. How are you feeling?”
