Page 79 of Finally Mine
She was in the midst of brewing coffee and layering bacon into her pan when Aldo came into the kitchen. He was fully dressed—to her great disappointment—and his prosthesis was attached.
“Does your couch emit carbon monoxide fumes?” he asked.
She laughed. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t slept like that since before I left for Afghanistan.”
“Definitely carbon monoxide,” she told him.
“What can I help with?” he asked, eyeing her breakfast assembly line of toaster, plates, and utensils.
“You’re a guest,” she insisted.
“I’m the boyfriend,” he shot back. “Boyfriends help cook breakfast afterPride and Prejudicesleepovers.”
“Then you can be the Toast Master General,” Gloria said, pointing at the bread. “So what did you think of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth?”
“They wasted too much time being in their own way,” he said, loading the toaster and then opening the refrigerator to hunt for butter.
“Maybe they needed that time to make sure they were right for each other,” Gloria suggested.
Aldo grunted. “And maybe they were just chickenshit.”
“Sometimes there’s something to be said for being a chickenshit.” She turned the burner off under the eggs she’d scrambled. “Thank you again for being here last night.”
He shot her a smoldery look over the toaster. “Anything for you, Glo. Thanks for talking to me last night.”
“Silence keeps it too powerful,” she recited. “Or at least, that’s what my therapist says. Keeping it a secret that no one else knows gives it this unholy strength. But talking about it? It’s ugly and hard, but it takes the power away.”
“How do you feel today?” he asked, watching her carefully.
She thought about it as she shoveled eggs onto plates and divided the bacon between the two. “I feel okay. I know everyone’s going to be gossiping about Mrs. Diller. But I made my choice, and I stood my ground. And I didn’t cry in front of anyone last night.”
“You’re allowed to cry or do whatever the hell you want, Gloria. No one’s here to make you do anything,” Aldo reminded her, his voice rough enough around the edges that she felt it on her skin.
“I know.” And then, “thank you.”
“Do you mind if I read the letter?”
Ah, the letter. She’d temporarily put the fact that Glenn was still pulling strings from a place where he physically couldn’t touch her out of her mind.
Yes. She minded. Hadn’t she given him enough of her garbage, her baggage, last night? Did he need this piece, too?
“Please?” Aldo added. Her resolve crumbled like burnt toast.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. Not that it’ll do any good. Nothing actionable.”
He didn’t say anything but ambled out of the kitchen in the direction of the dining table. He’d have this part of her too now. But how else could she know if she could trust him?
44
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Jamilah stretched in her ergonomic chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
Aldo leaned against the doorway. This was his first time stepping foot—ha—in the office since his return. Jamilah had called, texted, emailed, messaged, and even dropped by a few times before effectively giving up on her pissed-off, depressed partner. He couldn’t blame her.
“Taking a trip down memory lane?” she asked. “Because I know you’re not here to work. The last time I saw you and asked when you were coming back, you said when you fucking felt like it. Then I said ‘Oh, no. WhenIfucking feel like looking at your dumb face.’” She twirled in her chair, tapping a pen to her chin. “Do I feel like looking at your dumb face today?”
Aldo pulled his right hand from behind his back. Gloria, pretty in pink this morning, had whipped up a cheery apology bouquet for him. He had a lot of apologizing to do.
