Page 99 of Bellini Bound
Parking along the street, I hopped out of my car and jogged to the entrance, relieved to see the lights still on inside. But when I went to pull on the handle of the door, it didn’t budge. Logically, I knew it was locked, but that didn’t stop me from trying again, rattling the damn thing on its hinges with the force used in my attempt to pry it open.
Several employees inside had paused whatever they were doing to stare at the spectacle I was putting on. When I slammed my hand down on the glass barrier, a few of them jumped, and one reached for their phone, shouting, “I’m calling the police.”
Fuck. Sometimes I forgot how threatening my appearance came across.
“For God’s sake, I’m not here to rob you,” I gritted out under my breath. Louder, I said, “I need ice cream!”
The one holding their cell blinked at me for a full minute before pointing to the clearly listed store hours posted in the window. They closed at 10 PM on weeknights, and it was—I checked my watch—10:03.
Three minutes. I’d missed it by three minutes.
The idea of returning without the only thing that could bring Allie a temporary reprieve from her suffering made me frantic.
“Please!” I yelled, pressing my hands together in a pleading gesture. “It’s for my wife!”
One of the female employees gave me a sympathetic expression and stepped toward the door. Unlocking it, she cracked it open a few inches, asking, “Pregnancy cravings?”
My windpipe closed up at the mere thought, and I croaked out, “God, no. But she’s sick. Hasn’t eaten for days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Swallowing thickly, I explained, “All she asked for was a pint of your hibiscus and pomegranate sorbet. I promised I’d bring it home for her, and now I have to go back and tell her I was three minutes too late.” I shook my head ruefully. “I’ll be kicking myself for the rest of the night for not gunning it through a handful of yellow lights because that would have made the difference in getting here on time.”
Lips folding inward, the young woman sighed. “I’m not supposed to do this, but . . .”
Hope lit up inside my chest. “You have no idea how grateful I would be if you could make an exception, Miss . . .” I trailed off, waiting for her to provide her name.
“Jada,” she supplied. “Wait here.”
Shutting the door, she locked it again, which I could admit was a smart move at this time of night, even if this was a nice area.
A few minutes later, she returned with a paper bag, containing what I could only assume was a pint of the flavor I’d requested.
Reaching for my wallet, I asked, “How much do I owe you?”
Jada waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I insist.”
Exhaling heavily, she explained, “I can’t run it through the system or else my manager will know I didn’t follow protocol and close on time.”
I inclined my head. “Ah, gotcha.” Thumbing through the bills contained in the leather bi-fold I held, I changed tactics. “You guys got a tip jar in there?”
“Yeah.”
Pulling out five one-hundred-dollar bills, I handed them over. “That’s for you and your co-workers this evening.”
Eyes widening at the amount, she tried to give the money back, sputtering, “Oh, no. This is too much!”
Shaking my head with a smile, I countered, “You can’t put a price on compassion. It might seem like a simple gesture of kindness to you, but to me—to my wife—it’s everything. So, thank you, Jada. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”
In a daze, she said, “Yeah, you too.”
Not sticking around a moment longer, I hustled my ass home.
When I got there, I didn’t even bother to take off my boots, rushing up the stairs with my offering. But when I pushed inside the primary suite, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Allie’s limbs were sprawled across the mattress. She was completely passed out.
