Page 6 of Just For Me
I nearly choked on my wine. “What?”
“Bella,” she said, her eyes glittering with mischief and so much like my grandfather’s. “Nonnosays she’s yourbiggestfan, and your perfect match.”
Everyone at the table was sitting up and paying attention now. I tried not to squirm under their scrutiny. I was over thirty, financially comfortable, and unattached, which put a target on my back the size of Uncle Al’s 1974 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Every female relative I had was trying to fix me up with a ‘nice girl’. Call me crazy, but I preferred to find my own woman, thank you very much. And I knew exactly which woman I wanted.
“Nonnodoesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I muttered, but the damage was done. My grandfather had some legendary skills. When he playedCupido, marriages happened.
“Right,” winked Gina.
Eager to avoid any further discussion on my love life (or lack thereof), I downed the rest of my wine and got up, stacking my plates and silverware automatically. Wait staff and bus service were reserved for paying customers; the rest of us cleaned up after ourselves. Besides, since we’d all grown up working in the restaurant, it was second nature.
I entered the busy kitchen, grinning when I saw the next generation of Cerasinos doing their part under the watchful eye of my mother and my father, Frank. I kissed my mother and told her I was leaving. She pulled me in for a hug and said, “In bocca al lupo, Nicky.”Good luck. “I hope she comes.”
“Molte grazie, Mamma,” I answered. “Me, too.”
I went back to my place, a quiet two bedroom condo in the nicer section of town. I wasn’t surprised that my mother knew about Kat; she and my grandfather were partners in crime when it came to matchmaking, and I would have been more surprised if he hadn’t filled her in. What Iwasslightly unnerved by was the hint of tears in my mother’s eyes when she wished me luck.
I knew she worried for me, and wanted to see me happy. I’d been the quietest of her four sons, and after leaving the military, even more so. Not everyone understood my desire to become a full-time author. Most of my family had chosen more active careers. My brother Vinnie was a cop. Dom was a fireman. Paulie was a lawyer. Hell, if it wasn’t for the IED that took half my leg, I’d probably still be in the Marines and loving every minute of it.
But things changed, life went on, and I’d since embraced something else I loved: writing.
In that regard, I was happy. I’d always had a knack for it. I was my own boss, made my own hours, and got to spend my days locked in worlds of my own creation. My sister had been the one to first suggest I try my hand at writing romance. I balked at first, but Sofie said women would respond to my natural white knight tendencies, whatever that means. As it turned out, she was right.
Getting those big royalty checks was just icing on the cake. Most of the money, I invested, but I kept enough to be comfortable and take care of those around me. It was nice to be able to do that.
Speaking of, I had some stuff to do. I grabbed my laptop and another glass of wine and set both beside my bed, then removed my prosthetic and changed into comfortable shorts. I dutifully went through my inbox, made some brief appearances on social media, and responded to some posts on my website. As I mentioned before, I’m not an overly social guy, but I do think it’s important to acknowledge and connect with those who support me, and they seemed to appreciate it.
That done, I sighed and closed up my laptop. Usually this was the time when I allowed myself to relax, pull up my notes and let my imagination carry the pictures in my mind onto the page. That wasn’t going to happen tonight, though. Tonight all I could see were images of Kat looking adorably damp and disheveled, that pretty pink blush painting her cheeks when her body pressed against mine. Images of her clutching my book in her hands as if it was the most precious thing on earth as she turned tail and ran away.
I didn’t like the fact that she’d been limping, but thankfully, it hadn’t looked serious. With any luck, she’d gotten home, taken a nice, soothing bath, and was relaxing after what probably had been a crappy day. I’d had enough of those myself to recognize the signs. Someday, hopefully soon, she’d let me help her deal with those kinds of days.
Maybe, I thought as I turned out the light and closed my eyes, in a way I already was. I smiled into the dark as I pictured her curled up in bed, reading the book I’d written just for her.
And hoping against hope that she came to see me tomorrow.
Chapter 5: Kat
Ishivered, pulling the blanket tighter over my shoulders. The small exam alcove where they’d stashed me was white and chilly, barely big enough for the single-sized bed and utilitarian visitor’s chair. It felt as though I’d been waiting for hours, but I think it was more a case of time dragging slowly because I really, really didn’t want to be there. I was more than ready for this day to be over; I just wanted to curl up in my bed with a heating pad and an ice pack and try to forget it ever happened.
I silently willed them to hurry up so I could be on my way, experiencing a slight pang of guilt as I did so. I knew they were busy. I understood that they had to deal with cases far more serious than mine. But I was also tired, hurting, and more than a little cranky.
I tried not to take it out on Officer Cerasino, who had stubbornly refused to drop me off and be on his way. He’d stayed with me while firmly refusing my repeated pleas to take me home. I supposed I should count my blessings, one of them being that I at least had some privacy. If it wasn’t for Officer “just call me Vinnie”talking to some of the staff, I was pretty sure I’d still be in the outer waiting area, feeling self-conscious under the scrutiny of everyone else vying for a few minutes of medical attention.
He’d helped me fill out the forms, too, since the pain and swelling make it difficult to hold a pen with my writing hand. Then he went above and beyond, making sure I had a glass of water and a blanket, too.
It confused me; I wasn’t used to such kindness. In a rare instance of boldness, I’d come right out and asked him why he was being so nice to me. I mean, he was a cop. He had to have better, more important things to do than babysit me in the ER. He’d shrugged and told me that itwaspart of his job. I didn’t believe him, but I was too exhausted to argue. And I have to admit, itwasnice having someone there with me.
While we were waiting, I told him everything I could about the attack. I knew my descriptions lacked useful detail, but he praised me anyway, saying that most people would have panicked and not had the presence of mind to glean even that much. I didn’t know about that, but his words made me feel good.
His eyebrows lifted when I got to the point about me fighting back. “What was so important that you risked your safety?”
I didn’t want to tell him. I knew he wouldn’t understand. But he was looking at me expectantly with those kind, dark eyes and my tongue started wagging anyway. “A book,” I whispered.
“Must be some book,” he murmured.
“It is,” I agreed. “Or it was. It’s ruined now.” I looked at the unrecognizable mass of swollen, warped pages sitting amidst my personal effects. They’d made me put it down to take my vitals. “It was the latest Nick Penn.”
“You like Nick Penn, huh?”
