Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
The rest of the day went as usual.
We were busy.
Yes, with Nino’s family. But also, the word seemed to be getting around from them to their friends because there were many unfamiliar faces as well.
My hip was smarting but not as bad as it had been when I’d first been shot, so I guessed Nino was right about it healing from the inside, little by little. Another couple of days, a week, I was barely going to be feeling anything.
And what a lovely day that would be.
Until then, I was chugging along.
While pretending I wasn’t looking out the window, hoping to see Nino’s car.
He did, invariably, show up. Every single day. To drive me home. To get me settled. To insist I rest. For over a week.
It was at the two-week mark from my injuries that I was feeling pretty much back to normal. Sure, there could be a twinge or even a sharp sensation here and there when I overdid it, but the wounds themselves had closed over, and I could pretty much function as usual.
I’d been uncharacteristically upset about said healing, though, when Nino had seen it and declared that I was pretty much mended.
Because I feared that mended meant that he wasn’t going to be showing up anymore, that he wasn’t going to be giving me those warm smiles, and telling me silly little stories of something one of his siblings or cousins said or did while he drove me home from work.
I’d gotten a little too used to that, I guess.
Especially considering the man had made no further moves on me. He hadn’t even blurred the lines to take me out to a meal or weed my garden. And the duration he spent inside the house with me shortened every day.
I was worried that this was the day it would all be over, that I would wait for the car that was never going to come since I was fully capable of driving myself again.
The surge of disappointment and even, yes, pain, didn’t exactly take me by surprise, but I went ahead and busied myself with little tasks around the restaurant to keep myself from falling too deeply into those feelings.
I would have to let myself experience them.
But I wanted to do that at home. Alone. Where the worried eyes of my very sweet, but sometimes invasive, mother would see.
I was wiping off the chairs in the dining room and actively blinking tears out of my stinging eyes when I heard a tap at the door that had me whipping around since I’d already flipped the closed sign over an hour before.
Then there he was.
In his fancy suit.
Giving me a smile.
Eye crinkles and all.
I had to force myself not to run to him, fling open the door, and freaking throw myself into his arms like this was some rom-com montage or something.
Instead, I shot him a smile, finished with the chair, tossed the rag in the hot, soapy water, then made my way to the door to unlock it.
“Hey,” I said, smile warm. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today,” I admitted, standing in the doorway because the floor was still mostly wet, and I had no idea where his feet had been.
“Yeah, I’m a little later than I wanted. Had a mix-up with Smush,” he told me.
“Mix-up?” I asked.
“I thought I had her booked to shop for me today, but she had a last-minute thing with some new mega-rich client of hers, so she had to back out on me. That meant that I needed to run to the three grocery stores she usually would have gone to. Which has given me a renewed respect for this career she has carved out for herself,” he added.
“You don’t have to drive me home, you know,” I told him, knowing it was the right thing to give him an out if this little task was interfering with his daily life. I knew he felt guilty about what had happened to me, but I didn’t want a guy to only want to be around me because of some misplaced feeling of responsibility.
“I’m not,” he said, making my brows pinch as I looked at him.
“Oh, did you want, uhm, some coffee? Or dessert?” I asked. “I packed it up, but we still have a few things.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m here to pick you up, but I’m not taking you home,” he said as I heard the swinging door to the kitchen open. My mom likely overheard voices, and was feeling nosy.
I never would have called her that before, but it seemed she was overly interested in this whole Nino thing.
“Oh,” I said, waiting for more.
“I’m going to take you to my place,” he said, and I swear my belly did a little flip-flop.
“Oh, lovely!” my mom declared and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes at her.