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)
“Yes,” he said. And, again, he was so… genuine. “In fact,” he said, reaching into his pocket to produce a card, pressing it down on the tray beside my edible bouquet. “You can call or text me anytime you need anything,” he said. My brows must have furrowed, because he reached for my hand again, giving it a squeeze. “I mean it,” he said. “You saved me. I owe you everything.”
“Nino…” I tried, wanting to tell him that was not necessary, that I was okay, that none of this was his fault, so he had nothing to try to atone for or anything like that.
But the doctor chose that exact moment to come into the room.
“I will give you some privacy,” Nino said, stepping away from the bed. “Will you let me visit again?” he asked.
“Of course you can,” I said, surprised at the hint of vulnerability in his tone. “You don’t have to ask,” I added, getting a grateful nod from him before he made his way out of the room.
“Was that who I think that was?” the doctor, a young woman with dark hair and eyes with deep skin, and a petite frame, asked.
“Um… Nino,” I said, realizing I didn’t know his last name.
“Grassi, right?” she asked, taking a look at my chart.
She said his last name as though it meant something. Maybe he was a local celebrity or something. Or someone she’d gone to school with. The popular guy who everyone loved. I had no idea. I wasn’t from the area.
She let it drop then, talking to me about my injuries, about my recovery, what I could expect, what I could and could not do, giving me timelines for everything.
My head was swimming a bit by the time she made her way out. But it did sound like I would be released the day after tomorrow, which meant I could hopefully get back to my life, back to my work, relatively quickly.
I wouldn’t claim to be a workaholic.
But the fact of the matter was, we couldn’t afford to have the restaurant closed for any length of time. Not even for a shooting.
I was silently praying that the shooting didn’t mean people would avoid the place, thinking it was unsafe or something like that.
I was still worrying about that while I munched on some perfectly ripe fruit when there was another knock. But this time, it wasn’t a handsome customer who came to visit.
It was a police detective.
He’d asked me questions about the events of that day, about the men.
“I’m sorry I am not more helpful,” I told him when his face went tense as I gave him a brief description. “It just all happened so fast. I didn’t really notice anything unique about either of them.”
“That seems to be the general consensus, unfortunately,” the detective said, exhaling hard. “I really suggest you get some security cameras at your establishment, Miss Vanjoy,” he said.
“Do you think they’re going to come back?”
“No,” he said, holding up a hand like he was trying to calm my growing anxiety. “But just as a precaution for you and your mother,” he told me.
There were some more questions, advice, and a request to contact him if I remembered anything.
Then he’d put his card down on the nightstand. Right next to Nino’s.
Was it just me, or did he stare at that for a long moment?
Then he was gone, and my mother was breezing in soon after as I picked at the melons in the bouquet, knowing I needed something in my system if they were going to keep giving me pain medicine. And, honestly, as much as I hated taking any sort of medication, the pain that started to come back was enough to have me pressing that little button that supposedly released a dose into my IV.
“Oh, my!” she said, smile spreading as she took in the flowers, the fruit, and the new blanket. “I see you’ve had a visitor! And one with good taste,” she decided, walking over the flower to lean down and breathe their scent in. “Who was it?”
“Nino,” I told her. “The man who’d been putting pressure on my wounds,” I clarified.
“Oh, yes. He is one good-looking man,” she said with a bit of a dreamy sigh.
It was no secret that my mother had been, well, a connoisseur of men. She always enjoyed sampling a new one. Though, much like her palate for food, her taste in men was fleeting at best. She liked to have her fill, then move on.
I wasn’t sure she’d ever had a relationship that lasted longer than, at most, a summer. And that was only once that I recalled.
“He is,” I agreed. “He had a suit on today. Which has never been my thing, but he looked even better.”
“I’ve never been adverse to a man in a suit,” she said, brows wiggling a little. “This was incredibly kind of him.”