“Do you want to go stay with my mother?” he asks, no sign of impatience in his voice. Unless I’m mistaken, he sounds tired. “Because if you want to put up with Lucia freaking out and fawning over you, I’ll take you straight to my mom’s.”
The idea doesn’t sound half bad, but if the alternative is staying with Franco…
“I don’t know,” I say, sincerely unsure what I want. “Let’s just go inside.”
I square my shoulders and head for the stairs, and he calls for me to wait up.
I’ve only taken a couple of steps, and I freeze in place. He holds out his hand. I give him my keys without a word, and then he takes the lead, heading toward the stairs where he’d watched me walk to my unit last night.
“Which one is yours?” he asks when we get to the top.
The exterior lights are all working, so my number is clearly illuminated. The welcome mat is still Aunt Ann’s, a faded sunflower pattern with a happy bee dancing above the petals. I point ahead and tell him the unit, and he nods, then grimly storms toward my door as if expecting to see the intruder waiting there for me.
“Franco,” I whisper. There’s a lot I don’t know about technology, and so I know my question is probably foolish. But I can’t help my reactions. It’s as if everything inside me is hyperalert, ready to descend into full fight-or-flight at the least sign. “He has my phone. Is it possible for him to find out where I live?”
Franco’s plush lips flatten into a hard line, and a dark shadow passes over his bright eyes. “We’re not taking any chances.” He pulls his cell phone from his jacket pocket and unlocks the device. “The passcode is 0131. For my mother’s birthday, January 31.” He repeats it, so I’m sure I remember it. “I’m going to go in first. If there’s any sign of trouble, you call the cops. All right?”
I nod and nervously hold his phone in a trembling hand. I keep the phone at the ready and watch while Franco sifts through the keys on my ring.
“This one?” he asks.
I nod. “The doorknob takes the same key,” I whisper, terrified that the criminal is close by.
It’s ridiculous, I know. But I’ve never been the victim of a crime before. And this was such a close call. He’d brought a knife. What might have made him want to use it? And would he have used it on…me? My visions blurs and I feel dizzy again, but I fight through it. I have to be ready to dial. I have to focus and just trust that I’m safe now. I’m not alone. Franco is here, and any minute now…
“It’s all clear, babe. Come on.” Franco’s face softens, and my tummy flips at the casual endearment. He’s inside my apartment now, turning on the hall light.
I follow him in and hand him back his phone. “Thank you,” I say. “So, so much.”
He closes the door behind me and turns the lock, pocketing his phone and breathing a loud sigh. “Look okay in here to you? Nothing out of place?”
I scan the mildly familiar apartment. Aunt Ann’s furniture is all still here. But as my eyes adjust to each light Franco turns on, I feel more and more at ease that nothing has been disturbed. Nothing is out of place.
“It looks okay,” I say quietly. My aunt’s old refrigerator hums loudly, and for a moment, I want to lie down on the couch and just collect my thoughts. Calm my racing heart and weary nerves.
But Franco has other things on his mind. “Have you eaten?” he asks. “Dinner?”
I scoff and shake my head. “I’ll probably never eat again,” I say. “Unless some miracle settles my nerves, I’ll probably just throw everything right back up.”
“My father’s leftovers beg to differ.” His voice is light, and he nods toward the open bedroom door. “You have a suitcase?”
I search his face, confusion and self-doubt at war in my chest. “Are you sure you want to take me home with you? I mean, you hardly know me, and you’ve done so much for me already. I don’t—”
He stops the words by striding across the living room and lifting my chin with two fingers. His touch is gentle, but the friction of his skin against mine brings every nerve ending to attention.
I raise my eyes to meet his.
“You don’t want to go home with me?” he asks.
The question lingers between us, something more than the words he actually asked underlying his meaning.
I swallow and blink, not sure what to do.
If I speak, I’ll disturb his touch. If I move, I’ll break our safe, gentle connection. My body is insistent in its silence, stillness.
“I do,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “But…”
“No buts. It’s settled.” Franco doesn’t release my face right away, but he smooths the hair back from my face. “Pack what you need for a couple days. I’ll be right here.”
