“You saved a lot of businesses a lot of losses by calling,” the officer assures me. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”
As soon as I close the door to the shop, I slide my back down the door, placing my ass on the floor. I give myself five minutes to have a freak-out before I compose myself and head out the door.
It’s over. He’s gone forever.
* * *
I arriveat the Bianchis empty-handed.
Franco’s eyes meet mine, and he immediately drops the pan of stuffing on the table and rushes toward me. I’m standing in the front hallway with my coat and boots still on.
“What happened?” he starts, but I shake my head.
“Can we talk for a second in private?” I ask. I love and trust the Bianchis, but this is something I want to share only with him. I don’t want the noise and attention. I just need him to know what I’ve been through. I just need my Franco.
“Absolutely, yes.” He watches me with concern on his face. I hand him my coat to hang up while I slip off my boots, and immediately, people descend to greet us. Franco shoots me a quick look before parting the crowd like a champion. I’m so, so surprised and grateful. “We need a moment,” he tells them, “alone.”
Bev and Gracie groan, and loud laughter ensues as the family urges us to go downstairs for a few moments alone. I try to smile and wave as Franco takes me into the basement kitchen, where food is stacked up waiting to be carried to the table.
“Should we wait?” I ask, motioning to the trays piled high with baked sweet potatoes and toasted dinner rolls. “I don’t want to mess up the meal.”
“Everything can wait,” he tells me. “All that matters is you.”
He pulls me close, and for a moment, I just rest my head against his chest. I lock my arms around his waist and hug him hard. He’s wearing a soft flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, and his smell is both familiar and comforting. He kisses the top of my hair and rocks me lightly, just waiting.
Doesn’t urge me. Doesn’t rush me.
Above us, I can hear laughter and heavy footfalls as guests and family walk around. The music is muted, but I hear the occasional barks from the dogs. When my pulse settles a bit and I feel a little calmer, I release him and look into his face, explaining in as few words as possible what happened tonight at the shop. Franco doesn’t interrupt until I’m done talking.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his body tense and his expression tight.
I nod. “I’m oddly relieved. They know who the guy is now, so even if he gets out…”
“He’s not getting out,” Franco says, his voice low and angry. “I’m going to call the station tomorrow and talk to the detective who is handling your case. Maybe I can file assault charges against him. He did fight me out there on the street. We’ll make sure he doesn’t get out anytime soon, babe.”
I nod against his chest. “I was planning to have time to stop home and throw together some cookies or something. I can’t believe I came here empty-handed. I was just so shaken.” I wave down at my casual traveling clothes. I’m wearing yoga pants over a loose, comfy sweater.
“None of that matters,” he says. He leans back to look me in the face. “You’re home. This is a come-as-you-are place. No cookies required. And I love that I can actually feel your ass in those pants,” he teases, but he doesn’t touch my bottom.
Instead, he kisses my forehead and touches his nose to mine.
“Can I kiss you now, babe? I need to know you’re really okay.” His intense blue eyes are staring, and I hear the basement door open. “But I missed the shit out of you and have been looking forward to those lips all day.”
“Yo, asshole.” Before he can bend his face to mine, Vito’s voice echoes through the doorway and down into the basement. “You done making kissy faces yet? Pops wants the sweet potatoes.”
“Fuckin’ V.” Franco groans and shakes his head. “Come on down, but you’re going to get an eyeful.”
He leans down and claims my lips, and I’m giggling as we smooch. Vito storms past dramatically, covering his eyes and making sick sounds.
“Ugh, you two.” He grabs the sweet potatoes from the counter, and as he rushes past, he shoves his face close to ours. He makes another gagging sound and sticks out his tongue, then looks at me seriously. “Glad you’re back, Chloe. Now get your asses upstairs. I’m fucking starving.”
Vito shuffles upstairs wearing his trademark slippers with no socks, but he is wearing real pants and a flannel shirt for the holiday. He doesn’t bother closing the basement door, and Franco groans and shouts after him, “Asshole!” Franco releases me and cups my face in his hands. “I’d like Gracie to know the guy was caught, but why don’t I leave it to you to tell my family when you’re ready to talk about what happened tonight. That okay with you?”
I nod.
That’s perfect. I want to share the story, but I don’t want it to be the talk of Thanksgiving. Once all the small talk and bickering are over, I’ll find the right minute to tell the family.
Before we head upstairs, Franco stops me. “I picked up something for you on the road,” he says. “It’s nothing big. I actually got it at a truck stop. It’s a piece of crap, I’m not going to lie. But I saw it, and I wanted to give you a little something. I’ll replace it with something nicer and more sparkly someday soon.”
