Then there were all the tattoos.
Gorgeous.
He was gorgeous.
He was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and Timbs that were darkened a bit from the snow outside.
He looked like someone who was about to shake down a convenience store, not wrap presents for unhoused kids.
But, hey, I would take every set of hands I could get.
Especially ones who were willing to do the hard work. Like beg people for money on the streets.
Though, just a few moments into the actual training, it became pretty clear that this Venezio guy was not meant for the act of humbling himself to ask for donations.
The man glowered, scowled, criticized their cheapness, and heckled those who passed by in designer clothes and didn’t even drop in a dime.
As someone who thought and felt the same frustration, it was amazing.
As someone who was running a respectable organization, it became clear pretty quickly that Venezio was not going to be our bell-ringer.
Though, I had to say, his methods made for the best single-day donations we’d gotten in a long time.
And his company was kind of nice.
He wasn’t much of a talker.
He also kind of scoffed at all the things I liked most about this time of year—the Christmas music spilling out from open doors, the gaudy lights, the crowds of wide-eyed tourists just looking for the spirit of the season.
Still, it was nice not to be alone.
Life had been isolating a lot the past couple of years. Changing careers meant I didn’t have coworkers to chat with all day or go out with at night. My mom was gone, and with her my whole family. Sure, I had Andy and Sammy (and Meatball), but they were busy women with their careers and families. And at the charity, I was busy on the phones begging for money, so I didn’t really get to interact with the other volunteers.
Just having someone by my side was surprisingly nice.
Nice enough that I felt a growing sadness in my chest as our feet smacked in the slush of the parking lot as we made our way back to the warehouse.
“You didn’t have to walk me all the way back.”
“You got a lot of cash on you,” Venezio said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Are you going to fight off these nonexistent muggers you’re worried about?” I teased.
“If I have to, yeah.”
Hewasn’tteasing.
Of course he wasn’t.Because those big hands of his? They had scars all across his knuckles. This was a guy who wasn’t a stranger to physical altercations.
What was he doing volunteering at a homeless shelter?
Had he been a homeless kid too?
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you volunteering here?”
