Where could I get something like that?
I returned to my overheated computer still running Craft Cove. It wasn’t a hundred percent ready, but I was getting there. The problem was,I had no idea what to do with it. Take down the walls and silently let him find it? Ask him if he logged in for his daily credits?
I sighed and slid my phone open. Maybe a simple bridge was best to rebuild some kind of friendship over text.
I was such an idiot. Of course he wouldn’t see this until later. He had his whole damned family to entertain. To my surprise, he replied before I could set my phone down.
I didn’t think I'd left anything.
The now-typing ellipses loaded and disappeared, winding up my chest.
Why would it be complicated? He texted me the address.
Why was he showing off my stuff in a glass cabinet? I didn’t leave anything except my heart with him. Now I had a chance to get it and this mystery item back.
33
Sweet Potato
Sal’s Thanksgiving was more popular than my alma mater’s battle bot competitions. I almost had to park at the bar, but thankfully, something opened up on the street.
A bunch of old men sat on the small porch out front, laughing and joking in unintelligible English mixed with Italian. Hopefully, they wouldn’t say anything to me. The fuzzy gray hair poking out of a guy’s tank top wasn’t exactly inspiring. At least he wore stretchy stuff to eat comfortably. Why no coats in the cold, though?
I hunched my shoulders up to my ears and tugged at my black wool jacket. If only I had my hat or soundproof headphones to protect me. But no. I had vanity. I’d even put on lipstick and expired eyeliner for this stupid party. I marched to the front door with my best resting bitch face.
The guy with the tuft of steel wool poking out his cleavage waved his cane at me. “Hello, sweetie. Are you related to me?”
If I said yes, would that stop him from calling me ‘sweetie?’
“I’m…Sal has something for me," I huffed.
“Salvatore?” He leaned forward and slapped his knees. “Sweet Sally.”
“Yes, he’s waiting.” I grabbed the screen door.
He pointed two sausage-like fingers at me. “I’m his Uncle Paulie. You need anything, you tell me.”
“Okay?” I slipped inside, my brows furrowed. Why would he offer to help someone he just met? He didn’t even know if Sal and I were friends.
Heat pulsed from the kitchen as soon as I squeezed into the entryway. Chatter buzzed through the house and the aroma of delicious baked meats and herbs wafted through the packed crowd. Drinks lined the hall table and guests picked off dishes covering the long dining room table. Unfortunately, Sal was right when he said everyone stopped by.
Ash paused mid-wine-pour and glared at me. “You came? Seriously?” She scanned my styled hair, made-up face, white blouse with slacks, and shiny loafers.
It was my lecture outfit. Maybe not appropriate for holiday drive-bys.
