Page 39 of Twisted Fate

“Crackers? Um, I think so.” I fetch the box of cheese crackers I discovered the first night I was here.

“Okay,” Vito says. “We’ll play for crackers.”

We do. I lose, a lot. Then I finally win a hand, recouping some of my lost crackers.

“I’m done,” I say. They both look at me, confused.

“Done?” Joe asks.

“Done,” I say. “Done playing.”

“But you’re winning,” Vito says.

“And that’s why I’m done,” I say. “I’m quitting while I’m ahead.”

They both look at me like I’m a strange curiosity.

I change into workout clothes and they follow along without complaint when I head down to the condo gym. They stick to me like glue, glowering at a guy who wanders in. He quickly wanders back out again. I run on the treadmill. I use the free weights. Then I head to the pool and do laps until my arms feel like overcooked spaghetti.

“You can swim,” Joe says, sounding surprised.

“I can,” I agree, not sure why he made the observation. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I can make my way across the pool. But you swim like they do in the Olympics. You do that whole roll at the end thing.”

I laugh. “Definitely not like they do in the Olympics. But I was on the swim team in high school.”

“Nice,” Joe says.

“Can we go back inside?” Vito asks. “It’s hot as controlled nuclear fusion out here.”

“The fuck?” Joe says.

“What?” Vito shrugs. “I saw a show.”

“Why don’t you guys watch me from right in there?” I suggest, indicating the doors five feet away.

They hesitate for a second, then step inside the doors to the air-conditioned interior while I sit by the pool in the shade—it’s too hot for sun.

It’s a bit cooler in the evening, so I go for a long walk, my poker buddies stalking along in my shadow.

The next day, Vito and Joe are nowhere to be found. Instead, Luca shows up with three paperbacks: a romance novel, a thriller, and an epic fantasy. I devour the romance novel. Unfortunately, it’s a spicy read, which only makes me think of Damian.

In the evening, Luca insists we go for a drive. He takes me to an ice cream place and buys me a pint of Campfire S’mores and a pint of Sea Salt Caramel. He gets himself a pint of Grazacado.

“Seriously? Who wants to eat avocado and olive oil ice cream?” I ask, incensed.

We’re sitting on the balcony looking out at the lights. He holds out the laden spoon toward me. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“No, thank you,” I say, taking a spoon of my own ice cream.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I eat the entire pint. Sue me. It’s my dinner.

Maybe it’s because of ice cream overdose, or maybe I miss Damian, but I sleep poorly that night and wake up feeling morose. Three days without a word from him. I almost decide to crawl back under the covers and spend the day feeling sorry for myself, but that just isn’t me. So I get up, shower, dress, and head to the kitchen to make coffee.

The kitchen island boasts a box and a bag.

Just then, I hear the front door open behind me. My heart gives a hard thump and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips. It dims when I turn to see Luca.

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