Page 22 of Caesar DeLuca
I’ve always been on the sensitive side. I’ve got a soft heart and a gentle soul.
Mom always used to say I needed to toughen up for the real world.
I went into nursing because I liked to take care of people; I enjoyed being able to help people feel better at their worst times.
But I should’ve taken Mom’s advice—I should’ve learned to toughen up. I should’ve become a stronger woman who could hold her own. Maybe I never would’ve had to run from the real world the second things got too hard and I couldn’t handle it anymore…
I fall asleep to these thoughts and wake with unease anchoring me to the bed. It takes a few minutes before I’m able to force myself to get up. I make my morning rounds, which consist of small chores around the house like making my bed and sweeping snow off the porch. I flick on my coffee machine, the trickling of liquid echoing in the early morning quiet.
In the time it takes to brew a fresh cup of coffee, I slip into some day clothes. Recluses may avoid human interaction, but it’s still important to be presentable. If only for myself and my mental well-being.
A change into a button-up cardigan top and some jeans later, I’m feeling better. My mood’s brighter than it was last night when I aborted my game of rummy with Caesar and fled upstairs. I twine many of my natural curls around my finger and then head downstairs to have coffee.
Mrs. Bev calls to check up on me.
“I worry about you all the way out there by yourself,” she says, clicking her tongue. “The news is saying we’ll be snowed in all week. The road in and out of town is completely blocked.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It seems we’ve gotten even more snow than last year.”
“They’re saying more’s to come. Power might even go out.”
“I’m glad I have a backup generator.”
“You’ve got enough food? Just say the word, and I’ll have Craig head on over.”
I smile even though she can’t see me. “Mrs. Bev, you just got done telling me the road’s blocked.”
“I’ll make him shovel his way to you. Lord knows that man needs something to keep himself occupied. I’ve hid all the beer too.”
We hang up after I thank her for the offer but turn it down.
I stall as long as possible, sipping the rest of my coffee, scrolling through my phone to catch up on the world outside. The entire East Coast is being slammed by the snowstorm. Social media is full of videos of people from New York to Pennsylvania recording their snowed-in backyards and the barren city streets.
A short clip of a weather report on Facebook advises me to stock up on food.
Luckily, I’m covered. When you’re a recluse, you become an expert on stockpiling the necessities. I can last at least another three months holed up in my house. Things like fresh fruits and veggies would eventually run out, but I’d still be able to survive on canned goods and frozen foods.
You have an extra mouth to feed, Ari. An extra mouth that belongs to a sexy—and dangerous—mobster.
The nerves churn faster inside me at the thought.
It’s almost eleven. A good hostess would check in on her guest.
With a reluctant sigh, I get up and start making Caesar a tray. He must be starving—he only had the breakfast soup to eat yesterday. A man of his stature is probably used to much heartier meals.
I fix him something marginally heavier. Tomato soup with whole wheat toast and a small salad.
He grunts when I knock on the door.
He’s obviously been up; he sits perched by the window when I enter.
I set down the tray on the bedside table. My hands shift to my hips. “You’re not supposed to be exerting yourself. You’ll never heal if you keep it up.”
“I have to keep strong,” he answers. He rises from where he’s seated on the windowsill. He’s taken off the t-shirt I’ve given him, affording me an unobstructed view of his bare, muscled chest and the thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen.
My skin warms. I look away, suddenly shy. “I left everything you need on the tray. Including the stuff to change out your bandage. I’ll leave you be.”
“Not so fast, Ariana.” He’s lightning fast himself, his reflexes so quick he snatches hold of my wrist before I can make my escape. Holding me back, he looks me in the eye and says, “Where do you think you’re going?”
