Page 24 of Caesar DeLuca
Maybe the only one I have left.
“Mrs. Bev,” he repeats. “And why was she calling?”
“To check up on me.”
“She worries about you.”
I pause in the middle of dabbing his stitches with the damp towel. “I guess you could put it that way.”
“She sounds like a smart woman then. It’s good she cares.”
“She does. She never forgets to see how I’m doing.”
“For the same reasons I have told you. You shouldn’t be all the way out here by yourself.”
“Not this again.”
“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asks.
My eyes flick to his, and though I want to put on an independent, self-reliant front, I can’t lie. His dark blue, almost black eyes demand honesty out of me. I shake my head side to side.
“I’ll teach you,” he says. “You need to learn.”
“With what gun?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“What if I don’t want to learn?”
“You need to.”
He speaks as if the matter is settled. Like he’s already figured out in his brain how he’ll go about acquiring a firearm so I can learn. I bite back my objection, instead giving off a small laugh of disbelief. I go to wring out more water from the towel, but he reaches for me first—his quick reflexes again prove how useful they are with how easily he grabs my hand. He forces my gaze back to his, unnerving me and perplexing me all at once.
His stare is the kind that bores into you with an invisible drill. He peers past my exterior, like he has the power to see inside me.
I’m speechless and still, letting him.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he says as if certain. “I’ll show you, alright?”
It feels like his question’s about more than just learning how to shoot a firearm.
I blink, distantly aware of how he seems to get me even as I try to hide myself away. It occurs to me in this moment that I’m not afraid of Caesar.
At least not in the way I’ve assumed. In the way a woman who lives alone possibly should be of a stranger in her home.
I’m afraid of how he makes me feel. Of how he seems to see parts of me I don’t want known.
And he continues seeking more. His interest grows.
“Caesar,” I breathe, feeling dazed. “I… I’m not…”
…ready for this. For you.
“I know,” he answers for me. Then he tucks a curl behind my ear and elicits a chill down my spine. “But I’ll show you how.”
For the briefest second, with how close we are, I’m almost certain he’s about to lean in and kiss me or I’m about to run for the door. The moment ends without either happening. I return to cleaning his wound and he eases up on the intensity, though he studies me no less.
When I’m done, I rise up with the tray and explain I’ll be downstairs watching a movie.
