Page 20 of The Shadows We Keep

A door slams in the distance, and I quickly swipe under my eyes and jostle myself to standing. Lifting my fingers to my mouth, I place a kiss against them, dropping it onto her headstone. “Love you. Thanks for listening to me.”

The black SUVthat’s been carting me around for the last few weeks stops in front of Luigi’s. My stomach gurgles. I throw my thanks over my shoulder to James as I climb onto the sidewalk and slam the door behind me, making a beeline for the pizza parlor’s door.

“There she is!” The boisterous Italian peeks out from behind the brick fire oven. His huge stature would intimidate anyone with eyes. But his close friends know what a teddy bear he really is. “You come to get your favorite pie?”

I step up to the counter and he meets met there.

“Your special, please.” His worried eyes meet mine; he knows where I’ve been all afternoon. When I pull out my wallet, he shakes his head at it, reaching under the counter and pulling open the mini fridge hiding there. Two bottles of frosty beer clank on to the countertop before he takes each one and jams the tops against the counter’s edge, popping the metal caps off before handing one to me and taking the other to the back of the kitchen.

“Your pizza will be done soon, hon.”

I shuffle over to my favorite table, the Luigi’s Pizza sign reflecting off the smooth windows as the light outside diminishes. I drown in the salty bitterness of the cold beer, chugging until it’s empty. The smell of fresh fired dough and melted cheese makes my mouth water. Sal slides a plate of greasy goodness in front of me. He trades my empty bottle for a full one and I thank him for his unwavering kindness.

Soft Italian music keeps me company as I enjoy the one good thing to come from today. The fresh gooey mozzarella mixed with the rich tomato sauce, topped with the earthy basil, is exactly what I needed after today’s visit to talk with Mom. The traditional Margherita pizza would be nothing without their award-winning sauce.

And thenhe’sthere, waiting at the counter. I slink down in the booth, my jeans sticking to the plastic covering. The obnoxious noise is deafening. I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment. When I finally brave opening them, he’s looking right at me. His piercing gaze is unwavering; even when Sal comes out again to take his order. How do I know this? Because I locked my eyes on his, like a missile on target, when they very well shouldn’t be.

Some sense of reason comes back to me, and I drop my gaze down to the empty plate on the checkered table. The perfect excuse to escape, but I’m not fast enough. His powerful presence sits across from me, but I’m not ready to break the bubble of uncharted territory between us.

Maybe he doesn’t remember?

“Keira, right?”

Fuck me.

“Yeah. Taxi stealer, right?” I finally look up into his deep eyes. A half-assed smirk brightens his face a smidge and I know right away today’s weighing on him.

“If I recall, you’re the one who tried to steal my ride.”

“Semantics. It worked out better in the end, anyway, don’t you think?” I pause, taking in his scruffy face and the deep-set purple under his eyes.

His pupils enlarge, and his chest inflates.

“For splitting the fair,” I press out, not sure if he’s mad about the incident.

He whispers something under his breath I can’t catch since Sal drops a full box of pizza on the table with a thud.

“You need anything else?” Sal’s eyes catch mine and quickly shift over to Harkin.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Sal.”

Sal nods and heads back to the kitchen, checking on me one last time before he disappears behind the oven.

“Hungry?” I jut my chin at the large pizza box between us.

“Meal prepping for the week.” He smiles at me. A full white smile.

I roll my eyes, but the reality is, I probably eat pizza more than he does.

“You must come here a lot if the cook is looking out for you?” he inquires.

“You caught that, huh?” I question.

“Yeah, I live upstairs. Sal keeps me fed most nights and likes to keep an eye on me.”

“You guys related?”

I look at him dumbfounded, pointing at my basically translucent skin. “You ever seen an Italian this pale?” Raising my eyebrows in questions. “No, my Irish roots run deep.” I laugh.

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