Page 9 of State of Mind

“Don’t beat yourself up if Savannah isn’t for you.” Nellie gathered up the papers and then tucked them against her chest with a curled arm.

This time, her words sounded like permission to second-guess his life’s choices, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be let off the hook that easily. He’d come there to find himself—somehow. He’d come to retrace his brother’s steps and maybe find some way to look at himself in the mirror again and see a whole person instead of some cardboard mockery of the man he might have become.

* * *

Luca stared around the apartment—the little kitchenette with the two-burner stove, the small fridge, the row of pans that had seen better days. There was a stack of take-out menus that were looking more and more appealing the longer he stood there, but the Wi-Fi up there was shitty and after waiting for the first webpage to load, he gave up and considered the little grocery market not too far.

For all that he had been spoiled by convenience for the last two dozen years, he knew he hadn’t lost his touch in the kitchen. One of his tried-and-true seduction techniques had been his mother’s caponata, and that had gotten him more blowjobs than six martinis and a hit of molly during his first year with more than one zero in his bank account.

Not that he wanted to go out of his way for himself, but maybe the first step in his journey was shedding the part of him that had been catered to for so damn long. He cooked when he wanted to impress these days, not for the necessity of it, and the idea of getting down to basics made him a little tingly inside.

Grabbing his keys, Luca locked the door behind him, then took the stairs two at a time. He was four steps from the landing when his foot hit the edge, and his entire body hit the ground before he realized he was even falling. Pain lanced up his side, the wind knocked out of him, and he was suddenly aware of every single forty-two years of his life right then as he laid there on the floor.

“Verdammter Mist! Did you just stroke out?”

Luca couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but it sounded like it was in the direction of the sharp-smelling salon that was just to the right of the front doors. He gasped for a breath, then his lungs started to open, and he pressed one palm to the floor as he righted himself.

He wasn’t stroking out—not yet, but his humiliation had him on the edge. “Uh.” His gaze darted around as he rubbed a palm over his ribs, and eventually he spied a man peering from behind a low reception desk at the front of the salon.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” the man asked. His voice had a rounded accent to it, thick in the back of his throat like he was maybe German.

Luca stared at him, a small scowl on his face as he took a cautious step forward, then another. The man was watching him—brown eyes wide, shoulders tense like he might need to spring into action. “It was four steps. I think I’ll live.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall like that before in my life,” the guy said with a small laugh. “Including me.”

Luca’s scowl deepened, and he walked over, laying one hand on the desk. “Is humiliating guests your thing?”

“Depends on why you fell,” the guy said with a shrug. He bit his lip, then extended his hand with a grin. “I’m Raphael.”

Luca took his hand without thinking, then flushed that he’d let the man get the best of him. “You know what…”

“There’s a hospital up the road,” Raphael interrupted like Luca hadn’t started speaking. He took his hand back and laid it on the desk. “I know one of the attendings who works there. He’s kind of a mess, but he’s actually good at his job if you need him to look at your ribs.”

Luca considered it for half a minute, but he wasn’t sure he wanted some southern MD fucking with his body. As it was, he really didn’t think he was hurt—apart from his pride and maybe a little bruising. “I think I’m good.”

“Tell the triage nurses you want to see Aksel Alling,” Raphael went on. “If you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Luca backed up, then patted his pocket like maybe he’d be able to feel through his jeans if he’d cracked his phone screen. “Uh…see you.”

The guy didn’t respond, and Luca rolled his eyes before he headed out the door, trying desperately to ignore the burning ache in his side. At least it had been a single person who had seen his mortifying fall, but he also had a feeling this Raphael person wasn’t going to hold his tongue for long. And that was all he needed—a place that should be his sanctuary looking at him like he was some bumbling moron who didn’t know how to walk down stairs.

Luca kept his blushing to a minimum as he found the little market, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the lack of artisan and organic. But at least it wasn’t a Kroger, and they had a decent produce selection. Considering it had been actual years since he’d made pasta by hand, he bypassed the idea of fresh and scoured the dry aisle, finding what he needed to get him through at least the next week then hurried through the self-check.

He took the long way back to The Augustin, mostly to avoid the inevitable long evening by himself in a strange place because he’d yet to meet anyone but Nellie, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that in a place like Savannah. But he knew he had to be an adult about it, so he forced himself back to that little dirt parking lot and turned off the car.

Hooking all the bags on his arm, Luca managed to get to the front porch before letting half go. They dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, and he nudged the Manor door open with his knee, coming to a stop in the doorway. The salon’s open sign was dim, but Raphael was still there behind the desk, a pen in his hand, a smirk on his face.

“Successful trip?”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Something like that. I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to be useful for once in your life and help me upstairs?”

Raphael hummed, then pushed back in his chair, and it took Luca only a second to realize that it was a wheelchair. And he wasn’t going to be helping him up the stairs, because there was no elevator. “Tell you what,” Raphael said with a tiny smile, “I’ll guard the rest of your groceries if you do the leg work.”

“I,” he started, but the way Raphael’s brows furrowed stopped him.

“Yeah, I get it,” Raphael said with a touch of impatience. “You didn’t notice, you’re sorry, you feel bad. I might not be the nicest guy, but I’m not an asshole. If Savannah adhered to ADA rules better, I probably would be able to help you, but,” he gestured toward the banister and shrugged.

Luca bowed his head, then took a breath. “Just make sure no racoons take off with my shit?”

---