Page 74 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“No, you should go,” Stan said, voice firm.

“I promised James…” Don said, clearly conflicted as I relaxed a bit, figuring this had nothing to do with my father then.

“He’ll understand. Family has to come first,” he added.

And I wasn’t, by any of their estimation, family. As much as my father insisted that I call them all ‘uncle,’ and the fact that they had been around my entire life. I wasn’t blood. I was just an extension of my father that, because of their love of him, they had to care about.

“I hope everything is okay,” I said to Don when he turned to look at me, his gaze already a hundred miles away.

“I hope so too,” he agreed, rushing out the door. I watched his car peel away a moment later.

I turned a questioning glance toward Stan, but he was focused on his text again. Likely telling my father that Don had needed to bounce, and he was here alone with me.

I expected to see my father stroll in twenty minutes later, but he never came. Not as the dinner rush met the early evening rush.

“Closing up?” Stan asked as I rolled a crick out of my neck.

Everything hurt, actually.

I guess even a short break had set me back years.

I remember this from when I first opened. The sore feet, back, shoulders, neck. Even myarmshurt.

Normally, I would close and then spend a few hours baking before I went home. But I was just so damn exhausted. All I wanted to do was fall into bed, drift away, and forget about everything for a few hours.

I tried to convince myself that after some sleep, I would wake up feeling more like myself, more into my old passions, and less crushed by August’s absence.

He hadn’t even texted or called.

And I was angry at myself for even noticing that, let alone being upset about it.

“Yeah,” I agreed, walking toward the door and closing up.

Then I did the quickest clean I’d ever done in my life, not even bothering to prepare a single thing for the next day.

“Ready?” Stan asked as I pulled off my apron.

“Yes. Are you going to be staying with me?” I asked.

“Until Chuck comes back, yeah,” he agreed, holding open the door for me, then following me out to his fancy two-seater sports car.

It wasn’t a long drive back to my place, but it felt twice its usual time as we drove in silence.

“Are you hungry?” I asked as he followed me up the porch. “Neither of us really ate anything today,” I added, unlocking my door as I saw the squad car roll up and park on the street.

“Sure,” he agreed. “But I’m not eating tofu or anything like that.”

Of course he wasn’t.

My father had said the same thing when I’d invited him to dinner once. Yet again, it led to an argument and a canceling of plans.

I hadn’t even been planning on serving tofu.

A sigh escaped me as I moved into my house.

“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.

I wanted something deep fried and unhealthy. But I knew that was never going to happen with Stan.

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