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He snorted a laugh. “Might.” He pointed to the chair across from him, but I shook my head. I needed to have my back to the wall. Surprisingly, he scooted his chair around, putting himself more at an angle with the wall and the open sidewalk and gestured to the space he’d vacated.
Unexpectedly, I felt a wave of something like grief envelop me and I found myself near tears. These two men, men who knew very little about me, were treating me with more kindness and respect than anyone had in my entire life. Especially since I’d been brought over from Italy. My childhood hadn’t been great, but it had been better than my life in America.
Still, I hesitated. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not.” Atticus again gestured to the empty space beside him.
With only a slight hesitation -- more for show than anything else -- I picked up my pie and coffee and set them on his table before moving a chair around to sit with my back against the wall.
“Rough day?” Atticus asked with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.
“Gonna be,” I muttered. “How about you?” We never asked about things like this. Personal things.
He shrugged. “Not bad. Convinced someone my advice was good advice. I’m hopeful this person’s health will improve, but I’ll still drop in to check from time to time.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t question further. I’d only asked because he had.
Knowing I probably needed to offer something in return, I fiddled with my pie. I desperately wanted to eat the rich dessert, but I wasn’t sure my stomach could take it. Or the coffee. “I have a job.” I cleared my throat. Damned thing was trying to close up on me. Emotions sucked. “I don’t want to do it, but…” I shrugged. “It’s like everything in life. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”
Atticus nodded. “Sometimes. Maybe.”
“Always.” I knew I sounded bitter and the conversation was turning heavy. The last thing I wanted was for him to bail on me. “So.” I gave him what I hoped was a cheerful smile. “You always read about murder for personal gain, or do you do light reading?”
He grinned, just like I’d hoped he would. “I read everything from technical journals to crime novels. Not much I won’t try at least once.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Technical journals? You mean, like medical stuff?” When his expression shifted slightly, I hastily added. “I heard you’re a doctor or something. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna ask for free medical advice or anything.”
“You can ask me for anything you want, CeCe. Medical advice or anything else.”
I gave him a wry smile. “Don’t mean you’ll give it to me, though. Right?”
He held my gaze with a steady one of his own. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I gave him a cheery smile. “Besides, I said I wasn’t gonna ask.” Before he could say something to make me cry, I changed the subject. “Wow. The breeze is really nice today.”
He nodded, his expression not changing. He seemed to study me, like he was looking for something in particular. “It is. Supposed to be bringing a bit of bad weather.”
“Yeah, I heard there was something coming in. Not a hurricane or anything.”
“No. Weather could still be dangerous, though. You got a good, solid place to stay?”
Was it my imagination or was there a double meaning to his words? “Good as any, I guess.”
“I got a spare bedroom if you need to crash.” I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “No strings, CeCe. Just a sturdy, dry place to stay, maybe some dinner, and good conversation.”
God, if only!
“I --” I swallowed. I wanted that. So fucking much! But if I didn’t show up at Marco’s, Ettore would kill me.
Or worse.
“I can keep you safe. From everything.”
My insides fluttered even as disappointment was so strong one tear managed to leak from my eye before I could stop it. Tears were a weakness I couldn’t afford to show. Not in front of anyone. But especially not Atticus. That feeling he was something more than what he appeared to be was stronger than ever as I searched his face for… something. Deliverance, maybe? My whole life I’d belonged to Ettore Alfonso. From the time I was born in Italy to now. He’d made it abundantly clear I’d always belong to him.
But what if I could have my own life? What if I were free to do whatever I wanted to do? Be with whomever I wanted to be with? Undoubtedly, I’d want to be with Atticus. More than one night, too. If he was the man I thought he was. And really, how many men sat here night after night talking to someone like me, knowing what I was, and never hit on me?
“You and I both know what I am, Atticus.”
“Sure. You’re an intelligent, beautiful young woman.”
