He tilts his head, masking half of his face in shadows, his low voice the very essence of temptation. “Can I convince you to cancel that date?”
My vocal cords ice over at the heat in his voice. I flick my gaze to my shop’s front window. It’s not the twinkle lights framing my most recent Christmas display that I’m seeing. No, I’m glimpsing the ghostly memory of Greta from two weeks ago who determined to climb out of her mental and emotional rut. A swell of boldness overtakes me. “Maybe. It depends on what you’re offering.” This is a dangerous game. One where I don’t know the rules but mindlessly participate anyway. “It’s got to be something that can trump carbs and sugar. Those are my two favorite food groups.” Granted, cereal isn’t the best option for dinner, but my laziness will not be denied.
He laughs. “I know an Italian place with the best garlic breadsticks and lasagna. It’s a town over, but worth the drive. Since you fed me last night, it’s only fair I take my turn. You up for it?”
Oh.
Talk about taking an icepick to my fragile hope. He’s not asking me on a date. He feels obligated to even the score, since he thinks he crashed my Thanksgiving dinner. Am I disappointed? Yes. Am I going to pass on a chance for a free Italian meal? I’m not that delusional. “You had me at breadsticks.” My growling stomach confirms I made the right choice.
“Good.”
“Care if I drop that off at Mitzy’s first?” I nod at the package in his arms. “She lives above Zilo’s Florist, but her entrance is around back.”
“Lead the way,” he says as if the flower shop isn’t four storefronts down, but it’s sweet of him to join me.
Our breaths puff before us as we cut through a narrow alley and walk the short jaunt to Mitzy’s. We climb the stairs, and I knock on her door, which has seen better days. We wait several seconds before I try again. I exchange a glance with Leo. “Maybe she’s out.”
Then I hear it.
A low guttural moan.
My gaze snaps to his, but he’s already pounding on the door. “Mitzy,” he calls. “Are you okay?”
Another groan, only this one’s twice as loud.
“Something’s wrong.” I rattle the doorknob. It’s locked. I can’t even get help from the flower shop below because it’s closed. “What do we do?” Panic pitches my voice higher. “What if she’s seriously hurt?”
“Call 911 and get help sent over.” His voice is calm and steady. “I’ve got something in my truck that can open this. I’ll be right back.”
My blood’s pounding in my ears. “Okay.”
He sets the box down, squeezes my shoulder, then flies down the steps, jumping the last several.
I make a quick call to EMS and give them the information. By the time I hang up, Leo returns with this metal knife-looking thing. He slides it between the jamb and the door in line with the latch. His profession undoubtedly makes him skilled at opening doors because within a minute, he pries it open without breaking the lock. We rush into the apartment and find Mitzy collapsed on the floor.
We both kneel beside her, but I let Leo take the lead.
“Mitzy.” He’s assessing her for injuries. “We called for help.”
She moans, and her lashes flutter. She slowly opens one eye, then the other. Her dull brown gaze latches onto Leo. “Hello, handsome.” Her voice is raspy. “What’s happened?” She tries to sit up, but Leo gently holds her still.
“We found you on the floor,” he says soothingly. “Are you hurting anywhere? This is important, Mitzy, because I can’t have you moving until I’m certain you haven’t sustained any injuries. It’ll make things worse.” He gently strokes her hair from her forehead. “And we can’t have that.”
Mitzy expels a dreamy sigh, and I’m about to join her.
She takes her time to answer, no doubt soaking up all of Leo’s ministrations. Smart woman. “I think I’m okay, young man.” She squeezes her eyes shut, then reopens. “Just felt a bit woozy.”
Leo runs his hands over her head and seemingly goes through a mental checklist before finally assisting her to a seated position. “Would you like me to carry you to the sofa?”
Mitzy’s eyes sparkle. “Yes, please.”
I’m not certain if she’s truly unable to stand or just milking the attentions of a good-looking guy, but I think she made the right choice. Leo carefully gathers her into his arms and gently deposits her on a blush-colored couch. I grab the pillows from the adjacent chair and prop them beneath her.
After several seconds, Mitzy confesses, “I ran out of water.”
“What?!” Leo and I say in unison.
Her gaze turns sheepish. “It’s been too cold to go out, and I can’t drink from my tap because of the rust in the pipes. So I haven’t been drinking much.” She glances to her left, where a babydoll is lying in a bassinet. “Plus, little Jacqueline had a case of the sniffles.”
