Cathy shook her head and buried her face in his chest. Whatever she said was muffled.
“Ah, that will be a fight,” Franky sighed. “Poor man needs a drink. There’s still a mess from last night—poor Rae’s been trying to clean it up for over an hour.”
I scooted away from the door, confused by the gossip. Cathy poked her head into the work room a second later.
“Need any help?” she offered.
Looking up, I shrugged. “Thiswinestain isn’t coming out.”
Cathy gave me a knowing look. “Winestains can be tricky. I’m just going to run a tray to the library, then I can have a look at it.”
The danger from last night pulsed in my mind. So far, no one had clapped handcuffs around my wrists—or worse, fed me to the fishes. Franky had been nothing but chipper, offering me coffee and a smile when my shift started at five. That was the extent of it.
I couldn’t keep the shivers from racing down my spine.
Without thinking, words tumbled out of my mouth. “I can run the tray. Why don’t you sit a minute?”
Cathy gave me a funny look but didn’t argue. I hurried into the kitchen, helped load cookies on the plate while Franky set a carafe of coffee, a tiny cup, spoon, and saucer on the tray, and then waited while he also put a tumbler of amber liquid next to it.
“Tell Mr. Dom that it’s happy hour somewhere,” he said with a wink.
My inner self-preservation screamed at me as I left the kitchen. Was I really doing this? Facing down the object I hadn’t stopped fixating about since Friday? I couldn’t figure out what I would gain from the encounter. I told myself it was to make sure I was safe and that the de-fingering wouldn’t come back to haunt me.
But if I was being truthful, I wanted to make sure Dominico was okay.
“I need to make sure he doesn’t accuse me about the watch,” I scolded myself as the heels of my shoes clipped across the tiles.
Sure…tell yourself that’s why.
“It is,” I argued.
Pushing into the library, I realized I should have knocked. Gloom and the musk of old books swallowed me as I tumbled inside.
“Yes?” barked a voice from the back.
Dominico faced the window, body sprawled over a leather chair. The blinds were closed, and there wasn’t a single lamp on to read. He just sat there. In the dark.
I felt it then. His mood was volatile. The crackle of electricity right before the storm opened up.
Forcing myself not to sound like cornbread and sweet tea, I said in a breathless hush, “Franky sent you something to drink.”
There was a pause.
“Sorry for barging in here,” I tacked on for good measure.
And because I meant it.
Dominico sighed. “Just put it on the coffee table.”
“Do you…want a light to read?” I offered. Normal people would scamper away. Maybe it was my curiosity, or maybe it was the palpable tension, but I couldn’t make my feet move.
“If I wanted a damn light on, I could do it myself,” he snapped.
And just like that, any hope of friendly conversation over the events of last night fizzled out. There was nothing I could say to make him feel better. I sure as hell wasn’t part of this world. He was a big boy. He knew the stakes.
He can take care of himself.
“Jeezes, sorry,” I clipped out. “Just trying to return the favor.”
