Page 5 of Sicilian Savior

“No. You’ve already saved the day. I’ll get the mop and finish up with these towels. I promise I won’t let the water damage your floors.”

He blew out a sigh of relief. “Good. Because I busted my ass on these floors.”

“They look gorgeous. It’s one of the reasons I chose this place. You’re an excellent handyman.”

“I’m not a—” he stopped himself on a sigh and finished with, “Thanks.”

“So, will you just let me know when the pipes are ready? How does this work?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you a call and set up a time to come in and finish.” He pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?”

I thought about it for a moment, trying to recall the new number, then rattled it off.

“Got it. I’ll text you with my number, so you’ll know I’m the one calling. And if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

The way he looked at me when he said that last sentence made me feel like he still didn’t believe me when I’d said I was okay. And he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t okay. I’d never be okay again.

Knox left the store, and after I finished mopping up the water and unpacking some more boxes, I locked up for the night to head home. I got to the little rusted Honda I’d picked up for eight hundred dollars last month, and I checked the back seat twice before getting in. After one last look in my rearview to make sure no one was back there, I ground the stick shift to get it in reverse. The engine whirred and sputtered, but it didn’t stall out this time when I backed up.

I drove the fifteen minutes to the little house I’d rented on the outskirts of town. It was farther out than I’d wanted and in pretty rough shape, but it was all I could afford if I wanted to use what was left of my money to open up my lotion and toiletries store. It was a small sacrifice to get my new business off the ground, so every penny I had went into buying the products and ingredients to make my line of organic soaps, lotions, bath oils, and body creams. Hopefully, my store would do well, and eventually, I could rent a nicer house.

I pulled up to the little two-bedroom ranch house with the chipped paint and put my car in park. After sitting in the driver’s seat for a few minutes with the lights on surveying my area, I blew out a breath. With my keys between my fingers, I hopped out, hurried to the front door, unlocked it, and rushed inside before locking it again. The lights were on because leaving them on all the time helped me feel safer, and I looked around to make sure everything looked the same.

With no evidence anyone had been there, I did one quick spin around my house before relaxing for the night with a glass of wine and microwaved leftover lasagna. While I sat on the couch flipping through shows, a true crime series popped up in my selections. I quickly flipped past it, not wanting to get my mind racing again and hoped Knox never started up a conversation with me about which true crime shows I liked. I’d lied today to cover my behavior. The truth was, I couldn’t watch any of those shows. My real life had enough true crime, and the last thing I wanted was to watch more of it on TV.

Instead, I picked a nice romantic comedy and settled back against the brown couch that had come with this furnished rental house. After a couple of minutes, a noise outside caught my attention. I held my breath, sliding off the couch to the floor and crawling to the window to peek out. My heart skipped a beat as I imagined a face popping up right in front of mine. I clamped my eyes shut as I tried to calm my breathing. When I opened them, I saw the feral cat who came with the house rummaging around outside.

“Ugh. You damn cat!” I grumbled as I pulled myself off the floor. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He’s not looking for you anymore. You’re safe.

I kept repeating that in my mind trying to make it stick, trying to convince myself that it was over, and I didn’t need to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. But I knew no matter how many times I said it, my brain would never believe it.

I tried again anyway.

He’s not looking for you anymore. You’re safe. He has what he wanted.

That last thought caused tears to spring from my eyes. The painful realization rammed into me once again, and I sobbed as I tried to find a way to keep breathing.

You need to stay alive. Breathe. Just breathe. You can’t help him if you’re dead.

After letting the agony wash over me for the millionth time, I finally stopped crying and wiped my eyes. I had to keep going and bide my time. Be smart. Careful. And if I played my cards right, maybe I could see him again.

No. I would see him again.

Reminding myself of that helped me take my next breaths, and I walked back to the couch and pulled the afghan blanket over me. For now, this was my life. And I just had to keep living it until I could find my way to him again.

CHAPTER THREE

Knox

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After all my grumbling about playing handyman for Ned, today was the first day I couldn’t wait to strap on my toolbelt and step into my Bob Vila role. Being a handyman meant I got to see Lucia again. It’d taken five long days for the parts to come in, and I’d called the store several times each day to see if they had arrived. I think they were more annoyed by my calls than I’d been with Ned’s, but I didn’t have any other reason to go back to her store. Finally, they’d called to tell me everything was in this morning. I’d driven like a bat out of hell to pick up my order.

With the pipes and parts secured in the saddlebags of my Harley, I picked up the phone and pressed Lucia’s contact number. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey, Lucia. It’s Knox. I’ve got the replacement parts with me now. Are you at your store? I can come over anytime today.”