Page 8 of Sicilian Savior

Well, I’d said I wasn’t a serial killer, but I hadn’t said I wasn’t a killer. I had plenty of those under my belt. But, of course, I kept my mouth shut about that and smiled. “It’s just sitting in my yard collecting dust. I’m sure old Harvey would be happy to have a job this week.”

“Harvey?” she arched a dark eyebrow.

I grinned wider. “Told you. You aren’t the only one who names their rides.”

Lucia smiled again, this time bigger and more natural. “Thanks, Knox. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Well, how about somewhere to wash this grease off my hands? I’d hate to get it all over Axel.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the house, and after a long moment where I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, she said, “You can use the sink in the laundry room. Just go on in the front door, and it’s the room to the left.”

I dropped my head in a quick nod, then moved across the yard to the steps. When I put my size fourteen boot on the first step, it bowed beneath my two-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds. Not wanting to go through it, I took a wider step and put my foot on the second step instead. It bowed even more.

“You know, these steps are going to give out any day now. You may weigh a buck twenty at most, but they aren’t even going to hold you soon. I’d hate to see you put a leg through and get hurt. You’d be surprised how much these broken boards can tear up your skin.”

“Oh,” she said, stepping closer to me. “I didn’t realize they were that close to breaking.”

I chuckled. “I think the only thing holding the wood together at this point is mold. I’ll tell you what. When I come to fix your car, I’ll bring some lumber and replace these steps for you too.”

I ignored how fast I’d gone from vowing to never want to fix anything else for anyone ever again to being ready to build Lucia a new house with my bare hands if she’d asked me. I wanted her safe, that indescribable need to protect the fragile, fearful creature swelling up inside me once again.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” She shook her head, and it dislodged her messy bun a little more. She reached up and tightened the black hairband that blended into her dark locks.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Just say thanks.”

After a moment, she smiled again, and those damn eyes lit up a part of me I didn’t even know existed. And if felt good. Damn good.

“Thanks, Knox. I really appreciate all this.”

I safely maneuvered over the rickety stairs and across the tattered but sturdy porch. When I got to the front door and fought with the knob to open, I made a note to bring a new one along. I could replace that too.

When I finally got the door opened, a scent so intoxicating it almost overpowered me slammed into my nostrils. I closed my eyes and moaned.

“Oh my God. What is that smell?”

“A Bolognese I’m making for dinner,” she said. “It needs to simmer all day, and I’m never home long enough to keep stirring it the way my nonna taught me, so I decided to make it since I’m stuck here all day.”

I closed my eyes again and took another breath, wondering how in the hell I could ask for some later without coming off as rude. Then I decided I didn’t care.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll save a little of that for me, and I’ll drop the truck off for you tonight.”

“Okay,” she said from her place in the doorway behind me. “I’d be happy to save you some.”

My mouth practically watered thinking about eating authentic Bolognese. “I am going to be counting the minutes until it’s ready. I live far out of town, and there aren’t any restaurants nearby, so I do most of my own cooking. And spoiler alert...” I turned and sucked the air through my teeth. “I’m a terrible cook. It’s been ages since I’ve had anything other than frozen pizza and mac and cheese.”

Her face soured. “That’s not a healthy diet.”

I shrugged. “I’m not spending an hour on the road every night to get to-go food, and I basically burn anything else I try to cook. So, it’s pizza or mac-n-cheese.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth again, a habit I noted she often did when nervous or thinking. Then she looked back at me with those big doe eyes. “Since you’re being so nice to do all these repairs for me, how about every time you’re here working, I’ll have homemade food for you.”

My eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

She shrugged. “I’m always just cooking for myself, so I have lots of leftovers.”

Cooking for herself. That answered the question in the back of my mind wondering if she was single. It seemed she was, but it also seemed impossible no one would have snatched up this beautiful woman already. She had to be late twenties at least, and it was a miracle there wasn’t a man in her life already. A man besides, I hoped, me.

“That would be incredible,” I answered. “I miss good food so much. Until I finish fixing up my uncle’s place and sell it, I figured I’d just be living on the basics. You’d be doing me a serious solid.”