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She changed into some fresh clothes, taking off what belonged to Carmine, before heading downstairs to start dinner. Cooking hadn’t been her main job in Blackburn, as her mama usually worked in the kitchen, but Haven had helped her whenever she got the chance.
Cooking, according to her mama, was an art. Recipes and instructions were unnecessary, because the best meals were made with intuition and heart. Her mama always put her all into her food, even if she hadn’t been allowed to taste it. It was a trait Haven had picked up, one that was coming in handy as she stood in the DeMarco’s kitchen.
Dr. DeMarco walked in as she finished a pot of spaghetti, and she stood back, nervously awaiting his reaction. He scanned the meal before nodding. “Will you be eating with us?”
Instinctively, she shook her head.
“You don’t have to, but I do insist you eat something every day. I won’t allow you to starve under my roof.”
Even something as generous as offering food sounded like an order coming from him.
4
Living in Blackburn hadn’t been easy for Haven, with an overabundance of work and a lack of food, but she always found a way to get by. It was a dismal life, but it had been hers, and it was the only one she’d ever known.
Durante, on the other hand, with its slow pace and down time, intimidated her.
By the third day, she fell into a routine. She cleaned during the day and cooked at night before hiding away until everyone went to bed. She’d slip downstairs then and eat something in the dark dining room, before retreating to the bedroom. She’d climb into bed, the music always starting not long after. She wasn’t sure where it came from but the sound of it would ease her to sleep, and she’d stay there until everyone left the house for the day.
While easier, little things knocked her off-kilter. The strong mint of real toothpaste, hot bathing water, and eating with silverware were small amenities, but each made her stumble a bit. She had been deprived of things everyone else took for granted. Even wearing shoes made her feet hurt. She didn’t like them a bit.
* * *
It was a few minutes past three on her third day when Haven encountered Dominic again. He came into the house and dropped a backpack on the floor before taking a seat in the family room. She considered fleeing upstairs, but that made her feel guilty. He’d been overwhelmingly kind to her.
She stepped into the family room, nervously picking at her brittle fingernails. “Can I do something for you?”
Dominic shook his head. “I’m cool.”
“Are you sure? There has to be something I can do.”
“Uh . . . I could always eat something, I guess.”
She smiled. “Eat what?”
“Surprise me.”
Haven headed for the kitchen and made a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich before grabbing a paper towel. She walked back into the family room, and Dominic took it. “You seriously didn’t have to do this.”
She averted her gaze. “But you made me one . . .”
She went to the kitchen before he could respond and wiped down the counters. A little while later, as she defrosted chicken for dinner, she spotted Dominic lugging his hamper downstairs. She stepped into the foyer, directly in his path. “Can I get that for you?”
He laughed. “You’re offering to do my laundry?”
“Yes.”
Dominic hesitated but let go of the hamper so Haven could pull it to the laundry room. He followed, pausing in the doorway. “Look, Twinkle Toes, I don’t know who you are . . .”
She chimed in. “I’m Haven.”
“Haven. The point is I make it a habit to stay out of my father’s dealings. It gives me plausible deniability, which means I have no idea what’s going on with this”—he waved his hands all around them—“situation. The way I see it, since you’re staying here, it’s only right for me to be hospitable. So if I get you a sandwich, don’t feel like you have to make it up to me. It’s just a sandwich.”
She said nothing, but he was wrong. It wasn’t just a sandwich. It was more than that to her.
“And I appreciate the offer to help with my laundry. Thanks, Haven.”
He walked away as she whispered, “No, thank you.”
