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Just like before, I check the screen before opening the door to a delivery guy I’m starting to become familiar with.
The guys have a handful of favorite Cirillo-owned restaurants that they order from—too often—and most days one of their delivery drivers is here at least once.
We really should make more effort to cook, but with everything going on, standing in the kitchen cooking for whoever might or might not turn up doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.
Despite never really having to cook for myself, I can. Angie taught me from an early age.
I pause as I think of her.
“Shit,” I hiss as I step back into the living room.
“What’s wrong?” Emmie asks, pushing from the couch.
“Oh, uh… nothing. I haven’t visited Angie.”
“Who’s Angie?” she asks, trailing me, or more the food, toward the kitchen for plates.
“Our housekeeper, but pretty much the woman who brought me up.”
“I’m sure she knows you’ve been busy.”
“I know,” I agree, but it doesn’t lessen the guilt that washes around in my belly.
The last time I saw Calvin, I was pissed at him and pretty much stormed out of the house.
Both of them deserve more from me than that after all the years they’ve supported me. None of this has been their fault. If Calvin knew someone had been in the house, he’d have put a stop to it, I know that without a doubt.
“Hey,” Emmie says, resting her hand over mine, the shock of her move makes me look up at her. “Just go and see her tomorrow. No one can blame you for anything over the past few weeks. It’s been fucking stressful.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Gotta be useful for something, right?” she asks, loading her plate full of food.
“More than just getting Theo’s cock hard, you mean?”
The look she shoots me is pure death, and all I can do is laugh.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” I say as I try to catch my breath.
“No you’re not,” she sulks, dropping onto the couch with her plate.
“Meh, maybe not. You should just take him for a test drive, shatter some tension. It might fix everything.”
“Or make everything fucking worse?” she mutters, shoving a forkful of food into her mouth.
“You don’t know until you try.”
She doesn’t need to give me a verbal answer. I get everything I need from her eyes.
“I was just making conversation,” I mutter lightly before spearing a piece of pork with my fork.
She shakes her head at me as she continues eating.
* * *
“Have you got any ice cream here?” Emmie asks a couple of hours later.
It’s almost midnight. I was hoping that the guys would have been back by now, or at least heard something, but my cell is sitting silently on the couch.
