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“Drives him nuts. Hear him grumbling about it. You never lock your door.” He’s not wrong. And the few times he’s barged in, he’s mentioned that. But what does that have to do with fucking anything?
“What does it matter to him? The back door to the street locks automatically. It’s not like I’m leaving his business or apartment at risk.”
“It’s not safe.” I stare at her. “He . . . He has a thing about safety. Especially safety for women.” As I’m looking at her, there’s a flash, a memory surfacing. “His hometown. A buddy of his, his girlfriend, was kidnapped. Crazy stalker, obsessed with her. Anyway, she got away, but before that, she was taken to his family’s work site. The girl was kidnapped from her own business, her cop boyfriend sitting right outside. You just . . . You never know.” Her eyes move to my wrist, bruises having long healed, and I wonder if he talked to her about the mark or if she’s remembering when the dark mark caught her own eye. “His brother’s girl? She was in an abusive relationship for years. Things with safety just . . . hit too close to home for him.” I swallow, not knowing what to say.
I can’t deny the bruise, but I also can’t tell anyone the real source. Hattie continues talking.
“He doesn’t hate you. He . . . doesn’t feel things. Locks himself away. Stays in his art, his business. He’s separated himself from so many things.” She looks at the sky, blue and cloudless, a seagull overhead looking for something to steal. “Anyway. Just . . . give it time. Give him time. And don’t . . . Don’t shut out the opportunity altogether, yeah?” she says, and her eyes look so genuine, like she really, truly wants nothing more in this moment than for me to give her best friend a chance.
I sigh.
“Yeah, Hattie,” is all I say on the subject, but her smile tells me it was enough.
And for the rest of the day, I blame Old Lola for still being present, having a bit of the reins. I tell myself that it’s because of the old people-pleasing side of me that I said that.
But deep down, New Lola knows.
That’s not why I agreed.
No, that was for me, not Hattie.
Twenty-Six
-Lola-
That night,the bell rings over the front door of Libby’s and I don’t even look up. This is the third time this has happened tonight alone.
I need to work on getting the lock fixed as soon as possible. Tonight, I’m planning on rigging up a chair under the lock, but that can’t be a permanent solution.
Right now, I’m ducked behind the counter, organizing white bakery boxes and rolling up the extra rolls of pink twine, closing up for the day before I head upstairs and collapse in bed. And as much as I love my customers, once the bakery is closed, I’m done with customer service. I want to finish cleaning and then flop in my bed, where I’ll overthink every interaction I’ve ever made while trying to fall asleep.
“We’re closed, I’m so sorry!” I shout then knock my head into the underside of the counter as I try to stand. “Fuck!”
Great, Lola. Very professional.
No lock on the door,andyou just cursed in front of a potential customer.
Except when I open my eyes, rubbing at my head where I’m sure there will be a bump, I don’t see a potential customer.
Instead, there stands Johnny Vitale.
“I think you can stay open a few minutes later for me,bellissima.” My stomach churns at his dark hair, slicked back and greasy. It’s thinning but combed back in a way to attempt to hide that, and he has a smile on his face that gives me chills.
And not the chills Ben gives me when he gives me a douchey smile.
The kind of chills you get when you’re watching a scary movie and everything goes quiet.
The kind of chills you get when something that you can’t pinpoint inside of you knows intuitively that something bad is about to happen.
Johnny is bad news.
That much I know for certain. But this? This feels . . . more sinister.
“Leave, Johnny.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Lola. I thought we were friends.” His voice is sickly sweet, his thick North Jersey accent making a mockery of the kind words.
“I don’t even know you. All I know is that, once again, my father fucked up, and once again, I’m being forced to make it better.”
