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Sure, my mother had what seemed like boundless energy, but there was a niggling feeling of guilt in me about. And that guilt suddenly made me appreciate Nino’s guilt about my getting shot.
It wasn’t his fault.
And it wasn’t my fault that my mom had to do extra work.
But there was no reasoning with unreasonable emotions.
You just had to ride the wave of them, let them move through and out of you when it was time to let them go.
So I didn’t fight the feelings as I slowly made fresh coffee, and did a few preparation tasks to make the day easier when we opened our doors.
Then, it was time.
I unlocked the door.
I flipped the sign.
Hoping for a half a dozen dine-in customers and twice that many drop ins.
I’d been wholly unprepared for the absolutely endless stream of customers that day.
All women, oddly enough.
And all of them wanting to buy us out of stock of everything we had.
I was sitting there during a lull, happy tears flooding my eyes, when the door chirped once again, making me turn to see who was coming in the door.
I wasn’t prepared for it to be Nino.
Or for him to be seemingly… pissed off.
“What the fuck, Savannah?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nino
Make this shit make some sense.
I wanted to drive by her house to check on her.
I mean, what the ever-loving-fuck was that about?
She wasn’t my woman.
She wasn’t my family.
It wasn’t my place to check in on her.
I tried to rationalize it with both my guilt, and the fact that she didn’t have a giant support system around her.
If you were a Grassi that was hurt, under the weather, or just had a baby, you would be swarmed with love and food. Someone was around to clean your house, to cook for you, to bring you meds, to check your temperature.
You were never alone in your misery.
But Savannah didn’t have that.
She just had her mom. And, yeah, her mom seemed to be all over taking care of her. She was just one woman, though. Someone who also needed to sleep and do daily tasks.
