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Later in the day, I’m in the stockroom studying the vast tower of shelves before me. Lewis sent me downstairs for a new tub of hot chocolate, but of course, it is on the very top shelf of the shelving unit right at the back of the room. My five feet four inches are no help to me now.
I scan the room for a footstool or small stepladder, but there is nothing around. I should look for one, but I’m still annoyed about the amount of testosterone flung about the shop this morning. I’m also annoyed Gianni knows I’m dyslexic. There is no way I’m going back upstairs to ask for help.
There is an unopened box sitting under one of the units. I pull the box from underneath the shelf and open the cardboard flaps. It is packed with black aprons. There is only one way to find out if this box will hold my weight. I drag it over to the shelf with the hot chocolate, drawing it level with the tub at the top. I place one foot on the box, slowly at first, to test its strength before hauling myself up. I’m precariously balanced, clinging to the side of the shelving unit.
When I’m certain I won’t fall, I crane my neck directly up to the shelf where the hot chocolate sits taunting me. I reach my hand up.Shit.I’m an inch away from being able to reach it. I stand on my tiptoes. My calves burn as I stretch my arm further. My fingertips graze the tub, pushing it further back onto the shelf and out of my grasp. Leaning back on my heels, I ready myself for a second attempt. I will not give up. I reach my hand up and push on my tiptoes, willing myself to be slightly taller when I hear my name.
“Chloe.”Shit.I don’t need to turn around. I know who the rich Italian voice belongs to. I also know he is furious with me. I’m standing on a box trying to reach a shelf that’s way too high for me—I’m probably violating several health and safety policies. I close my eyes momentarily, waiting for Gianni’s wrath to unleash.
“What the hell are you doing?” he thunders and marches across the floor toward me, my hand still poised, reaching for the hot chocolate. I wait for him to bark at me, reel off the long list of things I’ve done wrong, and dehumanize me with a lecture, but he doesn’t.
He’s behind me. He is close.
His chest is up against my back. I feel him against my skin. His right hand follows mine as he reaches up toward the shelf, then his left arm appears. His arms are now outstretched beside my head as he grabs the tub of hot chocolate. I expect him to seize it and leave, but he doesn’t. I’m trapped within his arms. I close my eyes. The trickle of his breath kisses the back of my neck, and my skin lights up. The heat of his body against mine almost burns through my clothes. The smell of him wraps itself around me, and for a moment, I’m consumed by him and his closeness.
He says nothing—does nothing—for what seems like minutes. We stand and breathe, a strange togetherness binding us. I open my eyes and feel myself swaying. Gianni is the first to move. He pulls the tub from the shelf and brings it down with a slowness that’s deliberate, if not overly cautious. He has the tub in his right hand, yet he remains rooted behind me. I bring my hands down with his as he passes the tub to me. Our hands touch, the brush of his skin sending ripples through my body. I expected cold, rough skin, but this isn’t the case. His touch is gentle, almost a caress, as the tub transfers from him to me. The stillness is all around us. The stock, the shelves, and the hot chocolate has dissolved.
And then he moves away, and a chill rushes to where his body has been. My hands clutch the large cylinder, and I pull it close to my chest as I prepare to face him. For once, I need him to say something. I inhale and turn my head, not sure what to expect. But I’m greeted with the most unexpected thing—his absence.
My eyes scan the room. There are no hiding places for Gianni to have crept into. He’s not here. I can feel the emptiness of the room. I’m alone.
I step off the box, my normal height resumed, and I notice the shake in my legs. It must be from standing on the box. I just pulled a muscle or strained something. It cannot be from him. I will not let it be him. I walk resolutely from the stockroom, brushing down my pants as if Gianni is a hidden layer of dust I can brush away.
Back to it. Business as usual. But it isn’t.
The brightness of the sunlight dashing through the windows almost hurts my eyes when I return to the shop floor. I put the hot chocolate down on the side. It feels lighter than it should. I glance around the shop, but I can’t see Gianni.
“There you are. I was about to send out a search party,” Lewis chides.
“Sorry, it took a while. I couldn’t reach it.” There is an absence in my reply.
“I thought as much about five minutes after I sent you to get it.”
“Yeah, well, Gianni had to get it.” I need to place him back in the room. His absence is bothering me. It’s as if I need him to be here, tearing a strip off me for not following protocol. I’m not sure what’s more unsettling—his tantrums or his silence.
“He’s a whirlwind, that bloke.” Lewis shakes his head
“What do you mean?”
“He was here a minute ago, then he stormed right out of the shop without saying a word I mean, what kind of manager does that? I’ve never been in a place where management come and go as they please. It annoys me.”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like him.” I smile. Lewis throws me a sour look, and I mentally shelve the strange incident in the stockroom, still not really understanding what happened. And I don’t want to admit anything to myself right now.
ChapterSix
My efforts to relax on my day off are unsuccessful. After an hour of rattling around the house, the silence got to me. After much debate, I plug my headphones in, pull on my running shoes, and hit the streets. I’m not sure what I am running from. If it is thoughts of Gianni, then I don’t stand a chance—he may as well be running behind me. His whole presence has me under a spell. It’s as if he’s possessed me. I can’t shake the feeling of unease. What am I missing? My instant dislike for him is something I’ve never come across before, and his mother’s reaction was beyond strange, but the two are linked somehow.
And then there is the stockroom. He was cross with me and had good reason to be. If he is intent on getting rid of me, it would have been a prime opportunity to dish out a warning. So why didn’t he? I don’t want to admit what I felt in that room. I’ve tried to ignore it. I have fought tooth and nail for it not to consume me, but it is useless. I’d felt something I had not thought possible.
But I hate him, pure and simple. I need to remember this.
As my feet pound the pavement, I wonder how I got into such a predicament. Cora had been bad enough. Could I call it bad luck? Or has it been fate? I’m blaming the whole situation on myself exactly as Cora had done.
I’d asked Cora about Richard. There were too many questions needing answers. But I had to be subtle.
I’d thrown a few random questions at her—she was easy to entice. There was nothing Cora loved more than talking about herself. She was yakking away in no time at all.
