Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“The door was unlocked. I thought you were—”
“A burglar just taking a nap between robbing you?” he asked, his unique eyes twinkling.
“I hadn’t actually given that a thought. I thought it might be an unhoused person looking for a safe place to spend the night.”
“Little advice, babe,” he said as he reached down to right his chair. “When someone is where they shouldn’t be, the right thing is to assume they got bad intentions, not that they need help.”
“That might be a little jaded for me.”
“Jaded keeps you alive,” he said, shrugging.
I mean, he wasn’t wrong.
Sure, as a whole, the crime rate in Manhattan had been on a downward trajectory for years. That didn’t mean there wasn’t crime. It was there. It happened. And even somewhat frequently.
I guess I had the unique experience of being a homeless kid and teen, of being in the presence of a lot of other people struggling with poverty. I knew that most of them were good, solid people just struggling, that most people were only one or two missed paychecks from the same fate.
Because of that, I liked to give people the benefit of the doubt.
“And afraid of everyone.”
“Maybe. But luckily, don’t gotta worry about it tonight. How’d you do?”
“A lot of change.”
“Change?” he grumbled.
“I’m trying to be positive about it.”
“Yeah? How’s that going?”
“Not too well,” I admitted. I walked over to the phone bank station, dropping down my purse, then reaching inside to pull out the bag full of money, and then the one of coin rolls I’d picked up at the dollar store on the way back. “But money is money.” I pulled off my gloves and held my icy hands in front of the heater, feeling them burn as the life came back to the tips.
“You have anything to eat all day?” he asked.
I glanced up, catching his gaze already on me.
“I had a couple of cookies this morning.”
“I’ll go grab a pie,” he said, turning and walking away before I could object.
Not that I was going to. Pizza sounded amazing.
“Lock the damn door,” Venezio called after a moment. Like he was waiting outside to make sure I locked it.
Was he being bossy?
Sure.
But his protectiveness was kind of sweet.
There was a smile on my face as I got up and locked it.
“Happy?”
“Doing a damn jig.”
A snort escaped me as I made my way back to the table to sort the cash and coins.
Venezio was back within twenty minutes with a pizza and a six-pack of beer. Which also sounded great after a long day.
“Made an executive decision with this,” he said, pulling one of the bottles out of the carrier, twisting the top, and handing it to me. “Figured neither of us are driving. Christ, who rolls coins anymore?” he asked, already reaching for one of the sleeves and a pile of dimes to start shoving in.
“I know, right?” I grumbled as I flipped the lid of the pizza box and grabbed a slice.
“Where did you collect today?”
“Midtown. I was hoping maybe the tourists would be feeling the spirit of the season and charity.”
“Nah. They already blew all their money on hotels, planes, trains, and all that Christmas shit.”
All that Christmas shit.
Clearly, this guy was not feeling the spirit of the season. And yet he was here. Donating his time so other people got to have those feelings.
“Yeah, I realized that a couple of hours in. But any money is good money. Oh, uh, speaking of.”
“Speaking of what, money?” he asked, glancing over after folding the ends of the coin sleeve in.
“No. Well, yes.”
“Which one?” he asked, reaching for some of the wet wipes I’d pulled out of my bag to clean his hands before reaching for a slice.
“I guess yes.”
“What about money?”
“Well, we need more of it.”
“No shit. That last truck only had a couple of boxes to unload.”
“Yeah. That big donor backing out really screwed us. But my best friend had this idea for a way to fundraise some more.”
“Yeah, how’s that?” he asked, reaching for his beer and chugging two-thirds of it.
I did not watch the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Nor did I find that weirdly attractive.
“Well, her girlfriend is a lawyer at a really swanky firm.”
“Lotta money in that.”
“Yeah. And apparently, several of the law firms are getting together to have this big holiday party. She suggested it might be a good way to get larger chunks of money from people who have a lot of it.”
“She’s probably right.”
“Yeah. But the thing is, apparently the firm is really into partners.”
“Partners?” he asked, finishing off his slice.
“Yeah, like, um, romantic partners. It’s a very old-school firm, I guess. So, well, the thing is… I can’t just show up alone. But I really want to give it a try. And, uh, I was wondering—”
“You asking me to go with you?” he cut me off from humiliating myself any further.