Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
KITTY
A FEW DAYS LATER
“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
My lips curved into a smile. “Currau, are you pouting?”
His answer included a harrumph and an undeniable pout.
I strolled into the hospital room, feeling like I was on enemy turf. Not with Currau. But the hospital in general.
Apparently, my absconding before quitting had traveled around the staff like chlamydia and I’d earned some stares—a few pleasant, a few not so pleasant.
Considering I’d layered on the foundation to hide any malingering yellow tinges where bruises had once stained my skin, they probably thought I’d lied for extra PTO.
Fuck it.
And fuck them.
Stan had been stricter than the doctor at ensuring I’d rested enough, and now, with Victor metaphorically signing off on my return to ‘work,’ Stan had become the dictionary definition of ‘pain in my ass.’
He’d tried to convince me via oral not to head to Pilates today—it hadn’t worked but I’d certainly appreciated his efforts.
When I plunked myself beside Currau on his bed, I withdrew a bag loaded with some of his favorite candies—Tootsie Rolls, Baby Ruths, and Milk Duds. All the OG shit that did nothing for me but had his eyes lighting up.
His neck lengthened as he craned to see what I’d brought along with me. He did a great impression of a crotchety old tortoise who was begrudgingly leaving its shell.
“Is this a bribe to plead forgiveness for forgetting about me?”
I smirked—like great-uncle, like great-nephew. “No bribe, but I may have wanted to sweeten you up.”
His gaze turned imperious. “Where have you been?”
“Did you miss me?”
“You know I did,” he grouched, back to pouting.
“I missed you too.” I unraveled a Tootsie Roll then handed it to him with the wrapper protecting the candy where my fingers touched.
“Why didn’t you come and visit me then?”
“I quit.”
“Oh, I know. I heard the gossip.” He rolled his eyes. “People forget I’m not deaf.”
“What’s the gossip train?”
“That you’re a snooty bitch who isn’t a team player and who decided to take off on another trip—”
“That’s so freakin’ unfair!” I blurted out. “I came in to explain why I couldn’t work. Jeeeeeeeez, I looked like I’d been run over by a freight train and they figured I could pick up my shift like nothing had happened?!”
“You were in a traffic accident?” he half-roared.
Ever a quiet man, his volume came as such a surprise that I blinked and shut up.
“Kitty!” Gnarled fingers, sticky with the candy, tangled with my own. “What was wrong with you?”
My nose wrinkled. “I kinda can’t tell you, but I can tell you that your matchmaking worked.”
Confusion had him scowling at me. “What? And why can’t you tell me?”
“Well, when you’re out of here, I can, but—”
“Out of here? My great-nephews and niece are throwing me out?!” he sputtered.
“Oh, no! They’re moving you—”
“I’m not going to some stinking house for the elderly!”
“I didn’t know this until recently, but wow, you’re so Sicilian.”
That, at least, made him shut up. “Huh?”
“They’re not throwing you out, Currau.” I clucked my tongue. “They’re bringing you to one of their homes and I’m going to head up the team of nurses who care for you.”
He gaped at me. Then, holy cheeseballs, wetness appeared in his eyes. When he sniffled and swiped at said wetness, I bowed my head and took a lot of interest in my lap.
“Really?” he eventually croaked once he’d regained his composure.
“Really.” Blindly, I squeezed his knotted fingers with my own. “Stan sent me—”
“Stan, ehm?”
I rolled my eyes. “You gonna bring that up now when you’re about to go home?”
His smug smile was answer enough—wow, who knew that look would be inheritable. “I told you he’d be better for you than those finance morons.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“How did you meet?”
“The ambulance is coming—”
“I don’t care about that,” he scoffed. “Come on. Tell me how right I was.”
“He’s insane.”
He pshawed. “Aren’t we all?”
“He’s built like a wall—”
“Allora, in my day, that meant he was good for climbing—”
“Currau!”
His eyes, thankfully lacking tears, twinkled. “What?!”
We shared a smirk.
“It’s… The feelings I have for him are crazy.”
He dismissed that with a distinctly European shrug. “Feelings are supposed to be crazy or where’d the fun be?”
“You have a point.”
“When you get to my age, you’re all points or dulled edges.” He patted his legs. “It’s either the brain or the body that goes first, but I’m glad to know my brain still works. Maybe I should start a matchmaking agency. There’s life in this old dog yet.”
“You barely know him,” I accused.
“Of course I do. He doesn’t know me. He wasn’t the one who barely talked.”
I cleared my throat. “Did he talk about…”
When I didn’t finish the question, Currau patted my hand. “Yes. He did. You’ve no fear there, Kitty. That girl was his sister. Dumb fool world we live in where a man can only think of a woman as family if he’s schtupping her.”
“Ew.”
“Tell me it’s not true,” he argued.
“Men and women can be friends.”
“Sure they can, but not without everyone around them thinking they’re having some how’s your father when people’s backs are turned.”
“How’s your what now?”
“The hokeypokey!”
“The what?!”
“I won’t say it to a lady.” He tilted his head to the side. “You’ll tell me how you got those bruises?”
I huffed. “They’re almost gone.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not there and that I don’t want to know how they got there in the first place.” A warning flared to life in his words, giving me a glimpse at who this man would have been a couple decades ago...
Deadly.
“It wasn’t Stan.”
“Didn’t think it was. I thought that whoever did it wouldn’t be walking around if you were my woman…”
I bit my lip.
A delighted gleam appeared in his eyes. “E quindi. Okay, I’m ready to get out of this joint.”
“Before we go,” I cautioned. “I expect you to talk to them. No more of this, ‘They’ll miss me more if they know me,’ nonsense. I won’t stand for it, Currau.”
“What are you going to do? Wash my mouth out with soap?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“You going to turn into Nurse Ratched?”
“Turn into? Nah. That’s already how I roll, Currau.” When he swallowed hard, I nodded in satisfaction. “The only reason you’re getting out of here so fast is because they’re bankrolling this—”
“What else is money good for if not comfort?”
“You’re spoiled,” I accused, but I softened it by pinching his cheek. “Get used to it, huh?”