Chapter 11
Aubergine.
“I was in a really dark place last night,” Pierce went on. “I didn’t know who else to call. So thanks for answering.”?
My heart tightened, despite myself. It wasn’t because I wanted him back. I absolutely fucking didn’t.
But because I knew loneliness was a miserable thing, no matter who carried it.
I pursed my lips together before giving a small nod. “You’re welcome.”
He smiled at me. “And, you know, if you ever need somebody to talk to, you can call me. Anytime.”
Forgiveness was one thing. And I was still extremely fucking bitter. But reaching out to him? I seriously hoped my life had not become that desperate.
Deeply uncomfortable, I stood and grabbed my purse from the back of my chair.
“Thanks for the coffee.” I smiled politely. “And good luck with your repentance tour, Pierce. I’ve gotta get back to work.”
He stood too.
“Hey, Abby?”
I paused and looked over my shoulder.
“You look happy.” He gave me a once over. He smiled sadly and shrugged. “Y’know… happier than the last time I saw you.”
I didn’t answer as I hurried out of the cafe.
The grocery bags dug into my fingers as I carried them into Dad’s kitchen.
“They didn’t have the blueberry flavor,” I called over the television in the other room. “So I got raspberry instead. Think you’ll survive?”
“Sure,” he answered from the living room. Voices blared in the background. God, he always kept the volume up so high on his TV shows.
I began stocking the refrigerator.
“You want me to make you something?” I asked as I poked around, looking at what he had left in there. “I got some pretty high compliments on my pasta the other day.”
Dad was quiet for a beat. “Oh yeah? Who’d you cook for?”
I froze. Shit.
“Uh...” I shut the refrigerator door. “A…. coworker.”
Technically, that wasn’t a lie?
“Oh.” He sounded thoughtful. “Well, no. I’m alright. I’ve still got some of that soup you made.”
I frowned. “You kept it down?”
“Yeah.”
Relief washed over me.
“Come back in here, Abby. You don’t need to cook for me.”
I picked up the empty grocery tote and wandered into the living room.
Dad smiled at me from his recliner. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders made him look impossibly small. Frail.
It made my chest ache.
“You look pretty,” he said. His attention drifted over my outfit, then he met my gaze with hope in his eyes. “You going on a dinner date or something?”
“No.” I perched on the arm of his recliner and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Thanks, though. Sometimes I just feel like dressing up.”
His smile lingered. Then slowly disappeared as his attention returned to the television.
I frowned. “You okay?”
“I need to talk to you. And you’re gonna be mad." He looked up at me. "I want to go back to cleaning.”
”What?”
“I heard the Ferraros and Morettis are at each other’s throats right now. There’s gonna be a lot of work coming in. A lot of money.”
"Dad. Absolutely fucking not.”
His eyebrows shot up. I probably sounded like I was the parent, but I couldn’t help it.
“We already talked about this,” I added quickly. “You said you’d stay home for at least another couple weeks.”
“Do you think the Morettis are gonna stop killing people because I’ve got cancer?” he asked. “I can still—”
“No.” I slid off the arm of the chair and knelt beside him. Taking his hand beneath the blanket, I squeezed it tightly. “I’ll have Mike forward every cleanup call to me.”
His mouth opened. I pointed a finger at him. “No. You are officially on a no-call list. Do you understand? If I find out you went to a cleanup, I’ll emancipate myself from you.”
A wheezing laugh escaped him. “It doesn’t work like that when you’re in your thirties.”
I crossed my arms.
“Look, honey, if I’m not working,” he said more quietly, “I’m not paying bills.”
“Which is why you have me.” I squeezed his hand again. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“You don’t have extra money, Aubergine.”
"That's not true."
He gave me the look.
The one that somehow still worked even though I was thirty-five years old. I laughed and lifted both hands.
“Look. If you won’t take my money, then the only other solution is for you to move in with me.”
“And we’ve already discussed that, and I already said no.” He waved me off. “I’m staying right here. You spend enough time worrying about me as it is. You should be out living your life. Going wild."
I blinked. “Doing what exactly?”
“Jesus,” he laughed. “I don’t know. Go out with friends. Go get yourself a damn boyfriend. Anything.”
He sighed, pressing a hand against his eyelids. “I just… I hate seeing you sad.”
It felt like someone had reached into my chest and wrapped their fist around my heart.
“Hey.” I forced myself to smile. “I’m not sad.” The words came out before I’d even decided whether I believed them.
… Was I?
“Oh, honey. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Ever since your mom died, and after the divorce… You’ve looked miserable.”
His eyes searched mine. “The past few days though, you seem better. I haven’t seen you this perky in years.”
A teasing smile tugged at his mouth. “You sure you’re not seeing somebody?”
“I’m not dating anyone,” I assured him. Not exactly.
I hadn’t heard from Nicola all day. Which was ridiculous to be upset about. The man was probably putting out fires all over the city.
Dad had just said he heard about how bad things were for them, like a war was brewing or something.
He had far bigger problems than calling me.
Dad narrowed his eyes. “Is it somebody I know?”
“I’m not seeing anyone. Really.” I leaned forward again. “But you have to promise me something.”
He groaned. “Abby...”
“No.” I pointed another finger at him. “I mean it. You stay home. I’ll handle the cleanup calls. Let me take care of you.”
His mouth opened and I immediately talked over him. “Just until you’re eating properly again and you’ve got your strength back. Then you can go back to cleaning.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then finally closed his eyes in resignation. “You are just as stubborn as your mother.”
“I know.” I leaned over and kissed his temple. “Learned from the best.”
As I climbed the stairs toward my apartment, my phone began vibrating inside my work bag.
A ridiculous flutter of excitement shot through me. I fumbled through my purse, nearly dropping my keys before finally fishing out my phone.
Unknown Number.
My heart skipped anyway.
“Hello?” I answered, breathless.
“Aubergine?”
Not Nicola.
My shoulders sagged before I could stop them. “Um... yeah?”
“It’s Thomas Moretti.”
“Oh. Wow.” A laugh escaped me. “Your voice got really deep.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly. He sounded rushed. “Listen… Um, any chance you could swing by the warehouse?”
My smile disappeared. “Why?”
“There was an accident.” He hesitated.
My stomach tightened. “An accident? Are you hurt?”
“No.” His answer came quickly. “Nothing like that.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “It’s just, um, messy. And I need this cleaned up before tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Nicola and Mike are coming back from Jersey.”
“So?”
Thomas hesitated again. Long enough that I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “I don’t want them to know.”
Oh, boy. Secrets. I groaned to myself.
“So, will you come?” He paused, then grunted. “Um, please?”
God, he made it sound like that word hurt him to use. And it fucking worked, because I inevitably thought of Nicola using the damn word on me, making my stupid heart melt.
I sighed. “Yeah. Alright. Text me the address.”
“I’m already at your apartment,” he replied and I froze mid-step. “Go change. I’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead.