Chapter Seven
Stephanie
I never thought I would get to see a grown man try his first homemade cookie.
But I have to admit that while it was heartbreaking to know no one had ever made him cookies before, it wasn’t a memory I would trade for anything.
For just a second there, I could have sworn I saw a little piece of his inner child get healed.
Was I kicking myself (and cursing Craig) for missing out on my only chance to ask Venezio to the damn fancy party? Yes.
It would have been the most natural time to just squeeze it into a casual conversation. Now I had to single him out to ask him again. Because if he wasn’t interested, I needed time to find someone else to go with.
I hated to think that my only backup plan was Craig.
When I left the warehouse to go beg for some money closer to tourist attractions where people might be feeling extra charitable, Venezio was bringing the rolls of new paper I’d picked up over to the gift-wrapping station.
Even when he didn’t have any unloading or sorting to do, he seemed to make himself useful.
I couldn’t help but wonder about Venezio as I stood in the toe-numbing cold.
What did he do for a living? How did he have so much free time to volunteer? Was he recently laid off and just looking for ways to fill his days while he tried to find a job? Did he do gig work? Work-from-home stuff, so he could squeeze it in when it was convenient, like me?
Looking at him, you could easily see him working as a bartender or some rough-and-tumble doorman at a club. But he met the shipments of gifts at night, so there was no way he worked a night shift job.
He was a real puzzle.
And I could never resist trying to fit pieces into place.
As I made my way back to the warehouse later that evening, though, I was no closer to figuring out who Venezio was or what he did.
All I knew was I had a pretty heavy purse. Sure, a decent chunk of that money was in coins. But, hey, every penny counted. Even if I was dreading having to roll it all up into coin sleeves since none of the banks nearby had the counting machines anymore.
I let myself into the warehouse and promptly lost all sense of self-preservation by dropping my purse, slamming back against the door, and letting out a shriek.
No fight.
No flight.
Just freeze and scream at the figure of a man lounged at the phone bank, legs up on the table, head tipped forward with his chin on his chest, his head hidden by a hoodie.
I didn’t realize he was sleeping until his whole body jerked hard, sending the folding chair flying backward, teetering on two legs for a split second before crashing to the ground.
I felt an immediate twinge of guilt, realizing it was probably just some unhoused person looking for somewhere safe to sleep out of the elements. It wasn’t his fault the door was unlocked. Or that someone had carelessly left the heaters... wait.
I looked closer at the man as he grumbled and rolled over onto his knees, the move as graceful as a cat—and just as predatory.
It was Venezio.
“Christ,” he grumbled as I made the realization, getting to his feet with a little hop that didn’t have any right to be as hot as it was. “Don’t remember the last time someone snuck up on me,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed.
“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.
“I guess I am,” I admitted, forcing myself to make eye contact with him. “I mean, totally no pressure. It’s fine if it’s not your cup of tea. It’s going to be fancy. Apparently, I have to wear a floor-length dress. But, yeah. If that’s not your thing, I can ask Craig if—”
“Don’t fucking ask Craig,” he cut me off, tone brooking no argument. “I’ll take you.”
“Really, no pressure. I don’t want you to feel like I’m cornering you or anything.”
“Babe, I’m a grown-ass man. You can’t corner me into doing shit,” he said. “I’ll take you to the party.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Do you have a suit?”
“No. But I can get one.”
“I can pay for—”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
He actually sounded offended that I’d offered.
“I’m the one asking you to—”
“Steph, you’re not paying for shit.”
He said that the same way that the stockbroker bro I’d dated once spoke about money. Like it was nothing. Which implied he had more than enough of it.
Was that Venezio’s thing?
Was he independently wealthy?
A decade ago, that would have seemed absurd for his age.
But this was a new day and age. Maybe he made an app that sold for a fortune.
Maybe he’d mined a bunch of crypto before it was a thing, sat on it, and sold it.
Maybe he was a content creator who only worked a few hours a week yet somehow raked in millions.
Hell, maybe he slapped on a horror movie mask and took off his clothes on one of those adult websites.
There was no shortage of ways to make money these days.
“Okay. Well… good. Thank you.”
“Don’t gotta thank me. So, when’s the party?”
“Next Saturday.”
“Cutting it close.”
“I know. But I know I can get the toys in time. And even if I have to wrap them all myself, I will get them ready for Christmas morning.”
“If anyone can, it’s you.”
“Thanks. My stubbornness comes in handy sometimes. So what are you still doing here so late?”
“Shipment tonight,” he reminded me.
“Oh! Right. Duh. Do you want help with it?”