Page 81 of Mario
“So I did it instead,” I say simply.
Must she push every single time.
It stirs me up.
Her mouth tightens. “You are very invested in my meal schedule.”
“The sooner…” I don’t finish, but from the flush working its way up her face, she knows.
She descends the last few steps slowly, as if she does not entirely trust her legs. Or herself.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she says.
“I know.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Here I am.”
A small exhale leaves her. A small huff of a laugh.
She is still nervous.
I like it. A little too much.
What I don’t like is that I’m nervous too.
That is new.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops a few feet away.
A safe but useless distance.
Her apartment is too small for that. The heat between us crosses the space easily.
A knock comes at the door downstairs.
She startles.
“Food,” I say before turning and going to the door.
Armando stands outside with two paper bags and the carefully blank expression of a man who sees everything and knows better than to acknowledge it.
“Grazie,” I say, taking them.
“Buona sera.”
He does not look past me. He does not look at Victoria. He simply steps back and returns to the SUV.
Good man.
I close the door.
When I turn, Victoria is still near the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed loosely over herself.
I carry the bags into the kitchen. “Plates?”
“In the cabinet to your left.”
