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)
“Stephy,” Craig called, making a rumble move through me as Stephanie stiffened.
“Yes, Craig?”
“Can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said, sounding conflicted. Then, to me, “Have as many cookies as you want. I have so much dough in my freezer just waiting to get baked off.”
I guess I’d figure out some other time what she was going to ask me.
I watched her walk away as I ate the cookies and looked at the damn colored strands of lights twinkling in the windows.
And for just a fleeting moment, I didn’t feel quite so much like the little kid with his face pressed up against the glass, looking at things I could never have, never experience.
I was right there in it, feeling it, tasting it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, though, dragging me out of that world and back into my real one.
Tonight.
I didn’t need more clarification than that.
There was a truck coming into the charity that night.
And, apparently, I had my first shipment of goods to unload and distribute to the Family.
It wasn’t the first time I had to lie to Stephanie.
This time, though, there was a weird tightening in my gut at the idea of doing it.
My gaze sought her out, and when I found her, her head whipped away.
It meant nothing that she’d been looking at me.
And I couldn’t afford to let myself believe otherwise.
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.