Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“So,” she said, folding Char into a hug before turning back to me, “you must be the cop.”
I held out my hand. “Dante Verdone and yes.”
She didn’t take it right away. In fact, she looked at it like I might bite or maybe she was deciding whether she wanted to take my hand or simply murder me first. Her gaze moved, scanning with a scowl that could make some men cower as her eyes locked to mine. Satisfied with whatever she was looking for, she went back to my hand. Finally, she shook it. Firm grip.
No smile. “Nita.”
The rest of the family flittered around behind her—parents, an aunt, a cousin—but Nita never took her eyes off me for long as I entered the space. Nita stayed close to Char, like proximity itself was a protective act.
Dinner smelled incredible. Home-cooked. Real. The kind of food that took time and care, the kind I had grown up with before life got complicated and meals became something you fit in between shifts.
Char moved easily here, laughing more freely than I’d seen before. Relaxed. She leaned into her mother’s touch, rolled her eyes affectionately at her father, teased her cousin. It struck me then how much of her I hadn’t seen yet—not because she was hiding it, but because she was still healing. And we were still new, very new.
I watched her more than I should have. She caught me once, eyebrows lifting in silent question. I looked away.
Conversation stayed light at first. Work, traffic, the weather. Safe ground. Then Nita poured wine and leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp again.
“So,” she began, “how did you two meet?”
Char’s fingers curled in her napkin. I wasn’t sure how much she had shared with her family.
I answered before she could. “I responded to a call.”
The table went quiet. Char looked at me, something like gratitude flickering across her face for taking charge. Something I was learning about her, as strong and independent as she was, she enjoyed the way I was. And that was simple, if I asked for her time, I had a plan. She didn’t have to think or question or wonder. I laid shit out how it would be and kept my word. I continued going before anyone could ask the obvious follow-up.
“It was a bad situation. She had these eyes that called to me. I circled back to check on her afterward. We started talking.”
That was true. It was also the most stripped-down version of the truth I could offer in a room full of people who loved her.
“We don’t have secrets in this family,” Nita began. “My family knew about her situation and about the police being called. I was at the hospital with her. I brought her home. Did this start from there?”
I nodded. “It did.”
“At the hospital. You came to see my sister after that piece of garbage ex of hers lost his mind and crossed a line. That’s where all this began?” Nita’s gaze didn’t soften. “And now you’re dating.”
It wasn’t a question.
Char inhaled. “We’re seeing each other.”
Nita’s attention snapped to her. “Char.”
“I’m okay,” Char said, quietly but firmly.
That got my attention. I had watch her shut down on herself when voices rose. Seen her retreat. This wasn’t that. This was her holding her ground.
Nita studied her for a long moment, then looked back at me. “You know she’s had a rough go.”
“I do.” I sat back in the chair to take on whatever this female wanted to throw at me. I knew she was doing all of this out of love and I would never fault anyone for that.
“You know what she’s been through? How long she lived that?”
“I do,” I repeated, and meant it in a way that went beyond the report I’d written that night.
Her jaw tightened. “And you’re not here to save her. Because regardless of your intention, she doesn’t need a knight to ride in and save the day. We don’t buy into fairy tales either.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a warning.
I met her eyes. “No. I believe she can save herself.”
Silence stretched. Char’s foot brushed against mine under the table, tentative. Anchoring.
“I’m not here to fix anything,” I said. “I’m just here.”
That was the closest I could get to the truth without overstepping into promises I wasn’t ready to make. Dinner resumed, but something had shifted. Not broken, just clarified, like we all knew where we stood..
Later, when plates were cleared and coffee poured, Char leaned into me on the couch, shoulder warm against my side. It felt natural. Too natural. Her head tipped slightly toward me, and I was suddenly acutely aware of how easily I could wrap an arm around her. How much I wanted to.
I didn’t.
Because wanting wasn’t the same as doing.
Nita sat across from us, watching again. But this time, there was something else there. Not approval. Not trust. Acceptance, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.