Burn (18 page)

Barefoot, she wore a path in the flooring at the
window as she walked back and forth, nibbling the nail
of her right thumb. She wasn’t nervous, exactly. It took
ten more passes in front of the window and four more
peeks out the window before she could name her feelings.

E
agerness. Excitement. Beneath those, a layer of her
favorite emotion—anticipation. Gian was the first man
she had dated in almost eight years, and he stirred up all
the best things she remembered about dating. Getting to
know Gian was as easy as breathing and the most fun
she’d had in a very long time. Unless she was mistaken,
Gian was enjoying getting to know her, too.

Her buzzer sounded, and she rushed to the console
mounted beside her front door. Pressing the talk button, she spoke into the speaker. “Gian?”

His voice sounded through the speaker. “Buzz me up
before my ice cream melts.”

“What kind of ice cream?” Cinder asked, smiling. “The sooner you buzz me in, the sooner you’ll find
out.”

Cinder leaned on the buzzer, and faintly, from three
floors down, she heard the distinct click of the front door
unlocking. Gian’s footsteps on the stairs grew louder as he got closer. So eager to see him, Cinder didn’t look
through her peephole before she threw open the door.

“Hey,” Gian said, the word stretching into a contented sigh.

Every time he saw her felt like the first time. He won
dered if he’d ever get used to her beauty, if there ever
would come a time when the first glimpse of her smile or
her eyes wouldn’t start his heart beating faster, or send the
too-familiar ache of need flooding into his belly.

She wore no makeup, no jewelry, not even shoes. Her
sleeveless black dress with its straight neckline and bell-
shaped skirt couldn’t have been more prim, yet she had
n
ever looked sexier. He handed her the condensation-
dampened bag containing the ice cream so he could grab
the waistband of his jeans, adjusting them to hide the
growing evidence of his attraction to her.

“The Dream Cream Shoppe?” Cinder read the print
on the bag, ushering Gian in.

“It’s in Kirkwood.” Gian watched her spend a good
minute locking the deadbolts and fastening the chains on
her door.

“It sounds pornographic.” Cinder chuckled. She
went to the kitchen to put the ice cream in the freezer,
Gian following her.

“It’s called Dream Cream because they’ll put any fla
voring you want in ice cream,” Gian explained. “So
what’s for dinner?”

Cinder closed the door to her freezer compartment.
“It’s so hot, I thought I’d do something light. Zae recom
mended an antipasto tray, so—”

“I love antipasti,” he said. “Ever been to Favazza’s on
The Hill?”

Cinder quickly turned to grab two wine glasses from
an overhead cupboard. “I’ve been there once or twice.”
Just this afternoon
, she added to herself. Zae had told her
that Favazza’s was one of Gian’s favorites, and she’d gone
there for her ingredients, doubling back within sight of
her apartment when she realized that she’d forgotten
freshly shaved parmesan cheese.

“Would you like wine?” Cinder asked. “I’ve got—”
“Anything is fine.”

Taking a muscato d’oro by its neck, Cinder drew it
from the fridge and set it on the counter.

“Do you have an opener?” Gian asked.

“Sure.”

Cinder reached for the magnetic strip mounted along
the wall behind the counter. She took a red-handled
corkscrew from it and held it in her hand, staring at it for a moment before handing it off to Gian.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “My ex-husband never . . .” She touched a hand to her face, her throat, tamping the anxiety that
always threatened when random thoughts of her past
invaded her present. “He would never have volunteered
to help. He thought it was my duty to wait on him. I
thought so, too. I mean, I didn’t mind doing things for
him. I didn’t realize until after everything happened that
I did so much for him because I was afraid of disap
pointing him. Literally afraid.”

“My parents taught me that a husband should wor
ship his wife,” Gian told her. “That a family’s true wealth
is its happiness, and if mama ain’t happy—”

“Ain’t nobody happy,” Cinder finished with him. She
smiled, her anxiety dissipating before it could plant roots.

Gian filled their glasses and carried them into the living room while Cinder brought the antipasto tray,
saucers, and cutlery.

“This smells so good.” Gian took a seat on the shorter
section of Cinder’s L-shaped leather sectional.

Cinder placed the tray on her coffee table, edging it
close to Gian. Tucking her legs beneath her, she reclined
on the long section of her sofa, her wine glass in hand. “Please, help yourself,” she offered.

Gian’s gaze moved from Cinder to the tray and back
again, the sight of both making his mouth water. She had
outdone herself with the antipasti, presenting many of
his favorites—mortadella, prosciutto, roasted red pep
pers, black and green olives, sweet onion slices, crostini,
and a finishing touch of wide, freshly shaved parmesan
reggiano ribbons.

Gian spent a minute preparing the perfect bite, a
crostini layered with all the flavors and textures before
him. He offered it to Cinder, his hand cupped under her
chin to catch crumbs.

She felt a little silly being fed, but the gesture gave her
pleasant goose bumps nonetheless.

“Good, isn’t it?” Gian asked proudly.

Her mouth full, Cinder grinned, nodding. Once
she’d swallowed, she said, “It’s so different from the
antipasti I had in Boston, in the North End. I asked the
counter guy at Favazza’s to recommend items, and he
chose so many different meats.”

“Us landlocked Italians have a slightly different palate
than those seaside guineas,” Gian said. “We like our meat
down here same as those Boston Eye-talians like their
seafood.” He chomped into his own crostini, which was loaded high with meat, cheese, and vegetables. Speaking
around it, he said, “The wine is nice. It really comple
ments the food.”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t care for it,” Cinder
admitted. “It’s kind of a girlie wine.”

“I didn’t know wine had genders.”

“This muscato is light and sweet, and it’s got a little
bubble to it,” Cinder explained. “Its notes of vanilla,
honeysuckle, and peach remind me of perfume, some
thing feminine. It’s the opposite of a shiraz, for example.
A spicy, masculine red like that is something I’d serve
with barbeque or Mexican food.”

“The sweetness of the muscato is what makes it work with the saltiness of the antipasti. How did you come to
know so much about wine?”

“My ex used to collect it.”

Gian slowly wiped his hands on a cloth napkin.
“What happened to him after the trial?”

Cinder swallowed a big gulp of wine, steeling herself.
“He was sentenced to three years in prison.”

“Three years?” Gian nearly shouted. “For attempted
murder?”

“He was charged with assault, not murder. The jury
bought his psycho-emotional breakdown story and gave
him a lighter sentence. The prosecutor didn’t want to
take the risk that another jury at appeal would let him off
altogether. The defense argued that Sumchai posed no
danger to anyone but me.”

Gian quickly calculated the math. “So he’ll be out in
about eighteen months?”

“Half that, if he gets credit for good behavior and
parole.”

Gian, hands on knees and elbows wide apart, studied
Cinder’s apartment. He’d noticed all of the locks and
chains on her front door and the wall-mounted console
f
or her security system, and now he noticed armed
motion sensors blinking in the corners of her living room
windows.

Her bone-colored walls and hardwood floors were
bare, the sparse furniture elegant in its plainness. She had
nothing of extreme value that he could readily see, and
his only logical conclusion was that the high security was
in place to protect one thing: her life. “You think he’ll
come after you.”

“I know he will.” Her dark eyes fixed on Gian, telegraphing her certainty.

He leaned back into the sofa and stared forward. The
hot, humid dusks of summer had given way to the arrival
of early fall, and a cool, dry breeze moved Cinder’s sheer
curtains in a mesmerizing dance. Everything about Cinder,
from her social habits to her apartment, seemed temporary. In her year in Webster Groves, she’d made no new friends, left no mark of her presence anywhere other than at Sheng
Li. She was preparing, and waiting, he saw that now.

“Are you planning to leave, if he comes here?”

“If I run from him again, I’ll have to keep running.
But if I stay, if I face him, I might not live through it.”

“You’re not alone.” Gian moved to her part of the sec
tional, sitting close enough to enclose her hand in both
of his. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

Pulling her hand gently from his grasp, she disagreed.
“Yes, I do. I won’t have anyone else getting hurt because of Sumchai Wyatt.”

“You changed your last name,” he said, varying his
approach. “Why White?”

“
When I was recovering from the attack, one of the
counselors at Project Protection told me that the best way
to remember a new last name was to choose one similar
to the old one. If I ever accidentally said ‘Wyatt,’ it would
be easy to cover it with ‘White.’ I couldn’t use my maiden
name because—”

“Your parents had a sense of humor,” Gian interrupted.

“Yes,” Cinder chuckled. “I can’t tell you what it was
like growing up with a name like Cinder Bloch.”
“You and my brother could trade war stories.”
“Why’s that?”

“Pio Piasanti?”

After a beat of silence, laughter burst from Cinder.
She threw back her head, laughing so hard that she
couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry,” she managed, wiping tears
from the outer corners of her eyes. “It’s just that I can
totally imagine the names and jokes kids must have made
about your brother’s name.”

“Have you seen your parents since you moved here?”

“No.” Her laughter tapered off. “But I talk to them
once a week. They want to come visit, but they’re close to
my former in-laws. They mean well, but I don’t want them to accidentally say something to the Wyatts that
they might repeat.”

“Your parents don’t know where you are?”

She shook her head. “It’s better this way. For now.”
“You amaze me.”

Not knowing what to say in response to his heartfelt
statement, Cinder said nothing. But Gian persisted.

“
I won’t lie and say that I know what it’s been like for
you, but we have more in common than you think. The
way I see it, you’re just as much a veteran of war as I am.
The only difference is that you’re stronger than I am. I
had the U.S. military behind me when I went into battle.
You had to do it alone.”

Just that fast, Cinder went from laughter to the verge
of tears. So many people had told her in so many ways
that she was brave, a survivor, but none so eloquently as Gian. She hadn’t cared for any other opinion as she cared
for Gian’s. He was the first man she had grown close to
since her divorce and the first she’d come to trust.