Orion, the dog is sleeping on a low couch set against the wall. A wiry, scrappy little thing, he’s curled up in a kind of ball.
There’s a mismatched set of bowls by the couch with some water and kibble. As well as some newspaper on the carpet.
Not such a bad idea with a dog inside. Looks like Eames has a soft spot for small furry animals.
Or rather, he used to.
Without a word, and while Hank covers his mouth with his sleeve, Eames pulls back his office chair to expose the evidence.
The source of the foul odor.
“Jesus god in heaven, Eames!” Hank shouts. “You couldn’t clean that shit up?”
“I wanted Professor Sexton here to see all the trouble we’ve been through, accommodating this… dog,” he growls, and I can’t help but smile.
“You’re blaming Orion?” I ask, peering over at the evidence.
“Looks bigger than the damned dog, Eames,” Hank joins in, seeing the brighter side.
“Sure you didn’t just shit your chair and blame the dog?” he jibes. Breaking out into a choking laugh before exiting the room, gagging into his sleeve.
“I’ll have a new chair sent over,” I console Eames. But his eyes are narrowed, and now we’re alone and he’s been the butt of a joke, he leans in and snarls like a little dog himself, looking up at me.
“There’s something not quite right about you, Sexton. Lucy was right. Something queer about anything you have a hand in. I don’t want anything from you, just take this shitty dog and fuck off out of my office, ya hear?”
I shrug and make a mental note of his association with my ex-stalker. Or what I thought was an ex-stalker.
Moving towards little Orion, I move to scoop him up, which he doesn’t seem to mind and I carry him in the fold of my elbow, glad to leave the office, Eames, and the smell behind.
Hank is already waiting by the car, opening the back door and mentioning Orion can ride there.
“I think he’s empty enough to be trusted,” he jokes.
As I shift to put the little dog in the back, and hear him growl, suddenly awake and taking one look at who’s carrying him he gnashes and snarls, biting at my hand before leaping from my arms and running straight across the road.
Hank looks like he’ll chase the dog, but thinks better of it. The traffic is light and I can see Orion disappearing into the thicket I know eventually leads up to the woods.
“Well, shit,” Hank huffs. “That dog doesn’t seem to like you much, does he?” he asks, putting one hand on his wide hip, tipping his hat back.
“Nor Sargent Eames,” I retort, getting into the cruiser and re-adding the Orion problem to the list of things to be done.
Maybe Gillian will have better luck luring him in than me.
Gillian.
It pains me to have to give her more bad news, about Orion running off again.
“Sure you want to go straight home?” Hank asks. “Medical center’s not far,” he reminds me.
I shake my head.
“I need to pick something up anyway,” I lie and he shrugs. I’d prefer it if Hank didn’t see me and Gillian reunited.
Something tells me neither of us is going to be able to hide how we feel.
“Suit yourself,” he says, heaving himself back into the car.
Almost there, Gillian. Almost there.
Chapter Thirteen
Gillian
Where are you, Xander?
I know he’s coming, I can feel it. But it also feels like I’m sharing his sense of urgency about something.
A sense of worry.
It’s strange, but he really has changed so much in just twenty-four hours. Or maybe I’m really only getting to know him.
But yesterday he was almost absent-minded, engrossed in his work, the stars, and not much else.
Today, he’s laser-focused, in complete control, and extremely protective of me, and after everything that’s happened so far, I have to admit I feel the same way.
Not that I could do much to protect him from anything if he needs protecting.
But here I go again, worrying like I always do and only when he’s not around.
A car pulls up out front, and I feel my heart leap. Before he even gets out I know it’s him.
A little late for someone who said they’d be right over, but he’s here. He’s here!
I clumsily try to launch out of the stupid wheelchair, almost busting my other ankle in the process.
The waiting area is empty but I still feel self-conscious. Not wanting to embarrass or get Xander into trouble by leaping straight into his arms.
But he doesn’t seem to want anything else.
Leaving his car running and the door open, he makes a direct line for me through the front doors and scoops me up, squeezing me so tight with both his huge arms I can barely get a word out or a breathe in.
“I love you too,” is the first thing I have to tell him, and feeling him groan with pleasure at the news, he shifts his grip on me, swinging me up so one arm supports my legs.
Like he’s carrying me across the threshold.
Today, that threshold is an entrance/exit to a campus medical center but it’s a start.
Waiting for him, and especially after seeing that little girl all alone, I know what I want in life now more than anything.
A family. I want to be the mom I never had, and be one half of the mom and dad that little girl maybe never had either.
And I only want it with Xander, nobody else. And if I come to blows or even lose my dad’s love and trust in the process, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
“You okay?” he asks me again, brushing my hair back before easing me into the front seat like the most fragile object in the world.
“I’m better now. Now that you’re here,” I tell him, and he kisses me.
We kiss until the car behind his honks, the driver holding both hands in the air in question as we both observe a line of traffic backed up behind us.
“Let’s get some lunch,” Xander says, buckling me in and striding over to his side of the huge sedan.
Big guy, bigger car I guess. I don’t recognize the make but it looks immaculate, very sexy, and very big. Just like its owner.
It purrs out of the drop-off zone and in moments we’re humming towards the town center, with Xander seeming to have already decided where we’re going to eat.
I can’t take my eyes off him the whole way. Watching him drive, watching him do anything, I feel that pleasant ache in my chest again, wanting to tell him over and over that I love him.
That I know I’ll love him forever.
And in a weird, can’t explain how kind of way, it already feels like I’ve loved him forever.
Like we’re picking up where we both left off somehow.
“Where’s Orion?” I ask, glancing over to the huge back seat, figuring we might be picking him up on the way.
But Xander’s face tells me everything I need to know.
Ugh.
I try to hide my disappointment, but I guess Xander can’t fix every problem just by being around.
“I thought...?” I start to ask. I kinda have to. I’m gonna need the details to tell the Patterson’s, who’ll be gutted of course.
And it’ll be all my fault.
“I almost had him in the campus cruiser,” Xander explains patiently. “But he got spooked, bit me, and ran towards the woods. We can go look for him later if you like,” he offers.
A perfectly reasonable thing compared to my own doom and gloom reaction.
“Well, like you said,” I add, cheering myself up. “He’ll come home when he’s hungry.”
One of Xanders’ huge mitts slips off the steering wheel and reaches over for mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
It’s all the comfort I need, and in moments I’m quizzing him about where we’re going to eat.
“I’m assuming they’re open,” he muses to himself, letting me know he hasn’t been for a while, bu
t he used to eat there a lot.
“When I first came to...” he trails off, giving me another strange feeling inside like he’s almost said too much and stopped himself.
“When I came to the college,” he says, finishing his sentence, calmly braking and swerving to avoid another car going the wrong way.
He gives me a little smile after we’re set straight again, and once again I gladly forget about wanting to know more.
Palazzo’s isn’t a place I’ve heard of, but the side of town I’ve been staying on is kind of where I hang.
The Patterson’s is closer to the bus to campus and there’s a mini-mall and supermarket right around the corner.
Plus, Mrs. Patterson being who she is, stocked two deep freezers with enough food for a family of six for a whole year, insisting I eat it.
So eating out is a treat. Eating out with Xander is the cherry on top.
I smile to myself, getting another strong shudder in between my legs.
And being eaten out by Xander? Well, that really is out of this world.
Palazzo’s is set off the main street, in a walk down to basement style building.
Its rustic brick walls, red and white checked tablecloths. The red taper candles in Chianti bottles, everything right down to the faded travel posters of famous Italian landmarks smacks of a cliché.
It smells like baked bread and food that only a migrant grandparent could make and makes me feel at home straight away. As well as very hungry.
It’s empty too, which I think is a crime, but Xander seems to know his way around, and unfazed by the lack of waiters or anyone, he sits us down at what I figure is his regular spot.
“You mentioned pancakes, waffles, or steak?” I ask, not minding he settled for Italian.
“Maria will make you whatever you want,” Xander says with pride, beaming a knowing smile.
I hear someone calling Xander’s name from the kitchen.
A tiny, ancient-looking Italian woman comes rushing as fast as she can, her back bent from age and labor. Her hands gnarled but shining with the strength of use and vigor.
“Xander!” she cries out, stopping only to raise her eyes to the ceiling and cross herself. “You so bad. You worry me by never coming back,” she says mournfully, a genuine tear of affection and relief in her eye.
I would never have thought Xander would cow to anyone or anything, but his remorse is genuine, and gently pulling her closer to him, letting her rest on his knee, he confesses every sin of his absence to her.
It’s so beautiful to watch, I have a tear in my own eye and figure they must somehow be related.
He speaks in a low, soft tone and in perfect provincial Italian with her, remonstrating himself and explaining to her why he was away for so long until she finally seems ready to forgive him.
“And who is your friend?” Maria asks in English now, casting a wizened eye over my face, reaching over to put her hand in mine and squeezing it.
“Nonna, this is Gillian,” Xander blushes.
There’s a single moment, the one I expect where Xander will make up some story about why he’s with me. Excusing himself for being with someone like me.
But it never comes.
Maria wags a finger at Xander and then smiles back at me, pressing both her hands to her heart.
“Gillian and I are in love,” Xander tells her excitedly, almost childlike. But she can already see that.
He catches the old woman as she swoons with happiness, giggling as she calls out in Italian to the kitchen.
It’s some time before we’re alone again, and I had no idea so many people could exist so happily in a restaurant with no customers.
“Your grandma?” I ask Xander, once the whole family has finished coming out to wish us well and decide for us what we’ll be eating.
I never picked Xander for Italian heritage but in the setting. The affection of his Nonna, and his dark hair. It could make perfect sense.
He looks thoughtfully at me, his huge dark eyes shining in the dim light of the restaurant and a little damp from his own reunion, I figure.
“She’s the closest thing on earth to my family,” is all he has to say.
Time seems to stand still but the kitchen doesn’t.
Plate after plate of the most delicious Italian home cooked dishes appear and Xander somehow manages to eat everything put in front of him.
It’s certainly an eye-opener for me on a lot of levels. I’ve never known or been part of a close-knit, big family. Never had a grandma and certainly never enjoyed such amazing food.
But glancing at Xander’s watch, the day is almost over. It’ll be dinner time soon and we’re still at lunch and still, nothing is done about the house.
Or the dog.
“You alright?” Xander asks, finally pushing his plate away, patting what should be a huge belly but is still washboard abs, signaling to his friends that he’s finally had enough.
I don’t want to ruin his spirits, and I certainly wouldn’t want to offend such generous hospitality.
But needs must, and if I’m up all night cleaning that damned house myself, so be it.
“I should really get going,” I tell him. Wanting to stay forever, but seriously, my life wouldn’t be worth living if...
“Go where?” Xander asks, his face falling. He points out the restrooms, but I shake my head, feeling upset by how this must sound.
“I mean, I really need to go clean the Patterson’s place,” hearing my own voice break when I remember the pool.
The crack in one of the windows.
The yard.
“Oh sweetheart,” Xander coos, rushing over to my side of the table, taking my hands in his, and brushing my hair back.
“Didn’t I mention? I explained everything to Mama Palazzo. The family who isn’t at the restaurant have been working at the Patterson’s all day,” he explains, a mischievous twinkle in those coal-black eyes.
I feel my jaw drop, then my head shake.
“The pool though,” I protest.
“Gino,” answers Xander, not even blinking.
“The yard,” I gasp, remembering how bad it is. Was.
“Mario,” Xander says proudly.
I try to punch a hole in his story, somehow still thinking this must be some kind of wind-up, but he has the name of a person for every task I can think of.
“Then how did they get in?” I ask defiantly, knowing if it is a bad practical joke I may as well have the last laugh by exposing the fraud.
“Poppa Palazzo’s a locksmith,” Xander retorts, thumbing his chin in thought.
“But I imagine the key under the potted plant out front would’ve let them in,” he says, a matter of fact, shrugging to himself as he decides to have the last cannoli after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Xander
Were there two reasons for choosing Palazzo’s over anywhere else to eat?
Of course, there were.
I just didn’t think Gillian would be so suspicious, but I wanted it to be more of a surprise than come across as a joke at her expense.
“I know how worried you were about it,” I say. “And yeah, I should’ve told you with Mama Palazzo at the table, but she does love a good surprise,” I tell her truthfully.
“I was only trying to surprise you,” I say again, not meaning to make her cry.
“Then how did you know about the key under the plant? How could anyone possibly know that?” She sniffs.
I frown. “Gillian, most people who live in close-knit neighborhoods have a plant with a spare key. It’s only logic. The backup was Poppa is a locksmith, or to simply ask for your key if they couldn’t get in,” I explain to her. Feeling and sounding a little somber for the first time in a couple of days.
She smiles, mouthing the words thank you as I raise my hand in a mock gesture of calling over the waiter.
Carlo, the eldest who is maître d’ smiles and comes over, asking if we need anything else.
“The bill
of course,” I exclaim, and he wags his finger, pinching his fingertips together and telling me I’m crazy as he laughs like a child.
He asks me in Italian how they can charge their greatest friend a dime. I retort that there’s all the work done on the house, and everyone needs to eat.
He frowns and nods.
The polite, family way of knowing he has to make money without asking for it and I don’t embarrass him or the family either.
I slip the cream envelope, thick with crisp hundred dollar bills to Mama as we all hug and kiss goodbye at the door. Not a quick process.
“They were the first and kindest people I met,” I explain to Gillian after we finally manage to pull away after more goodbyes at the car.
“In town you mean?” she asks, a little note of sarcasm in her voice but I don’t correct myself.
“The restaurant would’ve gone under years ago, but they all pitch in, like a family should to keep it going. Tradition.”
“I thought you said you didn’t really know anyone?” she adds cryptically, and I guess she’s right.
“I guess what I mean when I say that is that nobody really knows me,” I tell her.
“So it’s all an act? I don’t believe that,” she replies.
“Not an act. More like a part of me still learning things, about how people operate. How things work,” is the only way I can put it.
“And me?” she asks, I knew she would.
“Oh, I’m getting to know you best of all.” I smile, reaching over to take her hand again.
“Let’s go find that damned dog, shall we? Then we can go see the house.”
I take an unusual route towards the woods, and Gillian doesn’t notice until it’s almost getting dark.
“Uh, are we taking the scenic route?” she asks. “Or are you really the woodland killer,” she jokes.
“Sorry,” she admits. “Bad joke.” But I’m smiling.
“What would you know about the woodland killer?” I ask, surprised she mentions it.
“Oh, when I first started college. I thought it was an urban myth. But turns out some girls did go missing near here, but a long time ago.”
I didn’t know that, but although Gillian knows I’m no killer, I think we are being followed, hence my detour to prove it to myself.
His Shooting Star: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 8
