Just For Me: A Cerasino Family Novella Page 3

  He’d helped me fill out the forms, too, since the pain and swelling make it difficult to hold a pen with my writing hand. Then he went above and beyond, making sure I had a glass of water and a blanket, too.

  It confused me; I wasn’t used to such kindness. In a rare instance of boldness, I’d come right out and asked him why he was being so nice to me. I mean, he was a cop. He had to have better, more important things to do than babysit me in the ER. He’d shrugged and told me that it was part of his job. I didn’t believe him, but I was too exhausted to argue. And I have to admit, it was nice having someone there with me.

  While we were waiting, I told him everything I could about the attack. I knew my descriptions lacked useful detail, but he praised me anyway, saying that most people would have panicked and not had the presence of mind to glean even that much. I didn’t know about that, but his words made me feel good.

  His eyebrows lifted when I got to the point about me fighting back. “What was so important that you risked your safety?”

  I didn’t want to tell him. I knew he wouldn’t understand. But he was looking at me expectantly with those kind, dark eyes and my tongue started wagging anyway. “A book,” I whispered.

  “Must be some book,” he murmured.

  “It is,” I agreed. “Or it was. It’s ruined now.” I looked at the unrecognizable mass of swollen, warped pages sitting amidst my personal effects. They’d made me put it down to take my vitals. “It was the latest Nick Penn.”

  “You like Nick Penn, huh?”

  ‘Like’ was an understatement when it came to how I felt about Nick Penn’s books. They provided an escape from my every day, humdrum life. They made me laugh. They made me cry. They made my bones melt. When I read Nick Penn’s romances, I became the heroine. For those couple of hours, I felt beautiful and desired and hopeful.

  But I wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to explain any of that to Officer Vinnie. He wouldn’t understand, and worse, he might quietly suggest a psych consult while we were here. I wasn’t crazy. I was just introverted and lonely.

  So instead of saying any of that, I simply nodded. “Yes. I like Nick Penn.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but promptly closed it when an attractive young woman dressed in scrubs pulled open the privacy curtain. She had dark hair and intelligent (if tired) eyes that lit up at the sight of my companion.

  “Vinnie! They told me you were here. I thought it was just wishful thinking on their part.” The woman smiled and winked at me. “My brother Vinnie here is a favorite with the female staff.” If I didn’t know better (and my eye wasn’t so swollen), I could have sworn I saw him blush.

  “I’m Sofia,” she told me, grabbing my chart. “This knucklehead’s big sister. Sorry about the wait. Has he been taking good care of you?”

  “Yes, he’s been very kind.”

  “Yeah, he’s a regular Sir Galahad,” she smirked. “Looks like you had a pretty rough night, Katherine. How about giving us a couple of minutes, Vin?”

  He nodded and stood. “Thank you,” I said sincerely. I felt certain the arrival of the doctor signaled the end of his responsibility and I wouldn’t have another chance. “For everything.”

  He smiled and nodded again, then left the two of us alone.

  I’m not a big fan of doctors, but I liked Sofia. Like her brother, she was kind and had a gentle touch. Her exam was quick but thorough, and she asked me questions along the way. She wrapped my wrist (which turned out was sprained), and my knee (which wasn’t sprained but was strained), and applied a few butterfly bandages to the cut along my upper cheek where my attacker had punched me.

  “I think we can rule out a concussion,” she told me, snapping her penlight off before sliding it into her pocket. “But better safe than sorry. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”

  “No,” I said simply. My family was gone, and I didn’t know anyone well enough to ask them to come over. Making friends was not easy for me; as a result, I didn’t really have any.

  She frowned and scribbled on the chart. “How about we keep you overnight for observation then?”

  “No!” I said a little too vehemently. I was banged up, but it was nothing serious and I knew I wouldn’t get much rest here. “I... I just want to go home. Please.”

  She stared at me for a while, then nodded. “Okay, Katherine.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket and scribbled a number on the back. “But promise me you’ll call or come back in if you experience any of the warning signs we talked about, okay? I’m giving you my personal number.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Once again, I couldn’t understand why she was being so kind, but I was grateful. It made what I had to do next even harder.

  “Um... Doctor?”

  She paused. “Yes?”

  I hated asking for help, but I had no choice. My phone was in my stolen purse, as was my bus pass. It was a long enough walk that I wasn’t sure I could make it in my current state. Hopefully the couple of bills I had in my coat pocket would get me home, or at least most of the way.

  “Can I borrow a phone to call a cab?”

  She opened the curtain and grinned at something beyond my line of vision. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Looks like you’ve already got a ride. She’s good to go, Vin. See you at dinner on Sunday?”

  My mouth dropped open when Officer Vinnie stepped up and said, “Of course.”

  “Cool. Take care, Katherine. Get some rest, and remember to call if you need anything.” She patted her brother on the arm, then disappeared. Office Vinnie looked at me and smiled. “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

  I had no words. Emotionally, I was a wreck, and tears started filling my eyes again. I nodded, unable to speak.

  Chapter 6: Nick

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  I smiled and said the words, keeping my focus on the blue-haired grandma who’d just told me how much she enjoyed my books, saying how it was nice to read a romance where the hero wasn’t an “alpha-hole” and knew how to treat a woman. I wasn’t exactly sure what an “alpha-hole” might be, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound good and I was glad I hadn’t inadvertently waded into those waters.

  The moment she moved on, my eyes flicked down the line all the way to the door. In between one person and the next, I couldn’t keep myself from looking, hoping to see a certain familiar face. So far, no such luck. With the signing drawing to a close, it looked increasingly likely that I wouldn’t be revealing my not-so-secret identity today. Despite my grandfather’s bit of trickery, Kat wasn’t going to show.

  The next person stepped up, blocking my view. A younger woman, twenty-something if I had to guess, who looked like she’d spent all morning in my cousin Val’s beauty salon. Attractive, in a made-up sort of way. I barely noticed, other than to subconsciously compare her to Kat’s fresh-faced, natural beauty. There was no comparison.

  “I just love your books,” she gushed as she shoved three books at me.

  “Thanks,” I said, pretending not to notice the way her hands ‘accidentally’ brushed mine. “Who am I making these out to?”

  “Make them out to Jillian, my biggest fan.”

  I kept the smile on my face, but inside, I balked. ‘My biggest fan’ (at least according to my grandfather, who was never wrong) hadn’t bothered to come.

  I opened the first book and wrote what she wanted, then did the others as well. She started asking me some personal questions, but Gina stepped forward from where she’d taken up position slightly behind me and put the kibosh on that pretty quickly as she kept the line moving right along.

  I caught Gina’s eye and silently communicated my appreciation. Again. The afternoon wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly as it had if it hadn’t been for my sisters. True to their word, Gina and Sofia had shown up early and helped set everything up. The end result was far better than anything I could have come up with. Gina had even had the brilliant idea to have long-stemmed red roses
for the first one hundred people in line (graciously provided by our Uncle Carmine’s flower shop).

  They’d stuck around, too, for which I was profoundly grateful. I had no idea just how much work went into a signing. One or both of them was with me at the table the entire time, handing out books and swag, keeping the line moving, bringing me coffee and water and generally having my back so I could “just smile and look pretty”, as Gina put it. She took plenty of pictures, too, to post to both the bookstore’s website and my official author site, both of which she’d designed and maintained.

  Their support meant a lot, even if I knew at least part of their motivation could be chalked up to good, old-fashioned curiosity. They wanted to meet the woman who my grandfather had decided was ‘the right one’ and decide for themselves if she passed muster. I wasn’t surprised; the women in my family were as protective, if not more so, than the men (and that was saying a lot).

  Regardless, I appreciated the effort, and made a mental note to book them both some time at that posh spa they loved so much.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Nonno finally flipped the sign to ‘closed’ and locked the doors. I’d signed a couple hundred books at least, and the bookstore’s stock of Nick Penn books -—even the old ones -—was all but depleted. If nothing else, the event had been a nice boost for my grandfather’s business.

  “I thought she’d-a come.”

  He looked almost as disappointed as I felt. His clever scheme to put the wrong Nick Penn book in Kat’s bag hadn’t panned out. He’d thought for sure she’d be so eager to get the new book, she’d rush down to the store today to get another copy before they sold out.

  She hadn’t. It bothered me more than I cared to admit.

  “Don’t let it get to you, Nicky,” Gina said as we started cleaning up. “There could be lots of good reasons why she didn’t come.”

  “I know.” My mind had been running rampant with them all day.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Sofia said, picking up one of the new books she’d tucked away and handing it to me. “Can you sign this?”

  “Are you a fan now, Sofe?” I teased. I didn’t know if she or any of my other female relatives read any of my books, and to tell the truth, I didn’t want to know. Some of the things I wrote got pretty intimate and came from parts of my heart and soul I didn’t particularly care to share with my immediate family members.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not for me. It’s for Vinnie.”

  That had me laughing out loud. “You expect me to believe Vinnie wants a copy of my book?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she chastised, but she was smiling too. “He doesn’t want it for himself.”

  “Who then?” As far as I knew, our brother wasn’t dating anyone. He loved being a cop, and put all of his time and effort into being a good one. Much to our mother’s frustration, he often said there wasn’t enough of him left over to sustain a serious relationship, but this latest development suggested that maybe he was finally open to exploring the possibilities.

  “A woman he met last night. And before you say anything, it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s a mugging victim. He brought her into the ER while I was on shift.”

  My laughter immediately ceased. “Ah, hell. Is she okay?”

  Sofie nodded. “Yeah, she will be. She was pretty banged up, though.”

  For as much as we ragged on Vin, he was a good guy, the quintessential white knight. It wasn’t unusual for him to go out of his way to help someone. But he’d never done anything like this.

  “So what does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  “Apparently she’s a big fan. She had your new book with her when she was attacked. She gave up her purse easily enough, but she went ballistic when the guy tried to take the book. Took a nice punch to the face and a brick wall to the back of the head because of it, too.”

  “Gesù Cristo,” I winced. I wanted readers to like my books, not get hurt because of them. “It’s just a book.”

  “Yeah, well, it was pretty important to her. Anyway, the book was ruined, and Vin thought it might be a nice gesture to bring her a new one. She’s all alone, and he was planning on heading over there to check up on her later.”

  “Yeah, sure, okay,” I said. I grabbed my pen. “What’s her name?”

  “Katherine,” Sofie said. “Katherine O’Shea.”

  Chapter 7: Kat

  I huddled on my couch beneath the fleecy blanket, blowing over the cup of canned soup I’d just microwaved. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but the instructions on the pills the doctor prescribed said to take them with food. I dropped in a handful of oyster crackers and pushed them down so they’d get nice and soggy. Everything hurt more today, including my jaw, so anything that involved serious chewing was out of the question.

  It was already late in the afternoon, and I’d accomplished nothing more than a much needed shower and a couple of shuffles between the couch, the bathroom, and most recently, the kitchen. I stared at the TV without really seeing it. Normally I enjoyed History Channel documentaries, but I just couldn’t get into them today. My problem, of course, was that I didn’t want to watch TV; I wanted to lose myself in the new Nick Penn. His book would do far more to make me forget about my aches and pains than anything that came in a bottle.

  That was the real tragedy of last night’s events: the loss of the book I’d been waiting months for.

  For a few moments, I actually considered putting on some sunglasses and a head scarf and going down to the bookstore to get another copy. I was feeling pretty lousy and not looking much better, but it would be worth it just to get my hands on that book before it sold out. Once in my possession, I could come back to my place and spend the rest of the weekend blissfully reading (and re-reading) to my lonely heart’s content.

  Had it been any other day, I would have made myself get dressed and do it, but not today. Not because I felt awful, or because I feared scaring small children with my appearance (which was a distinct possibility), but because Nick Penn was actually going to be there, in the flesh, signing books and smiling at his adoring fans.

  An irrational pang of jealousy shot through me at the thought of all those women lining up to see him, talk to him, maybe even shake his hand. My logical brain knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. In my twisted, warped mind, Nick Penn wrote those books just for me, and I wanted to keep the fantasy going. It was my favorite coping mechanism. I figured that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a bad thing. I wasn’t doing anything illegal, and I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was still a fully-functioning, capably independent (if somewhat isolated) adult, and most importantly, I knew the difference between harsh reality and comforting fantasy.

  I sipped my soup and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain meds to kick in so I could doze off again. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, my mind kept wandering to the bookstore and the signing that was taking place there. Had a lot of people shown up? Was he comfortable with public appearances, or did he simply tolerate them as part of the life of a successful author? Was Nick Penn, the actual person, anything like the swoon-worthy, oh so sexy heroes in his books?

  I finally gave up trying to fight it and pulled out my laptop, my curiosity getting the better of me. This was the digital age, the age of selfies, right? Practically anything noteworthy found its way onto one cloud or another. Maybe there were some pictures of the signing posted on social media and I could appease my inner (but completely harmless) stalker tendencies.

  My mouse hovered over the site name, hesitating. Dare I open it? Did I really want to do this? Was I ready to see what the real Nick Penn looked like?

  Once I clicked, there was no going back. Thus far, I had kept myself from visiting his website, or his Facebook pages, or anything else that might pull Nick Penn out of my personal fantasy world and make him a real live person.

  I exhaled and moved the cursor away, opting to check my email instead. Yes, I realized I was proba
bly being a coward, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Real men, in my experience, were disappointing; and I had yet to meet one that came even remotely close to one of Nick Penn’s heroes. I mean, I had a pretty good thing going: my vivid imagination made his words come to life while incorporating the image of the quiet, sexy laptop guy from the bookstore. Did I really want to shatter that illusion?

  My answer: No, I didn’t. My imaginary world might just be a romantic delusion, but it worked for me.

  Junk mail. Click. Delete. Junk mail. Click. Delete. Junk mail. Click. Delete. I felt the pleasant fogginess getting thicker, a sure sign that the pain meds were coming to lull me back into a pleasant doze. I clicked and deleted my way methodically through my inbox, vaguely thinking I should unsubscribe to all these senders I really had no interest in and never bought anything from. But then, I thought sadly, I wouldn’t have any email at all.

  It was only after I clicked Delete on one that the subject line registered through the haze. An email from Mr. C’s bookstore, dated a few days ago. I quickly opened my Trash folder and double-clicked an invitation to attend the signing, as well as a special offer to reserve Nick Penn’s latest book.

  My heart leapt in cautious hope. Was it too late to get a copy? Without thinking, I clicked the link, which took me right to the bookstore’s website.

  And then my heart stopped entirely.

  I inhaled sharply as a picture of the signing painted the screen, certain those pain pills were causing me to hallucinate. For there, standing between a proudly beaming Mr. and Mrs. C was the quiet, über-handsome laptop guy, smiling somewhat shyly and looking absolutely delicious. His glossy, dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. A sexy hint of five o’clock shadow dusted his strong, square jaw. And a set of intense, hypnotic dark eyes stared back at me, almost as if he could see me.