I went about my usual routine, making sure we were ready for a busy night. I polished glasses, wiped the tables, and made sure the fridges were well stocked.
It happened as I went down the hall toward the kitchen. I caught the smell of smoke and, without thinking, pushed open the door of the stock room. Acrid black smoke billowed out, and for a second, I was lost in the memory of the night the cottage burned down.
One word burst from my lips, loud and clear. “Fire!”
Behind me, Ziggy began to yell, pushing me out of the way and heading to the kitchen. Lara screamed for everyone to get out, and we all headed for the front, the old wooden bar already filling with smoke as the fire spread quickly.
Lara was on the phone as I stumbled out, a sudden explosion behind me throwing me to my knees. As I staggered upright, I realized Gus wasn’t with us, and with no thought to the danger, I ran toward the back. He always spoke to his mother as he waited for the deep fryers to heat, and I prayed he was still just inside the back entrance.
I recalled finding him, dragging him out, half unconscious. The sudden pain lancing across my head and staggering under the blow as it hit me. The next thing I remembered was being out front, the building quickly being eaten by flames. The staff and the few customers milling around. I focused hard, counting the people. Ten. That meant everyone was safe. Then, the sounds of the sirens. Being led to an ambulance.
“You risked your life,” Stefano said.
I blinked.
I had been talking out loud?
I’d thought I was just thinking.
Stefano lifted my hand, placing a gentle kiss on the reddened skin. “You said it all out loud, Gabby.”
“I guess my head is still fuzzy.”
“It’s to be expected.” He brushed his fingers over my bandage. “You could have been killed.”
“I know.” I caught his hand, holding it to my chest. “I kept thinking the same thing. But I had to try. Gus has always been kind to me. Ziggy was in such shock, he was useless. Lara was calling for help. The customers were dazed and had no idea. Gus needed someone to make sure he was okay.”
“You were very brave.” He frowned. “And foolish.”
I ignored his last statement. I couldn’t deny it, although I would do it again.
“Sitting in the ambulance, all I could think of was you, Stefano. How stupid I had been. How much I desperately wished I could take back those words. How much I wanted the chance to do so—” My voice caught. “And then I heard you. You were there. Despite how awful I was to you, you were there.”
“I had to get to you.”
“Please forgive me,” I pleaded. “I’m so sorry—”
He stopped me. “You are forgiven, Tesoro. You’re here and safe. That is all that matters.”
“I need to tell you.”
“When you’re ready.”
“I am ready now.”
He studied my face and nodded. “How about something to eat, and some tea and honey for your throat first?”
“You always take care of me.”
He stood and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I always will.”
“Could I have another shower? I still smell like smoke.”
He held out his hand. “Yes. I’ll make you breakfast while you shower.”
I let him help me from the bed, and he wrapped his arms around me. “Whatever you have to tell me, I’ll listen, Gabby. We’ll face it together, okay?”
I accepted his comfort and his warmth.
Together. That wasn’t a word I was used to.
But then again, maybe it was time to try it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gabby
Stefano handed me a cup of tea. The honey and lemon did soothe my throat, and I liked the flavor. I settled on the sofa with him beside me, his presence warm and comforting. The house he and Brett rented was small and cozy. Two bedrooms, an eat-in kitchen, and a large living room. It was filled with masculine furniture—heavy pieces that spoke of strength. The walls were cream, the floors hardwood, and it was decorated simply. Stefano’s room held a lot of family pictures, and a few more were scattered around the house. I had only seen Brett’s room from the hallway.
I cleared my throat, meeting Stefano’s patient gaze. I knew if I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, he would let it go. But I had done that enough. Used sex to distract him. It was time to tell him the truth. After my close call yesterday, I knew beyond a doubt I cared for him deeply. He needed to know the truth.
I reached for his hand, and he closed his larger one around mine, holding it loosely so he didn’t hurt the burns.
“I told you about the friend who helped me leave. Margie?”
He nodded.