Chapter 2
Dom had had his fair share of experiences with violence. He knew his way around a wound, so he worked without hesitation, filling a bowl with water. With the bowl on the table, he grabbed a washcloth, hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic cream, and a bandage. Her eyes fluttered as he wiped the blood from her face, and she came to herself just as he was taping down the bandage.
“Where am I?”
He could see her staring with curiosity at the wooden beams that made up his ceiling, as if the answers to her questions would suddenly appear. Her eyebrows furrowed, and even though she looked like she had been through the ringer, he found her adorable.
“In my cabin.”
She struggled to sit up, he helped her and turned to clean up his mess.
“And who are you?”
“They call me Dom,” he said, sticking his head out the bathroom door as he put away the first aid supplies.
“Dom,” she murmured, looking around. “Why do you have a lion in your living room?”
“That’s a dog,” he said loud enough for his voice to carry.
“Hello, lion that’s supposedly a dog. Are you dangerous?” she asked Gelato, as if he would answer her. He did, in his own way, with a slobbery kiss and a wagging tail. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He didn’t look harmless, but she imagined since she was lying on the couch and not wielding any weapons or yelling at her owner, he would appear docile.
“His name is Gelato.”
“That’s cute,” she mumbled, risking holding her hand out to pet his head. “You don’t look like Italian ice cream,” she said in a high-pitched voice as he closed the distance between her hand and his head. She rubbed his head, feeling his soft fur. “No, you don’t. No, you don’t. You look like a triple-large scoop of all the calories in ice cream.”
“I think you hit your head. I found you outside,” Dom said after he'd returned quickly and poured the water from the bowl into the kitchen sink.
She touched her forehead with tenderness, wincing at the pressure.
“Is this your camera?”
She looked where he pointed, to a very expensive-looking camera, the kind that a professional would use, not the flimsy kind tourists used to take pictures, and nodded. “I was outside taking pictures.” He wondered why she chose to do so with a camera. Now, most phones were as good as any fancy camera. He didn’t know too many people that actually took pictures and had them developed anymore.
Dom spoke from the kitchen, fixing her a glass of iced tea. “You a journalist?”
“It’s more of a hobby.”
He figured she'd need something to eat, but not knowing what she preferred, he grabbed a pack of saltine crackers and set them down on the table between them. “It’s got to be more than that; you were alone in the woods.”
“A passion, really,” she said, cradling the camera like it was her baby.
“I can see that.”
He slid the snacks toward her and without thinking, she took the offering. Gulping down the tea like she hadn’t drunk in ages. She was most likely dehydrated.
“I must have fallen and hit my head,” she said, breathless from finishing her drink in seconds.
He could see that, too. Sitting back, he could see a lot of things. One being that the woman who stared at him with big blue eyes was very pretty. Second being that no woman had ever been in his cabin before. Sure, he fucked them sometimes, but in their homes or in a hotel. Never in his cabin. That would be a breach of security. He valued his life more than a night of pussy.
“You got a name?”
“Oh, yeah. Anna. Adams,” she said, holding her hand out to shake his.
He shook it, noting the softness of her hand. “Nice to meet you, Anna.”
“My friends call me Ann,” she said, nibbling her bottom lip.
Was he a friend? He nodded, not ready to use it yet. “Let me see if my satellite phone is working yet.” She watched him in anticipation, and he shook his head, seeing the bars. “Not yet.”
She turned to look out the window, taking in the wall of glass which displayed a clear view of the sun setting today.
“Do you mind staying? There’s not much I can do for you, and I wouldn’t recommend trying to find your way back down the hill, but if you really want to go, we can.”
She surveyed him, trying to see if he was trustworthy or not, he assumed. “I can wait it out.”
“You sure? I know someone like you probably has someone out there worried about you.”
She combed her fingers through her knotted hair. “Not really. My parents are dead.” Then, with wide eyes she covered her mouth. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to say that. Not willing to make her feel worse, Dom decided to keep talking, smoothing over the faux pas.
“Have any siblings?” Dom himself had three: a brother and twin sisters. They were sometimes more in his business than his mom was.
“Nope. I’m an only child.”
So no one to be worried about her, he thought to himself, which was sad… and dangerous. Good thing he wasn’t a serial killer. Everybody needed someone. He couldn’t imagine his childhood without his siblings.
“Well, let’s get you fed.”
His mom believed food was the answer to every problem.
“Do you need my help?” she asked, standing before staggering with unsteady steps. He helped her back to the couch. “No. Trust me, this is simple. I can handle it.”
She smiled up at him. “Okay.”
Domenico kept fresh ingredients. They were easy to grow, and the smell reminded him of his mom. Moving from memory, he cut tomatoes, basil, onions, and garlic before moving them into a pan to sear while boiling noodles. In less than twenty minutes, he made his mamma’s favorite pasta dish and served it steaming on two plates for Anna and himself to eat.
“I’m impressed,” she said after one bite, staring at her fork with disbelief.
He would have asked why, but he was used to it. Apparently, men in Canada weren’t partial to cooking fantastic Italian food.
“I’m honored,” he said.
“Seriously,” she said, covering her mouth so she could talk, even though her mouth was full. “This is amazing. I’ve never tasted anything like this in my life.”
“It’s just a simple pasta my mom used to make.”
“It’s like sex in my mouth,” she said without thinking, and then blushed a rose pink.
He smirked, gave her a devilish grin, and they both locked eyes in silence. “I’m glad you like it.”
Anna cleaned her plate and had seconds. Cooking made him feel good, but people enjoying the food made his heart light.
Anna stood up, carrying the dishes to the kitchen despite his assurance he could do without her help. He was glad to see that she seemed to be doing a little better despite her injury. Side by side, Domenico washed dishes as she rinsed and dried. He was aware of her proximity, thinking of the way her fingers lingered when he passed her a plate and the way she brushed past him to put the dishes away.