Chapter Four

Stefano

Three days later.

“Just an apple then?” He turned with the spatula in his hand and waved it at Camilla’s fifteen-year-old grandson.

“Why, whatcha making?” The bright-eyed teenager suddenly became interested in what he was cooking in the pan. Stefano had learned over the past three days that Mark responded to food the most. If only the kid would respond to his grandmother as well.

“Pancakes and eggs.”

“With bacon?” The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Sausage,” he said, turning back to flip the pancake.

“Even better.” A chair scraped when Mark pulled out one at the table. Piling the plate high, Stefano placed it in front of the teenager and dropped into the chair across from him.

“Where are you off to so early?”

Mark shoved several bites into his mouth before answering. “Oh, you know, surfing and hanging at the beach. Nothing else to do around here.”

“You keeping away from Dresor?” Stefano asked, taking a bite of his eggs. He’d investigated the man he’d run into upon arriving and his findings weren’t good.

Mark rolled his eyes. “He’s not as bad as my grandmother makes him out to be.” Mark suddenly stopped eating and looked around the kitchen. “Where is she?”

“She’s cleaning the upstairs. I told her I’d take care of the food.”

“Oh.” Mark nodded and started eating again.

“I’ve looked into Kyle Dresor. He’s got some shady dealings here on the island.”

“Nah, really?” Mark said, not meeting his eyes.

“Yes, Mark. He’s been arrested twice for drug possession.”

Mark wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and then snatched up one of the pancakes before he shoved away from the table.

“Mark.”

“Yeah?” The boy gave him a wary look.

“Are you doing drugs?”

Shock widened the boy’s eyes. “No way. I don’t do that stuff.”

“Okay. I believe you. But when you hang around people that do, you put yourself at risk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark said, rolling up the pancake and biting off half of it.

“I know, you’ve heard it all before.” Stefano smiled. “You have my cell if you need me.”

“I know. Thanks, Stefano,” Mark said before charging out the door at a dead run.

Well, Stefano had done what he could. He finished his meal and sipped at his coffee before cleaning up the kitchen. With a fresh cup of decaffeinated brew, he made his way out to the large patio and sat gazing at the ocean.

Tugging out his phone, he studied the two texts he’d received from Rossi. That first one—Stef? Please let me know you’re okay—to which he’d responded that yes, he was okay. The second text from Rossi simply said…

I got your note.

He scowled. What the hell did that mean? He got his note and what? Didn’t care? Wasn’t coming for him? Understood why he’d left? He’d cried writing that damned note. Had Rossi cried reading it? Anything would have been better than his cryptic response. He gnashed his teeth and squeezed his coffee cup and then sighed—wasn’t this what he wanted?

It was over between them.

“No, it isn’t,” he argued, shaking off the dark thoughts, but if Rossi didn’t meet him halfway, then it would be.

Screaming and laughter brought his attention to the beach and Mike, their neighbor, playing with his two children. Spotting him on the balcony, the man turned and waved before making his way closer to the house.

Stefano stood and approached the railing, watching as the eleven-year-old twins, one girl and one boy, ran to a pile of toys next to a beach towel and started making a sandcastle.

“You’re up early.”

Stefano smiled down into the attractive face of Mike Creek. He’d met the widower on his first day there. Camilla had informed him that Mike’s husband had passed from cancer five years ago.

“Couldn’t sleep. It’s too beautiful here.”

“It sure is.” Mike drew his gaze slowly from him and toward the ocean before gazing back again. “Come walk on the beach?”

Stefano felt the interest from Mike, and he appreciated it. It went a long way to soothing his unrest, but when the man had made a light teasing pass on Stefano’s second night there, at Barry’s barbecue, he’d told Mike that he wasn’t interested.

Seeing his hesitation, Mike held up his hands. “No strings. I won’t think anything of it. Just friends.”

Stefano heard the loneliness in Mike’s voice and relented. “All right, let me change.”

Ten minutes later, having changed into white shorts and a loose shirt, Stefano walked down the cobblestone pathway to the beach. He kicked off his sandals and stepped onto the clean white sand. The wind whipped at his shorts and button-down shirt and blew his hair into his eyes.

“It’s long,” Mike laughed at his struggle to see.

Stefano chuckled. “I need to go into town and get it cut.”

“If you insist, but it looks good,” Mike argued.

Stefano brushed back the hair that almost reached his shoulders. He usually kept it shorter, but he’d let his last hair appointment lapse due to a mission and now he wasn’t sure if he’d even get it cut.

“I’ll give you the name of my barber. He’s good.”

“Hey dad, catch!” Mike’s son, Bobby, shouted, and the man turned in time to catch the frisbee. Mike flipped the object back to Bobby with a laugh.

“Go long, Stefano!” Bobby shouted at him.

It felt fantastic running on the beach with the wind in his hair, tossing the round disc back and forth. It felt good to be laughing and living life how he imagined he and Rossi would have been if Rossi hadn’t been so paranoid.

“Done?” Mike’s voice drew his gaze and he realized he was squeezing the frisbee.

“Run.” He gave a big grin and flipped the disc hard, sending Mike lunging down the beach after it.

He may have had a few years on Mike, but thanks to his healthy lifestyle, he was in really good shape.

Trina, Mike’s daughter, raced after her father and when Mike caught the frisbee, he turned and caught Trina as well. The little girl shrieked with laughter.

They played like that for several hours until the sun dipped toward the ocean.

Running late, but I’m barbecuing! Barry’s text came through as Stefano stepped back inside. He smirked at the text and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Barry had been barbecuing every night when he got home from work. Fifteen or so years ago, Barry had up and sold his home in Virginia and moved to Aruba. Shortly after arriving, Barry had purchased a local bar not far from the beach house.

Stopping in the kitchen, he poured a glass of fresh lemonade Camilla had left in the fridge and made his way back out onto the patio. The view was spectacular… The only thing missing was someone to share it with, and he rubbed at his chest.

He supposed the ache from missing Rossi would always be something he carried with him.

Perhaps over time, it would lessen. The swallow of lemonade felt cool against the lump in his throat.