One kind word, p.1
One Kind Word, page 1
ONE KIND WORD
One Kind Deed Series
Book Seven
by Christine DePetrillo
Copyright 2021 Christine DePetrillo
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Dar Albert of
Wicked Smart Designs
www.wickedsmartdesigns.com
Edited by Janet Hitchcock
www.theproofisinthereading.wordpress.com
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owners except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
To my fellow authors and the dreams we share...
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Check out the rest of the One Kind Deed Series!
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Check out the Warrior Wolves Series!
Check out the Maple Leaf Series!
About the Author
Chapter One
“Enjoy your night.” Marco Vieira followed his last customer to the front door of Cups Café, Maplehaven’s go-to stop for coffee, sandwiches, and sweets rich enough to destroy anyone’s diet.
“Thanks, Marco. Today wouldn’t have ended happily without one of your fudge brownies.” She held up the small paper bag and wiggled it.
“I know what you mean. I saved one for myself too.” Of course this particular customer had a husband waiting for her at home. One she would share that brownie with after they’d no doubt had some nice Friday night sex.
Marco, however, would be eating his alone. And would not be having some nice Friday night sex.
With a wave, his customer climbed into her car as he locked the café’s front door. He spun around and surveyed the interior of the business he’d inherited from his father, Jim. Technically the retired police officer was Marco’s adoptive father, but that detail hardly mattered. Jim had raised Marco when no one else would and he wouldn’t consider calling anyone else Dad. He would have considered alternate employment, however, but he hadn’t been able to say no when Jim had wanted to pass on the business he’d grown after leaving the police force.
Besides, running Cups Café allowed Marco snippets of time to do what he really loved—write. During slow times here and there, he whittled out a couple pages of the book he’d been working on for the last year or he penned a few lines of poetry when something inspired him to do so.
In general, Marco was happy.
In specific, he was lonely.
“And that’s how you’ll stay.” He pushed off the front door and strode to the register.
He’d tried the bar scene, blind dates, and online dating and he was, quite frankly, tired of hunting. People were always trying to set him up. He’d get encouraged that maybe this time he’d find what so many of his friends in Maplehaven had found. He’d plan a nice date that ticked all the boxes on the dating checklist he was certain women had. He’d wear nice clothes. He’d be sure to smell good... not like the bacon he’d cooked for his famous BLTs served at Cups. He’d buy flowers. He’d make dinner reservations. He’d open car doors and do the polite small talk stuff. He’d follow all the rules his father had taught him.
Then again, Jim Vieira had never married so maybe those rules were all wrong.
Shrugging, Marco squared away the register and secured the money in the safe in the back until he could go to the bank in the morning. His next chore was to clean the joint because his night shift employee who usually handled that had left early. He needed dinner first so he opened the huge refrigerator in the kitchen and pulled out the spinach pie he’d stashed in there for himself.
He grabbed the brownie too.
Marco unwrapped the spinach pie and took a bite, humming with satisfaction as he chewed. He might not love running a café, but he sure did love eating what it sold. He brushed crumbs from his fingers then set about wiping down all the tables, chairs, stools, and countertops, in between pinballing back to the spinach pie to take some bites here and there. He washed the floor, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, then spent a few minutes planning for Saturday’s Special Sandwiches. That little gimmick had turned out to be a profitable bit of marketing he’d devised to keep customers coming back. Every Saturday, he offered at least two brand new sandwich selections. Being a local business in a small Vermont town could get stale unless you took some steps to freshen up the experience. His father had been doubtful that the idea would make any difference in customer flow, but it’d turned out to be one of their biggest moneymakers.
“You have a good head for this,” Jim had told him after a particularly successful Saturday.
Marco’s head did understand running a business. His heart, however, didn’t care about it.
After finishing the nightly chores, Marco sat at the counter, a date with that brownie the only date he’d have tonight. If he was going to meet his soul mate, she was going to have to find him because he was done playing the game. He was sick of the disappointment and tired of wasting his time. Either she’d appear or he’d go the way of his father and be a bachelor for life.
That thought made him cringe. Fortunately his phone chirped on the counter beside him before that situation festered and totally ruined his night. He swiped the screen.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, Marco. You closing up?”
“Yeah, eating my dinner now.” He hit the speaker button on his phone so he could talk and let that brownie fulfill its destiny. Biting into the brick of dark chocolate, Marco closed his eyes as he chewed. Shit, that’s good. Claudia, the baker his father had hired five years ago, was a magician with desserts. Marco hoped she never quit because she’d be hard to replace.
“You’re planning to come over for Sunday dinner, right?”
One Sunday a month, Jim resurrected his love of cooking and made a feast for Marco and himself at the retirement community where he now lived. Moose Hill Meadows was its own quiet neighborhood on the edge of Maplehaven that catered to retired folks and offered medical care when needed. Two years ago, a minor stroke had left Jim with less mobility on his left side and the staff at Moose Hill Meadows had been amazing. They intervened when they had to, but otherwise let Jim be Jim and gave Marco peace of mind that his father was in good hands.
“I suppose whether or not I come depends on what you’re serving, old man,” Marco said then took another bite of that delicious brownie.
“Punk.” Jim chuckled. “I’m making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and you’ll come.”
“Chunky peanut butter? I only like the chunky kind,” Marco teased.
“You know, most of the time I totally forget that I adopted you,” Jim said, “but then you proclaim your preference for chunky peanut butter and I’m reminded we don’t share actual DNA.”
“I’m always reminded of that when I look in the mirror and see how much more handsome I am than you,” Marco shot back.
Jim barked with laughter. “Good one, kid. A sense of humor is a nurture thing, not a nature thing. I made a funny man out of you if I did nothing else.”
“You did more than that, Dad, and you know it. I’ll never be able to—”
“Repay me.” Jim sighed. “I know, I know. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not in my debt, Marco? I got so much out of being your father and I continue to every day.”
They had this conversation often. It always went the same way, but Marco could never make Jim understand that if he hadn’t taken Marco in when he had, Marco’s life would have been a fucking mess. At six years old, he’d lost more than was fair for a child at that age.
Jim had rescued him.
“You know I’ll be there for Sunday dinner no matter what you cook.” Marco snuck in another piece of brownie, lamenting the fact that in a few more bites it would be gone.
“A free meal is a free meal, right?”
“Free food does seem to taste better.” Besides what else was he going to do with his Sunday? Little by little, most of his friends had paired themselves off and now their weekends were spent doing things as couples. Sure, they’d invite him along, but that usually depressed him. At least the café was open for half the day on Sundays so he could go chew up the rest of the day with his dad.
“This free food might be a little... different.” His father’s voice held a note of uncertainty, which was uncharacteristic of Jim.
“Different?” Marco asked. “Are you going to make Indian food or something?” Generally speaking, Jim liked Italian food, but maybe the guy wanted to spice it up a little with other cultural dish
“Not Indian,” Jim said. “Umm, more like I’m making a change to the guest list for Sunday’s dinner.”
“Dad.” Marco got up to get a glass of milk to help finish off the brownie. “I said no more set-ups, remember? I’m taking a break. Seeing what happens with no effort. Letting my soul mate come to me.” He poured the milk and leaned against the counter to break off another piece of brownie.
“I heard you, son, and I respect your wishes,” Jim said. “The guest... well, she’s... uhh... she’s not for you.”
Marco stopped mid-chew. What is he saying? “Not for me? Then she’s for you?” In all the years Jim had been his father, Marco had not once seen the man take an interest in any woman. He’d had opportunities. Marco had watched female police officers, female victims, and then female customers at Cups give his father an interested eye, but Jim never noticed. He’d told Marco that he’d met his soul mate when he was fifteen, they’d had three years together, and then she’d committed suicide. He’d said he’d never suspected she was that unhappy with her life. Marco didn’t have to be a therapist to hear the guilt in his father’s words. He imagined not falling in love again was a defense mechanism for the guy.
But now there’s a guest.
“Yeah, she’s for me,” Jim said, clearing his throat. “At least, I hope she is. She moved to Moose Hill Meadows two weeks ago and I’ve been helping her get comfortable here. Introducing her to folks, showing her around. You know, that kind of stuff.”
Marco could picture his father shrugging the way he did when he made something that was a big deal not a big deal. “Well, that’s nice, Dad. I’m glad to hear you’ve tricked someone into thinking you’re a nice guy.”
Jim chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. I had to try hard, but I think I have her fooled. She agreed to come to Sunday dinner, but if you don’t want—”
“Stop right there, Dad. Of course I want to meet her. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of what I might tell her. Hmm. Should I lead with the burping competition you won down at the precinct or the story about your boxer shorts being raised on the town hall’s flagpole? Decisions, decisions.”
“No more chunky peanut butter for you if you tell either of those stories or the dozens of others.”
“Dozens? C’mon, Dad. You know those kinds of stories number in the hundreds at least.”
“One word, kid, and I’ll put you up for adoption again.”
“I don’t think the agency will take a thirty-four-year-old, grown man. Highly unadoptable.”
“Guess I’m stuck with you then. Just as well. I’d hate to have Cups managed by anyone else.”
“Keep me around for my business skills, huh?”
“You’re lucrative.”
“Aww, Dad. You do care.” This back-and-forth one-liner stuff had always been great fun with Jim. It kept things jovial. Unlike how things were with Marco’s birth family. Fortunately he didn’t remember the earliest years, but the last two were burned in his memory and they were horrific. If he could forget them, he definitely would.
“I care that my business lives on and my son can make a living off it.”
“Indeed. And I care that this brownie I’ve almost finished was one of Claudia’s best. It totally made my night.”
“You mean talking to me hasn’t made your night?”
“Oh, yeah, that too.” Marco took his second to last bite of brownie. “So tell me about your mystery woman. What’s her name?”
“Elizabeth Norris.” Jim said the name reverently, and Marco could tell this woman was special. “She’s a retired librarian. Most of her apartment is decorated with books. So many books, Marco. I wonder if she retired from being a librarian or stole boxes of books to start her own library here. Whatever the case, I find her fascinating.”
“Fascinating? Wow. High praise.”
“She knows a ton of stuff.”
“And yet, she doesn’t know to stay away from you. Curious.”
“I lured her in with my tuna on pumpernickel.”
Marco smacked his forehead. “That’s how you attract women. With pumpernickel. The secret’s finally out.”
“You should try it when you get back in the game, Marco. Never underestimate the power of fresh pumpernickel bread. Women love the pumpernickel.”
Popping the last brownie bite into his mouth, Marco pictured his father waving a finger as he doled out this bit of ridiculous advice and it had him laughing. He sucked in a breath and took in a lungful of chocolate with it. He tried to cough the brownie free, but he suddenly couldn’t inhale.
Shit, he couldn’t exhale either.
Marco gripped the edge of the countertop in front of him then reached for the glass of milk. In his haste, he knocked it over and milk spilled all over the place. The glass rolled to the floor and shattered at his feet.
And still he couldn’t take in any air.
“Marco? Was that glass?” Jim asked. “Marco?”
Marco wanted to answer the guy, wanted to tell him that he was in fact choking. On a brownie. As far as last meals went, a brownie wasn’t bad, but fuck, he’d hoped to have many more years of brownie eating in his future. He hadn’t expected this to be his last meal ever.
He pounded his fist first on his stomach then tried patting his own back, but spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he was shaking from his attempts to take in oxygen.
“Marco! Are you all right, son? Answer me!” Jim’s voice had taken on a frantic tone, but it sounded far away. “What’s going on?”
I’m dying, Dad.
Again, Marco wished for a soul mate. If he had one, he probably would have been eating this brownie with her and she definitely would have reminded him that laughing and eating were a bad idea. Chicks knew men needed those kinds of reminders from time to time.
But he was shit out of luck in the love department and shit out of oxygen too.
****
“Marco? Marco!”
Shaina Windsor had planned to stay in the shadows, but the panic in the man’s voice on the phone made her creep forward. The other man—the one who wasn’t supposed to still be at this café well after 7:00 p.m. on a Friday night—stood at the counter, his body shaking and a weird, strangled sound coming from him. Her gaze zoomed in on the milk dripping from the countertop onto the man’s work boots where glass littered the floor. When his body lurched to the side, she saw he’d been eating.
Shit, he’s choking.
Her objective tonight had been simple. Break into the small café, steal the day’s cash—maybe more if she got lucky—and book it back to the RV she shared with her twin sister. Her super sick twin sister, Heather, who wasn’t going to make it if she didn’t get some freaking medical attention soon. But medical attention cost money. Shaina and Heather didn’t have any of that thanks to Aunt Patty. Shaina had been offered some money, but she wasn’t ready to go down that particular path. Stealing it came before any other unsavory methods.
Besides, this café did a good business. Surely the owner wouldn’t miss a few bucks. A few thousand bucks.
Another gurgle escaped the man at the counter and he fumbled backwards. There wasn’t a ton of room behind the counter and he was a tall guy. Over six feet, easy. His head would definitely crash into the equipment behind him if she didn’t do something. Her observations also indicated he couldn’t breathe. A blow to the head or choking? Either could kill him.
Dammit.
She ought to run out of that café and try a different business on the street, but she couldn’t leave the man to die. Especially when she knew how to save him. She hadn’t gotten far in her nursing training before she’d had to leave school, but she definitely remembered covering abdominal thrusts to save someone from choking.
When the man finally let go of the counter and swayed dangerously back, Shaina didn’t think. She got to her feet and rushed up behind him.
“I got you.” Though for a minute there, she didn’t think she did have him. Shit, he was heavy and tall. So tall.
Using all her weight she pushed him forward so his palms slapped down on the counter. She got into position behind him and reached her arms around his waist.
Man, he smells good. Like bacon and ranch dressing. Her stomach growled.
