shedding the part of him that had been catered to for so damn long. He cooked when he wanted to impress these days, not for the necessity of it, and the idea of getting down to basics made him a little tingly inside.
Grabbing his keys, Lorenzo locked the door behind him, then took the stairs two at a time. He was four steps from the landing when his foot hit the edge, and his entire body hit the ground before he realized he was even falling. Pain lanced up his side, the wind knocked out of him, and he was suddenly aware of every single forty-two years of his life right then as he laid there on the floor.
“Verdammter Mist! Did you just stroke out?”
Lorenzo couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but it sounded like it was in the direction of the sharp-smelling salon that was just to the right of the front doors. He gasped for a breath, then his lungs started to open, and he pressed one palm to the floor as he righted himself.
He wasn’t stroking out—not yet, but his humiliation had him on the edge. “Uh.” His gaze darted around as he rubbed a palm over his ribs, and eventually he spied a man peering from behind a low reception desk at the front of the salon.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?” the man asked. His voice had a rounded accent to it, thick in the back of his throat like he was maybe German.
Lorenzo stared at him, a small scowl on his face as he took a cautious step forward, then another. The man was watching him—brown eyes wide, shoulders tense like he might need to spring into action. “It was four steps. I think I’ll live.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall like that before in my life,” the guy said with a small laugh.
Lorenzo’s scowl deepened, and he walked over, laying one hand on the desk. “Is humiliating guests your thing?”
“Depends on why you fell,” the guy said with a shrug. He bit his lip, then extended his hand with a grin. “I’m Raphael.”
Lorenzo took his hand without thinking, then flushed that he’d let the man get the best of him. “You know…”
“There’s a doctor up the road,” Raphael went on, like Lorenzo hadn’t started speaking. He took his hand back and laid it on the desk. “He’s kind of a mess, but he’s actually good at his job if you need him to look at your ribs.”
Lorenzo considered it for half a minute, but he wasn’t sure he wanted some small-town MD fucking with his body. As it was, he really didn’t think he was hurt—apart from his pride and maybe a little bruising. “I think I’m good.”
“His name is Parker Alling,” Raphael went on. “If you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Lorenzo backed up, then patted his pocket like maybe he’d be able to feel through his jeans if he’d cracked his phone screen. “Uh…see you.”
The guy didn’t respond, and Lorenzo rolled his eyes before he headed out the door, trying desperately to ignore the burning ache in his side. At least it had been a single person who had seen his mortifying fall, but he also had a feeling this Raphael person wasn’t going to hold his tongue for long. And that was all he needed—a place that should be his sanctuary looking at him like he was some bumbling moron who didn’t know how to walk down stairs.
Lorenzo kept his blushing to a minimum as he found the store, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the lack of artisan and organic. But they had a decent produce selection, and considering it had been actual years since he’d made pasta by hand, he scoured the dry aisle and found what he needed to get him through at least the next week then hurried through the self-check.
He took the long way back to Hopewell, mostly to avoid the inevitable long evening by himself in a strange place because he’d yet to meet anyone but Gwen, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that in a place like Cherry Creek. But he knew he had to be an adult about it, so he forced himself back to that little dirt parking lot and turned off the car.
Hooking all the bags on his arm, Lorenzo managed to get to the front porch before letting half go. They dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, and he nudged