Redemption - Garrett Leigh Page 0,17

enough of. Maybe it was the random conversations that tricked Luis into spilling his guts about stuff he hadn’t talked about in years, at least not to anyone who wasn’t paid to pretend they cared. Because it had to be a trick. Luis had a gold medal in keeping his shit to himself. He didn’t blab to strangers. Or even his friends, not that he had many of those in his camp anymore.

Fucking witchcraft. Has to be.

Sunday was Luis’s day off, but after kicking around the bedsit all morning and driving himself crazy, he showed up at the cafe anyway.

Paolo met him at the back door. “Did you forget something?”

Luis debated bullshitting him but shook his head. “You said you do different food on Sundays. Thought I’d have a look in case you ever, uh, need me.” Twat. You do the dishes. What difference does it make what’s on them?

None that he could think of, but if Paolo thought it strange that he’d rocked up at work for fun, it didn’t show, and Paolo Cilberto was a man who wore his every thought and emotion on his sleeve.

That was how Luis knew he had family shit going on that was keeping him up at night. That every time his phone rang, it was someone who said things that broke his heart. No, you know that because you spend all day gawping at him and accidentally-ish listening in on his phone calls.

Whatever. The details weren’t important. Paolo waved Luis inside like it made perfect sense, and that was enough for Luis. He followed Paolo through the kitchen and out to the front of the cafe. In place of the stacks of sizzling bacon, vats of baked pasta sat on the counter, kept warm on hot plates. Bowls of salad filled the refrigerated display, and loaves of Italian bread were stacked where the sliced white usually sat.

It smelt amazing. And Paolo was different too. The frenetic energy that seemed to carry him through the weekday chaos was absent. He leaned on the counter, a picture of relaxation and a far cry from the maniac who just last week had wanted to murder a hipster. Damn. Could he get any more gorgeous?

Paolo smiled. Apparently, he could. “So . . .” He gestured at the pasta trays. “There’s not much to what we do on Sundays. Make some sauce, cook some pasta, mix it all together, and serve it to whoever wanders in.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is compared to a hundred million fry-ups. It’s a piece of piss, and we don’t get that busy. Toni only started opening on Sunday’s for his mates. They’re all dead now, though, so why I’m still bothering, I have no fucking clue.”

“Nostalgia?”

“More like I have nothing else to do, and we need the money, as little as it is.”

“Know that feeling, on both counts.”

Paolo gave Luis one of those looks that flayed him wide open. The kind of look that had led to Luis giving a voice to the past. The scar on his head came to life, tingling like it was brand new, not years old. Luis forced himself not to touch it and thrust his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, I better get going, unless you need any help?”

“I don’t, but stick around if you want. I might put the football on in a bit.”

Luis couldn’t have cared less about the beautiful game, but Paolo’s offer was too tempting to refuse. Waking up with nothing to do had done his head in. He’d bought bread the day before, some tins of beans, butter, teabags, and milk, but his solitary breakfast had tasted like cardboard, and the silence had got under his skin. Pacing the bedsit hadn’t panned out, and so here he was, loitering like a loser.

But as Paolo smiled at him and handed him a mug of magical tea, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He took a deep sip and glanced through the open kitchen door at the dishwasher. A few loads were stacked up. It wasn’t much, but still.

He stepped towards it.

Paolo stopped him, wrapping long, elegant fingers around his elbow. “Don’t you dare. It’s your day off.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do. I need you firing on all cylinders tomorrow, not whacked out cos you haven’t had a proper day off.”

Luis snorted. “It won’t kill me to clear the decks. Besides, what about your day off?”

“Not your concern.”

It wasn’t, but despite Paolo’s chill demeanour, it was obvious he was knackered. His