Page 33 of Mafia And Maid
Ifinish drying her hands and meet her gaze. Her expression is a mixture of confusion and something else—something softer, almost like gratitude, but hesitant.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.
“Because you needed help.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks at me, searching as if she's checking for a sign that this isn’t a trick or a test.
I find myself hoping that she can see I really mean what I'm saying to her. “You don’t have to be afraid,” I say in a low voice. “Not here.”
She blinks rapidly, as if trying to process my words, and then, almost imperceptibly, nods. “Thank you.” Her voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear it.
And without another word, she turns and leaves the bathroom, leaving me standing there and holding the towel as I watch her go.
***
I come home mid-afternoon, and straightway, I’m drawn to the mouthwatering smell coming from the kitchen. I follow my nose and find Rosa putting freshly baked muffins on a cooling rack. “What flavor?” I ask as I grab one, not caring that they’re still piping hot.
“Blueberry,” she says shyly.
“Great.” I take a bite, and closing my eyes, I give a sigh of ecstasy. “Absolute perfection.”
But it’s not just the food that’s making me happy. I’m just glad that Rosa is still here and hasn’t decided to hightail it out of here after what she saw last night.
Before she can turn back to the dishes in the sink, I know there’s something I want to say to her. “Rosa?”
“Yes?”
“I…I’m, er, going to the hair salon this afternoon.” I rub the back of my neck. “I wondered if, um, you’d like to come with me?”
She lifts her hand to her hair, a flush rushing up her cheeks. “Are you saying that my hair looks a mess?”
“Oh no, it looks nice. It’s just I thought…”
How the hell do I explain this?
I clear my throat. “I thought that you might not know any hair salons around here,” I finish lamely. “I thought I could show you where I go. They do both men and women’s hair…”
“Your hair does always look good.”
I feel my chest swell with uncertainty—but also with hope. Does she like what she sees of me?
“Is it expensive?” she whispers.
“No.” Actually, it is. “They don’t charge me—and they wouldn’t charge you either as my friend. The salon is owned by one of my business associates.” That’s not strictly true, but I don’t want her worrying about the cost and that being a reason for her to say no.
But she’s still hesitating.
“And I can have you back in plenty of time to cook dinner,” I rush on.Jesus fucking Christ, that just makes me sound like a greedy guts who only thinks about his stomach and thinks her sole importance is as our maid and cook.
“Okay,” she says softly after a few moments.
And I let go of my breath, not realizing that I’ve been holding it while I waited for an answer.
***
I drive us to the salon, the radio on to fill the silence between us. I look across at her, hoping she’s not regretting that she agreed to come with me. I wish I could think of something to talk about, but words escape me. I’m not the biggest talker at the best of times, but today I’m really struggling for some reason I can't explain.
When we arrive, I tell Rosa to take a seat. Then, I take the manager to one side. “Don’t mention a single fucking price in front of her,” I snarl.