I pulled into Stella Cucina’s parking lot early. Cole was at the back door, holding it for a trash run, so I took advantage of the opportunity to slip in that way. As I crossed the parking lot, I noticed he seemed to be leaning a little heavier against the door as he held it. “New glasses?” I asked as I got closer.
“Nah,” he shook his head. “It’s an old pair.”
He shifted, adjusting his glasses and I saw the split skin across the bridge of his nose. My brow furrowed and I tilted my head, really looking at him. The shadow from his hat almost hid the bruises around his eye and along his jaw. “Were you hit by a bus?”
He swallowed, wincing slightly. “More like a tank.”
My lips pressed together. Someone had obviously done this to him. My concern for his well-being was at war with the memory
