10
At six o’clock that evening, as Rebecca once again parked her car atop a red “no parking” zone near her apartment, she scanned the street for Richie’s black Porsche. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Disappointment struck. Four days had passed since she last saw him. Not that she was counting.
With each step she took toward her apartment, she hoped Richie had parked somewhere else, that he'd be on the other side of the door when she walked into the flat, but it wasn't her nearly six-foot, oh-so-handsome Italian who greeted her, but Spike. He bounded from the sofa where Richie so often sat and jumped into her arms, plying her chin with kisses. She hugged the little guy and kissed him back. Still, she couldn’t help but wish it was Richie in her arms.
But only memories of Richie filled the
