Page 70 of Agony of Our Regret

Noah smirked. “Good call.”

“Speaking of…” Gavin glanced at the clock and frowned. “I need to brush my teeth and head out. You two have fun.” He kissed my temple and then hurried back into our room.

“Take care of her and have her home at a decent hour,” Luca said in a firm voice that had Noah laughing.

“Of course, Mr. Castello.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged Luca goodbye. He stole a kiss before I left with Noah.

“Where are we going?” I asked, once we were outside. He took my hand and led me away from the parking garage, so I assumed it was somewhere close.

“I got some insider information that you like the Italian restaurant around the corner.”

“Oh.” I squeezed his arm with my free hand. “I love that place.”

He smiled, and it reached his eyes, lighting up my heart. I missed that smile more than words could say.

“So, it was a good pick?”

“The first time we went, I asked the waitress, who turned out to be the granddaughter of the owners, and she recommended the lasagna. It’s a family recipe they brought with them from Italy, and it’s otherworldly.” I groaned just thinking about it. “And don’t get me started on the garlic bread. I could survive off just that for the rest of my life and die happy.”

“I can’t wait.”

When we arrived, the hostess showed us to a small table in the back of the secluded dining room with dim, romantic lighting, perfect for a date night.

He pulled out my chair, and I sat as the hostess put the thick menus down on the table.

I didn’t bother picking mine up, and after Noah settled, he gathered them and put them to the side.

“You didn’t look.”

“I trust your choices.”

That felt like an oddly deep and multifaceted statement. As soon as he said it, his smile dimmed with uncertainty, and he leaned in.

“I didn’t mean for that to be some sort of declaration, but it’s true. I trust you. I––”

The waiter appeared, and I nearly shooed him away.

“Welcome. Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“Just water for me.” I shot him a quick smile.

“Same. Thank you. Can we also start with garlic bread?” Noah asked. “And we’d both like the lasagna.”

The waiter grinned, probably grateful we were an easy table. “Of course.”

He disappeared, and I leaned closer too. “You trust me and you?”

Noah rested his elbows on the edge of the table and held my gaze. “I’m sorry I pressed you so hard to tell us what was wrong. I really thought you were sick. If I’d known it was something you were working through...I’m sorry.”

I reached out and took his hand. “I appreciate that. I was going to tell you guys, but I was still trying to accept it. If anything, you pushed me forward in that process.”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. “There’s so much more I need to apologize for.”

Our drinks arrived, and we thanked the waiter but didn’t touch them.

“You don’t,” I protested. “Not anymore.”

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