Page 71 of Isaia

I laugh softly, the memory tugging at the corners of my mind. “And you’d always order that disgusting peanut butter milkshake?”

“Disgusting? That was a masterpiece.”

“It was an abomination.”

His low, genuine chuckle lifts the weight for a moment, and my heart swells with fondness for this man and his friendship.

We fall into easy conversation that flows naturally, filled with light teasing and shared memories. Anthony knows me too well; he always has. It’s what makes being around him feel so…normal. Safe.

The bottle of wine disappears faster than expected, and before I know it, he’s rummaging through my cabinets. “Since when do you drink bourbon?”

He places the bottle on the counter, a secret reminder that Isaia snuck into my house to put it there. I ignore how my heartstrings twinge, how my mouth goes dry, and my body starts to hum at the thought of him.

I shrug, avoiding the truth and sinking deeper into the couch. “Since I stopped caring about how much it burns going down.”

He snorts, pouring two glasses. “Bourbon is Del Rossa’s love language, you know.” He hands me a glass, and our fingers brush briefly. “Cheers to questionable life choices,” he says, lifting his glass.

For the next few hours, the bourbon flows, and with each sip, the tension in my shoulders eases, and everything feels softer around the edges.

We keep the conversation light, steering through a maze of shared memories and inside jokes, his laughter filling the kitchen like a warm blanket.

Anthony leans against the counter, his glass dangling loosely from his fingers. “Remember when Luna stole that old lady’s scarf at the park?”

“Oh, God,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I thought she was going to call the cops.”

“She probably would’ve if Luna hadn’t charmed her with those puppy eyes,” he says, his voice full of affection as he glances at the dog curled up on the rug.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Luna’s a master manipulator.”

Anthony raises his glass in agreement, then downs the rest of his drink. “She learned from the best.”

The banter tapers off, and for a moment, we stand there, the warmth of the bourbon settling between us. His gaze lingers on me a little too long, his expression changing. Thoughtful almost. And a slight discomfort settles over me.

“It’s getting late,” I say, breaking eye contact. “I have the early shift tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, setting his empty glass on the counter. “I’m heading back to New York in the morning.”

I grin. “I thought the Windy City appeals to you.”

“A blatant fucking lie.”

We laugh, and he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair, walks to the front door, and Luna trots along behind us. Anthony bends to scratch behind her ears, murmuring something soft that makes her tail wag.

Then he straightens, turning to face me. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t open it right away. Instead, his eyeshold mine, and for a split second, the air between us shifts. Something unspoken lingers, heavy and charged.

His gaze dips briefly to my lips, and my pulse stumbles.

“Goodnight, Everly,” he says softly.

Relief and something else—something I can’t quite name—floods my chest. “Goodnight, Anthony.”

He steps outside, the cool night air sweeping in around him. “Lock the door,” he calls over his shoulder, that familiar protective edge returning.

I watch as he slides into the back seat of the waiting Bentley, the car pulling away and disappearing down the street.

Once he’s gone, I close the door, leaning against it as I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and finally let myself think of him.

Isaia.

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