Page 91 of The Best of Us

And just like that, this woman single-handedly made me forget about every last demon and skeleton in my closet. That handshake, bourbon-based or not, launched me into my own personal high.

She wobbled forward, losing her balance, and I caught her again. “Yeah, let’s get you to bed.”

No, it wasn’t the best idea to carry her in my arms like she was mine. But yes, I did it anyway.

I walked us to her bedroom, a bedroom I still needed to tell her about, but the barrier of bourbon was now in our way.Another time.No rush, even if I was impatient to make up for all the time we’d lost.

I had to keep reminding myself I didn’t need to experience the last seventeen years in a few hours.She’s still here. Not running.We had a no-pushing-each-other-away deal.

The little sigh from her as I set her on the bed sent me standing tall the moment I let her go, averting thefuck itmoment that would have led me to kiss her.

Another time.I’d keep drilling that reminder into my skull until it clicked that there really would be more time for us. I coughed into a closed fist, trying to mask my emotions. Well, more like to fight them off. “What’s Colin’s favorite food? I’ll order that for dinner.”

She turned on her side, drawing her hands together beneath her cheek. “Italian.”

My heart punctured a hole through my rib cage at her answer, and I had to be grinning like anidiota.

This woman was right about one thing—well, a lot, actually—but about those stages of grief she mentioned, she was a hundred percent correct.

My emotions were steamrolling me. They’d been all over the fucking place since she’d visited me at my office Thursday.

And right now, I just wanted to stay where I was. Content and at peace.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise.” Palm on the nightstand, I bent forward and kissed her temple, then took off before I wound up with a few bourbon admissions of my own and poured out the rest of my heart.

Chapter27

Constantine

Once the food was ordered,I opened a group text with my brothers. I couldn’t talk to them on the phone without them badgering me until they got to the bottom of why I was asking them to fly to New York. I’d rather tell them I was a father in person.

Me: I need you to fly here Monday for the day, no questions asked.

Enzo: I just put down my knife. No, I wasn’t killing anyone, just chopping onions. Relax. But I get the feeling I’ll need to pick it back up again.

Enzo: So, who needs to die?

Alessandro: What are you cooking? I’m starving.

Alessandro: Ignore that text. That was my very pregnant wife, not me.

Enzo: You should be cooking for her. Spoiling her. Why is she hungry??

Alessandro: I am cooking for her, even if I’m not “Lorenzo Costa, chef extraordinaire.”

Alessandro: By cooking, he means ordering food. -Callie

Alessandro: She took my phone again.

Alessandro: I do spoil her. And she’s always hungry.

Me: You two done yet? Or should I say three?

I gripped my neck, working at the knots there as I waited for them to remember I’d started the conversation in the first place.

Enzo: Sorry, sorry. Food is a touchy subject for me.

Enzo: What’s going on? Why are we needed there?

---