Page 24 of Come Back to Me

But Tee’s not like that. I mean, she told me that in a letter, even. But putting a face to the name and then seeing her in a safe element, that’s rammed home more than ever. She takes afterher nonna, who, by the sounds of it, was a stay-at-home mom too but she resented it.

Tee’s spirit’s free, not made to be tied down to home and hearth.

If anyone would know, it’s me.

As Angela grumbles about a music teacher position opening up at the school, one that Tee would be perfect for, I study the woman in question.

She’s in her element as she keeps shooting the remaining tiramisu on my dish impatient glances.

I know from her letters how close her family is, but seeing is believing.

My brothers and I are close, but this is different.

It’s normal.

And it’s nice.

There are no hidden traumas here. No wife-beating fathers who murdered and cheated their way through life. There’s no abuse. Just love.

And as much as the dessert takes over my stomach, this fills my metaphorical cup.

An hour later, tiramisu having finally disappeared (that was how large the portion was) and Tee finally scuttling out the door after promising to bring the whipped ricotta for the cannoli, I settle behind the wheel once I’ve helped her into my truck.

And we’re alone.

For the first time.

“Sorry about that. You came to pick me up, not?—”

“I had the best serving of tiramisu I’ve ever had and enjoyed a conversation with three very kind women. There’s no need to apologize.”

I can sense her attention, but I focus on the road as I reverse out of my parking spot.

A glimpse of Marvin Grantley’s face as he peeks through a crack in the drapes of the house next door is a small reminder to check on his wife.

They’re in the process of getting a divorce, and I know Colt moved her into one of the family’s properties near the gas station when the asshole beat the shit out of her.

“You were very good to be so kind to her.”

My brow furrows as I realize who she’s talking about. “Your grandmother’s a character. It was no hardship.”

Still, this isn’t the Tee I’m used to.

She shifts in her seat. “I guess I don’t understand why you were so pleasant to them. You don’t like me, but you agreed to Saturday supper?—”

“Who says I don’t like you?” My brows furrow at her take on the situation between us. I haven’t exactly been effusive, mostly because I haven’t dared to.

At any given moment, I could say something that makes her realize I’m Butch Cassidy.

That’s the last thing I want after I cut ties between us so brutally. I know my letter wasn’t taken as I intended it. I know I hurt her. I know I broke her trust. I know I’m a piece of shit.

“You…” She sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

I want to tell her that it does, but do I even have the right to?

She hums, soft and wispy, but the gentle notes linger in the air. My fingers tap the wheel like I have no say in it.

“I’ll figure out a way to cancel.”

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