Page 42 of Free to Run
18
Alison
Daniela Trattoria in New York City has to be my favorite restaurant of all time. Their Ravioli Amatriciana is my downfall. I’m not above begging them for the recipe to recreate it at home. I would literally run ten miles a day to not gain an ounce from eating that dish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I remember the first time I ate at this restaurant. Phil wanted to celebrate Jason getting his full-time ER job in the city. Between the seven of us, our table took up a large portion of the balcony area overlooking the seating in the trattoria and the killer view of Eighth Avenue. The house sangria flowed like buckets as we celebrated the man who would become our brother-in-law.
Little did we know that right after Phil’s congratulatory speech, Jason would drop to his knee and ask him to marry him. My heart stutters as I think about the tears shimmering in Phil’s eyes when he said, “Yes.” Our celebration became even rowdier.
“I want to know what’s putting that smile on your face,” Keene says as he sits next to me, instead of across from me. He had stepped away to take a call from Caleb that he didn’t want overheard by the other patrons.
“Memories,” I reply softly.
The smile doesn’t leave my face when he reaches for my hand. Playing with my fingers, he says, “Tell me.”
I look down at our hands. His fingers are long and strong. My gaze moves up to his wrist, where the first sprinkling of dark hair that dusts his body begins. His hand tightens on mine.
“You’re hesitating. Why?”
“Because I don’t know how much of our past Cassidy has already shared with you, and I don’t know how much you want to know. Sometimes, I just don’t know what to say without making a difficult situation more painful for you.” I let my fingers explore his.
His hand tightens again before he releases mine. Disappointment sets in, but then I feel his hand slide up to my elbow, his thumb strumming back and forth. That simple touch causes pleasurable chills to erupt across my body. My lips part because the sensation is almost overwhelming.
“Baby, I don’t want you to hold back what’s happened in your past. Any of your past,” he adds with emphasis. I know he’s not only referring to my adopted family. “If there’s something you want or need to share, I want to hear it. And I promise that if I can, I will as well.”
That sounds promising, but— “What do you mean by if you can?” I ask softly.
We’re seated against the aging brick wall, with patrons to either side of us. He leans closer and murmurs, “Has Cass shared what Caleb used to do for a living?”
I nod. Keene nods slowly.
Holy crap. I knew Keene had been in the service, but he was also part of the intel community? Now his comment made a hell of a lot more sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share his past. It meant he was legally unable to share certain pieces of information for the rest of his life.
His thumb is still moving back and forth. I expect he felt the jump in my pulse. He’s patiently waiting for my reaction, so I reach for my glass of the homemade sangria and take a small sip. “I’m fond of this drink,” I offer.
He smirks. “I couldn’t tell, as we’re already on our second pitcher and our appetizers haven’t been delivered yet.” His thumb is still stroking. He’s waiting.
“I remember the night we celebrated Jason getting the job at the ER here. He proposed to Phil that night too. We all enjoyed the sangria more than our fair share. I think we drank three, four pitchers each? Granted they’re small.” I laugh at the details of that memory.
“What you’re telling me is that Jason was impaired the night he proposed to Phil?” Nodding, Keene lifts his glass and takes a sip. “That explains so much.”
“Oh stop! Phil isn’t that bad.”
Keene’s smile slashes across his face. “Please, I’ve heard from both sides how he thought Caleb was actually marrying his brother.”
“That is so not how it went. Your sister is who thought that.”
Keene almost drops his glass. “You learned that from Cassidy.”
My smile offers no apology, but it doesn’t look like he expects one.
“Bueno! Calamari fritti…Bella! I didn’t see you sitting here!” The manager beams. “You save room for my tiramisu, yes?”
I laugh out loud. “Always.”
“Good, good.” He frowns at our pitcher of sangria. “I get you more to drink.”
I’m laughing by the time Georgio leaves our table. “You can see how we ended up drinking so much the night Phil and Jason got engaged.”
