Page 92 of My Best Friend Is Broken
And that feels like the most precious thing in the world.
Chapter thirty
Liam
Nicky has been gone for exactly seventeen minutes, and he’s already texted three times.
Everything okay?
Doors locked?
Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.
I show Molly the screen, and he rolls his eyes affectionately. “Dario’s the same. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to install a tracking chip under my skin by now.”
“Don’t give them ideas,” I laugh, typing back a quick reassurance to Nicky.
We’re fine. Stop worrying and focus on work. Love you.
The response is almost immediate.Can’t help it. Love you too.
Molly peers over my shoulder and grins. “You two are disgustingly cute. I approve.”
It’s strange having someone in the apartment while Nicky isn’t here. For weeks, this has been my sanctuary, the place where I can exist without judgment, where the outside world can’t reach me. But Molly’s presence doesn’t feel intrusive. If anything, it feels nice to have company that isn’t Nicky, someone I can talk to withoutthe weight of our complicated history and his constant worry about my mental state.
“Right,” Molly announces, clapping his hands together. “What’s the plan for today? I’m thinking breakfast, workout, maybe some sort of lunch situation? I refuse to spend the day moping about being in hiding.”
“That sounds perfect. Though I should warn you, I’m not great in the kitchen.”
“Lucky for you, I am… starting to set fire to things less often. Come on, let’s see what we’re working with.”
We migrate to the kitchen, where Molly immediately starts pulling ingredients from the fridge with the confidence of someone who’s cooked in many different kitchens. Within minutes, he has eggs cracking, bread toasting, and coffee brewing while maintaining a running commentary about everything from the weather to a reality show he’s obsessed with.
“You know what we should do?” He says as he plates up perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs. “Italian lessons! I’ve been learning for a few months now. Dario’s been teaching me, and I’m at that annoying stage where I know enough to be dangerous but not enough to actually hold a conversation.”
“Nicky’s been teaching me too,” I admit. “But I’ve only learned a few basic phrases.”
“Perfect! I can teach you what I know, and we can practice together. It’ll be fun.” He waggles his eyebrows. “And I know all the naughty words that Dario thinks he’s keeping from me.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Naughty words?”
“Oh yes. The really fun stuff. Swear words, insults, phrases you definitely shouldn’t say in front of yourboyfriend’s nonna.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Want to learn how to say ‘your mother is a hamster’ in Italian?”
“Is that actually useful?”
“Absolutely not, but it’s hilarious.”
We eat our breakfast while Molly teaches me increasingly ridiculous Italian phrases, complete with dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated pronunciation. By the time we’ve finished, I can insult someone’s parentage in three different ways and ask where the sexy men are hiding, though I’m not entirely sure about the accent.
“Your pronunciation isn’t bad,” Molly says as we clear the dishes. “Better than mine was at first. Though you do this thing with your R’s that’s very English. You need to roll them more. Like this,arrabbiato.”
“Arabbiato,” I attempt.
“No, no.Arrrrabbiato. Really roll it. Pretend you’re a cat purring.”
I try again, making a sound that’s probably more strangled cat than purr, and Molly dissolves into giggles.
“Okay, maybe we need to work on that one. But you’re getting there!”
