Page 69 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Dante hedged, picking at his frittata. “It might be good for you to process some of those feelings while you’re down there.”

“Thank you, Dr. Dante,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You can send me the bill for that mental health masterpiece.”

Like isolation would help me get over anything. I needed distractions to keep me from thinking too hard. Work would be better than sitting in a cabin alone for days on end. There was a reason the term cabin fever had been invented. People went crazy when left alone for too long.

Niccolò stood, leaving half his food on his plate, and addressed Dante. “Now that he’s agreed, I need to get home. See you in a couple of weeks, Romeo.”

“Yeah, I’ll send you a postcard.”

He chuckled, patted me on the shoulder, and then left without another word. Apparently, our little gathering had come to an end.

“Make sure the electricity is on down there.” The last thing I needed was to practice primitive living skills. I would have made the worst boy scout in history. “And I’m taking alcohol.”

“If you kill yourself, I’m leaving you for the bears,” Cosimo threatened.

“If I’m dead, I won’t care.” Having lost all interest in food, I looked between them. “Which one of you is taking me home so I can pack?”

Dante sighed and stood. “I will.”

I stood and saluted Cosimo. “See you soon, fucker.”

“It’ll be too soon,” he groused back, a hint of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward.

Dante and I climbed into the back of his SUV, and I pretended to be busy on my phone for the drive back to my building. When we arrived, he didn’t offer to come up, waiting for me to hop out onto the curb. A pang of something like sentiment tightened my chest as I looked back at his somber expression.

So I did what I did best—grinned and acted like the asshole. “Fuck you, Dante.”

He huffed out a laugh as I slammed the door, and I just caught his last words, not quite believing I’d heard him right.

“Love you, too.”

Chapter Twenty

Sean was a cocky asshole. He stood behind me, his thighs touching mine and his hand drifting from my hip to—

“Stop touching my ass,” I hissed, trying to line up my shot on the pool table.

“But you’re so soft,” he protested, his lips grazing the back of my neck. “I just want to help you.”

“Yeah, help me out of my pants,” I answered ruefully.

He chuckled. “Is that an option?”

“Fuck no.” I spun suddenly, and Sean groaned when the pool cue hit him somewhere south of the border. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with false innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess my aim was off.”

He coughed and shifted on his feet. “It’s okay; you didn’t hit anything vital.”

“Shame.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll aim better next time.”

“I’ll be prepared,” he promised, leaning against the wall a safe distance from the wooden stick I pointed tauntingly in his direction.

“Are you ever going to stop harassing my friends?” Sloane leaned her hip against the pool table and handed me a glass of whiskey.

I breathed in the woody, caramel notes and took a sip before setting it down and focusing on the task at hand. Really, Sloane and I were just fucking around. The pub wasn’t packed at lunchtime on a Wednesday, which was why Sean plagued us with his presence instead of doing whatever a business owner did.

“I wouldn’t use that term for it.” Sean pushed away from the wall and stalked off, his black boots thudding across the wood floors.

Playing pool wasn’t the same without betting and the rush of manipulating unsuspecting, egotistical men. I didn’t hate all men, but I had very little tolerance for those that thought their chromosomes made them superior to anybody feminine. I landed the next three shots before slipping and giving Sloane a turn. Sean redeemed himself when he brought us sliders and fries, even remembering that I liked to dip anything potato-based in ranch dressing.

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