I felt that knife drive a little deeper. Time hadn’t helped soothe the burn, if anything it had grown stronger.
I knew I didn’t mask it, the ache. I’d been practiced at it when we’d lived together. Now, after our time apart, I knew it showed on my face and I was eager to make a speedy exit.
“Good to see you. Have a nice evening.” I swallowed hard, giving a jerky nod and making a beeline for the nearest exit point. In my haste, my toe caught on the sod, sending me into a free fall.
Familiar calloused hands caught me as they had so many times before. He pulled me close, my breath catching as my hands palmed his firm chest.
For a moment, it was as though time stood still. The conversation around us grew hushed, the pounding of the surf on the rocks below becoming a muted orchestra as we stared at each other.
A throat cleared indelicately behind us.
My face flamed as I pushed back from his chest, righting myself again. “Thanks. I never was good in heels.”
He offered a halfhearted smile as his eyes scorched down into mine. “Or in flats.”
“Or in flats,” I agreed, pushing back from him again, eager to break the contact and yet never wanting to let him go. “Take care.”
His gaze burned into my back as I scuttled away, feeling that familiar scorching pain that never seemed to heal.
I avoided him and his gorgeous date for the rest of the night. Zitto found me as we were packing the vans up. “Bella, do an old man a favor, eh?” he asked, huffing a breath at having to catch up with me.
I looked at him expectantly. “Sure.”
“I have a birthday present for Camille—can you keep it with you for a week or two? That sneaky wife of mine will scour the house for it.” He grinned.
They’d been married twenty-five years and I envied how much they still seemed to love each other.
I laughed. “Sure, just put it in my car.”
He clapped his hands together. “Grazie, bella. Hey, are you okay? I saw you talking to that young man and your face… I’ve never seen that expression on you before,” he commented.
Pain? Loss? Torment? He could have seen any of those.
I patted his arm. “Just an old friend. I’m exhausted. I’m going to finish packing this van up and head out, okay?”
“Sounds good,” he agreed, looking at me skeptically.
“I’m fine,” I assured him with the most carefree smile I could muster.
He waved a hand in the air. “All right, all right. I’ll stop meddling. If Camille were here, you’d be in big trouble.” Something flashed in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. It almost looked like guilt. I was too tired to press him.
I laughed instead. “Don’t I know it!”
By the time I got home, I was so exhausted and distracted by thoughts of Sid that I barely made it up the steps to my apartment, much less remembered to bring Camille’s gift in from my car.
For once, my forgetful nature turned out to be my saving grace.
CHAPTER 3
I woke up slowly the next morning and stared at the cracked ceiling above my bed. I’d never been much of a morning person, and being able to take my time waking up was a luxury I took advantage of whenever I could.
My phone chirped with a text and I reached for it, staring at the words blearily.
Drinks tonight?
Caden’s text made me smile. We still saw each other all the time, whether it was to have drinks, or dinner at his place. He’d moved in with Danika shortly after I’d moved out. She and I had become good friends. I was thrilled for both of them.
Sounds good. 9, Mottos?
Yep, see ya.
I set my phone down and with a grumble, forced myself up and out of bed. I walked through my small apartment toward the kitchen. My brother would have a conniption if he saw where I was living, just barely on the wrong side of Melrose, but I liked it. Sure, the neighborhood wasn’t the best, and my place was small, but I’d managed to keep it clean—most days, anyway—and my neighbors were friendly.
I spent most of the day spread out on the floor of my living room, writing. I felt all the more driven after my meeting with Autumn. There was something beautiful and freeing to think that someone might take my words and make them their own—that they’d put a unique voice to the story I’d written into song.
I got ready that night with music blaring, missing Piper as I swayed my hips in front of the mirror. We’d often gotten ready together, picking out each other’s clothes and dancing around the house as the boys grumbled about how long we took, smiling at our antics.
I chose my high-waisted, skinny black jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a hint of midriff. It was sexy without being slutty. I paired it with my black ankle boots and a chunky necklace.