“You want to take one or two of these idiots with you?” Pops asks good-naturedly.
I kiss him goodbye and head out before anyone can drag me into a fight or send me off with leftovers. I’ve got someplace I want to be.
14
CHLOE
A knockat the door wakes me from a deep sleep. I squint and check my phone.
Damn.
Three missed texts from Franco.
“I’m coming!” I shout, clearing the sleep from my eyes.
I barely slept a wink my first night back here at Aunt Ann’s. I was so terrified of being here alone. Not to mention heartsick at beinganyplacewithout Franco.
I doubt I slept for two hours last night. After the excitement of getting the security system installed at my shop, I came back here, changed into something comfy, sat down on my couch to read, and wham.
I check the peephole and see Franco’s worried stare through the fisheye.
I quickly open the door to let him in and ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m sorry I missed your texts. I fell asleep on the couch and slept like the dead.”
He looks me over, from my sleep-messed hair to what I’m wearing. His emotions are all over his face—concern, relief, and then amusement.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says. “I mean, you are okay, right?”
I nod. “Come on in.” I’m wearing only shorts and a loose tank top, so the last thing I need is to give the neighbors a show.
He comes in, and I lock the door. “Did you want anything to drink?” I ask. “I’m going to go change.”
He grabs my arm and tugs me close. “Don’t change,” he says, his voice low.
“You like my tank?” I tease. It’s one of his. I didn’t mean to steal it, but in my rush to gather up my clothes, one of his tanks—no doubt discarded hastily while we were stripping off our clothes—got tangled up with mine. “I was planning to return it. I accidentally packed it, and…well, it smells like you.”
If he’s not catching the vibe I’m throwing, then I know we’re over. I can’t be any more obvious without coming out and saying exactly how I feel.
At my admission, he lowers his chin to the top of my head and holds me against his chest. He breathes deeply. “How is it possible to miss someone so much? I just saw you this morning.”
Yes.
Everything inside me starts to tingle in excitement.
I wrap my arms around his waist and close my eyes. I can smell the garlic and tomato lingering in his clothes from dinner with his parents. But deeper, on my second intake of air, it’s all him.
My legs go weak, and we just hold each other, arms tight, no words needed between us.
I’m the one who finally breaks the hug. In just a thin tank and paper-thin shorts, my body is throwing a fit that all I’m doing is hugging this man.
But he’s here to talk.
I need to eliminate my distracted libido from this conversation.
I lace my fingers through his, and we sit on my aunt’s couch side by side. Then I grab the crocheted afghan I was sleeping under, my favorite of hers, a soft dusty-pink shell pattern, and cover myself up to my chin.
“No distractions,” I explain. “I want to be focused on our talk.”
