I rolled my eyes, barely able to hold back a groan. “Sure. Yes. You are better than me.”
“And?”
I gritted my teeth. “Better looking.”
“And?”
“. . . smarter.”
He was silent.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah, sorry, I just . . . I can’t find my damn tape recorder.”
“Okay, we’re done here. Email me what I need to do to get this ball rolling.”
During our later emails, he told me he’d found the perfect investor, willing to put up a staggering amount of money for a very reasonable percentage of the restaurant; and in return I told him I had reached out to Madison and she had agreed to be the chef. Luckily, he didn’t seem to put two and two together. In fact, no one has. Everyone I’ve told seems to be completely oblivious that I’m creating an entire fucking restaurant because the woman I’m unfortunately in love with said she wanted to come home but didn’t have a way. I made one for her. And even though it might be the worst financial decision of my life, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Now, Madison slaps the bill of my hat down before taking the stool beside me. “I heard a rumor that the president of the United States told you to get rid of this hat.”
“Nah, it was only some fancy New York chef with an over-inflated ego.”
Her expression challenges me to a duel before she steals my beer again. “She sounds awesome. I bet she has great legs.”
I take my drink back—eyes accidentally dropping to said legs, clad only in some very short cutoff denim shorts—but then mygaze snags on the thing sitting in her lap. “You brought your turtle into the bar?”
“Tortoise,James.Tortoise!” she corrects. “Turtles have webbed feet. Tortoises, like Sammy, have the cutest stumpy little legs.”
“Okay . . . so you brought yourtortoiseinto a bar?”
“Would you have rather it have been a baby?”
“Does it have to be one or the other?”
She settles onto her barstool with a grin and places the small enclosure on the bar between us. When she pats the top, Sammy retreats inside his shell—adorned with a bright pink Band-Aid across the remains of a small crack.
I can clearly picture Madison strolling through Central Park, finding this turtle—excuse me,tortoise—with a beat-up shell and left for dead, then canceling all her plans so she could spend the day rehabbing it. Or no, who am I kidding? She didn’t cancel her day, she just didn’t show up for any of her appointments. Probably forgot all about them in that moment and then later, while sitting in the vet’s office, said something out of the blue like,Shit! I didn’t get the bay leaves!And gave zero explanation after that.
“Well, look who’s back!” A sunny voice chimes in from just beyond Madison’s shoulder. It’s Jeanine, all freckles and red hair and that sunny sweet tone she always has. Her purse is slung over her shoulder like she’s just arriving.
Madison’s face lights up. “Jeanine! Hi!”
They exchange a quick hug over Madison’s barstool.
“Didn’t know you were back already,” Jeanine says warmly. Her gaze flicks to me for half a beat—something unreadable behind it—but then she’s smiling again. “Good to see you both.”
“You too!” Madison says, clearly delighted to have been spotted.
Jeanine offers a little wave and glides off.
Madison turns back to me and I relax, thankful Jeanine didn’tannounce we dated and broke up while Madison was away. I’m not ready to fill her in on that yet. Or the fact that she was part of the reason it ended.
“Did you get in okay?” I ask, trying not to stare at her in wonder that she’s actually here. Back in Rome. Sitting beside me.
Her hair is even shorter than the last time she was home. It rests right above her shoulders now and is tucked behind her ears, lightly flipping up on the ends. It suits her personality perfectly.
“I did.” She pauses. “Tommy was sweet.”
