This time of year had become nothing more than a memorial of my struggles after my parents’ death. I’d finished my midterms junior year and was preparing to come home for break. My parents were scheduled to return home the day before me, and I hadn’t heard from them. The weather was bad in the mountains of Switzerland, and telephone service was spotty at best. Their last call, I’d spent most of the time hearing their voices fade in and out. But I had no problem hearing the subdued voice of the tour group organizer who gave me the news that the bus had skidded off the road in a snow squall and my parents had died when it rolled over into an embankment.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “Stupid, huh?” I sniffed and grabbed an egg roll from the foil-lined bag. “It was so many years ago, I should be over it. I’ve lived almost as long without my parents as I did with them.”
“It’s not stupid to miss them.Imiss them, and they weren’t even my blood.”
I hugged him. “They loved you too.”
His handsome face fell. “I still regret not being there for you.”
“Stop.” I shook him gently. “You were there for the funeral and afterward. You had a life, and that semester it was in Europe. You couldn’t turn down that internship or miss the second half of your junior year.” I’d said those words a thousand times to him over the years, but they never penetrated. When it came to me, Frisco had a big-brother complex, even though we were the same age.
We separated the food. I hadn’t eaten all day and it smelled amazing, but I barely picked at it. Frisco shoved a couple of dumplings in his mouth and kept checking his watch.
“You have a date?” I drank some more wine. “Don’t think you need to hang out and hold my hand.” I waved the half-empty bottle. “My date’s right here.”
“Idiot,” he muttered, and I tossed a fortune cookie at him.
“Don’t call me names. I’m allowed to get drunk when I’m dumped. It’s like a rite of passage.” I finished my glass and didn’t bother to refill it, chugging directly from the bottle.
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Oh.” I hiccupped and burped. “Oops.” I laughed and rolled over on my side.
“I haven’t seen you drunk in years. You’re cute.” Frisco patted my cheek and took the bottle from me. “But I think I should make some coffee. Are you finished?”
“Nate loved iced coffee even when it was cold enough to freeze his balls.” I stretched out on the floor and watched Frisco pour grinds into the espresso maker he’d given me for Christmas because, he informed me, if he was going to have dinner at my place, I’d better have good enough coffee for him to drink. None of that nasty stuff in a pod.
Gotta love him, and I did. I sat up, grabbed the bottle, and took another swig. A cross between a hiccup and a snicker burst out of me. “You’ll make someone a good husband one day. You could bring him breakfast in bed every day.”
He pressed the lever on the machine and raised his voice to be heard over thewhooshof steam. “The only thing getting eaten in my bed is me.”
“Well, okay, then.” I lay down, flat on the floor, and stared at the ceiling. “I miss Nate.”
“Nate is an idiot.”
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. “You liked him when you met him.”
“That was before he turned out to be a dick.”
“I liked his dick.” I turned my head and hiccupped again.
“All right, time for coffee.”
The buzzer sounded, and Frisco put the cup on the floor by my face.
“I’ll get it.”
I grabbed the coffee table and sofa and pulled myself to standing, hitching up my sweats while Frisco spoke quietly into the intercom. He picked up his coat and slipped it on. The room tilted and glowed bright at the edges of my vision.
“Well, got to go,” he said and stood by the door, expectantly. “I hope things work out.”
Squinting at his double image, I rubbed my face. “What’re you talking about? And who was that?”
Frisco opened the door, and I heard the elevator creak, then footsteps. A tall figure stood by my entrance. I squinted again, unable to believe what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes, and yep—it was still Nate standing in my doorway.
“Nate?” I swayed on my feet. Of course, it could’ve been the wine, but sobriety had hit me like a cold slap in the face when I saw him. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“Can I come in?”
