“You are.” Torre’s arms came around me.
“But what if I’m not? What if I fail?” I gripped him by the shoulders. “I never wanted a relationship, but I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being with you. When I saw your ex that night, I wanted to punch him through the wall.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Torre said with a smile. “Mike would’ve been pissed.”
“I’m so damn confused. For the first time…I wish I wasn’t the man I used to be.” A previously unknown emotion I now recognized as shame washed over me.
Torre cupped my cheek. “I’m not. Who you were isn’t as important as who you are. With me. Right now.”
“I don’t know anything anymore, if I ever did.” Bitterness tasted sour in my mouth. “I walked around, lost in New York, trying to figure it out.”
“Why don’t we stop thinking about what used to be, and concentrate on what is and what will be. Stop complicating things. If you’re trying to say you want to only be with me and work on a relationship, then say it. I was wrong about you. For years I thought you were a man who cared nothing about tearing down a business because his tea came out lukewarm or the soupspoon was missing. That kind of man wouldn’t have helped kids who want to work in the industry and paid their tuition, all while remaining anonymous. The man I thought you were wouldn’t have rolled up his sleeves and pitched in to help in the kitchen, or helped Luis’s wife find a job that fits with both their schedules so they could keep their kids in the school they found for them.”
“Those kids deserve a chance, and Luis’s wife is doing great at the hotel. I just called in a favor. And good service is important,” I murmured, lips pressed against his palm. “But I might have realized that there are more important things than whether they forgot the sauce on the side. I see firsthand how life-changing a good review can be for a restaurant.”
“That’s good to know.”
I grinned. “If you’d told me last year I’d be eating in a restaurant named Mangia, I would’ve laughed in your face.”
Torre’s eyes twinkled. “And if you’d told me last year I’d be sleeping with Francisco Martinelli, I’d have thought you high. And we can keep it to ourselves—no nosy brothers or well-meaning best friends.”
“Press would have a field day teasing me.” I could see us like this night after night, and I imagined this must be what Presley and Nate did. The evenings of standing on my feet at a gallery opening, playing the game of will they or won’t they, paled compared to holding Torre and letting his warmth seep into my bones. “When did we stop being enemies on the page and turn into lovers between the sheets?”
“Speaking of between the sheets.” Torre’s eyes twinkled, and he rose to his feet and held out his hand. “I have to go to bed. Someone here has to get up early in the morning. Are you coming?”
I jumped up and followed him into the bedroom. “Not yet.”
