“I outsource when possible,” I say. “Tonight, that’s my sister. She’s got them, I’ve got the bar, and everyone survives.”
I step away to check on a table. That’s when I hear that voice that fills my world with warmth. “One bourbon, please.”
It’s ridiculous what one word still does this to me, but here we are.
“Black Hill Maple,” I finish for him. “Purple label. Coming right up.”
I smile as I reach for the bottle. I don’t even turn around at first. I don’t have to. Seven years in, I know that voice better than my own thoughts.
I pour the drink neat, slide it across the bar, and stop it with one finger when it reaches him.
“Hold on,” I say. “There’s a cover charge.”
His mouth quirks. “Bribery?”
“Kiss,” I say, lowering my voice.
He leans over the bar and kisses me, warm and familiar and entirely unconcerned with the fact that half the room is pretending not to watch. “That’s extortion.”
“I learned from the smoothest criminal I know,” I murmur.
“Good.” He smirks. “Because this criminal has come to steal you away for dinner. Or have you forgotten?”
I admit, I almost did. Between everything, it’s hard to keep track of things. Even the ones that matter.
But I could never forget this. “Forgotten our seven-year anniversary? What kind of wife would I be?”
“The best,” he says simply.
I roll my eyes, but there’s fondness on my face. “Well, then I’m thebestest,because I absolutely do remember.”
Coral did me a huge favor taking the kids tonight. It’s been a while since Giovanni and I had some time to ourselves. And while I love those little munchkins more than anything, a couple needs fresh air and a tablecloth every once in a while.
And Savvy Bites has the best tablecloths in town, so that’s where we go every year. Not to mention the best chef. No one cooks for you like an old friend who’s been with you in the trenches of Notte Bianca and experienced Donald’s outrageous management style. Our trauma-bonding transcends career changes.
“Seven years?” Maya pipes up next to me. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. He hasn’t grown tired of me yet.”
“Never,” Giovanni says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.
It warms my heart more than any liquor ever could.
I hand off the bar, grab my coat, and step out into the night with him.
The door closes behind us, muting the music, and the cool air hits my skin. Giovanni doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, his thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles, like he’s reminding himself I’m real.
“You were watching me,” I note.
He doesn’t bother denying it. “What can I say? Old habits die hard. And you’re very good at what you do.”
I smile, leaning into him as we walk. “High praise. Should I frame it?”
“I’ll repeat it later,” he says, voice dropping. “Privately.”
Heat curls low in my stomach. Seven years, three kids, and he still does that.
I bump my hip into his. “Careful. We’re going out to dinner, not back upstairs.”
