“Always.”His cheeks stood out in sharp hollows as he gritted his teeth.
I touched them, enjoying the rough hair along his jaw.“Johnny couldn’t grow a beard.”
His eyebrow shot up.
“I’m not comparing you.You’re far superior.”
But I was worried.He’d lost weight, but honed his muscle since we’d been apart.He was more feral and less happy.I could see it in his eyes.There was sorrow there that hadn’t fled despite the soft touches we simply couldn’t stop.
His fingers touched my lips.“I’ve thought about you every day.”
I nodded.I had, too.“I’ll make you a deal.Help me but don’t carry me.”
“I want to carry you.”
That was an opening I had to exploit.“You can carry me over the threshold on our wedding day.”
He sucked in a breath and held it.Softly he said, “When will that be?”
“How does Christmas in Ireland sound?”
His jaw flexed, and I caught the hint of a smile.“Honeymoon?”
I weighed the logistics.“Chicago?”
He made a face.“It’ll be cold.”
“Then we’ll flip them.I want the gang there.No streaming this time.But we have to figure out coverage for New Year’s.That’s the bar’s busiest night.”
He chewed on his lower lip.“Conti was looking for me?”
I nodded.
“Does Don Manca know that?”
“What?Do I have to report everything to him?”I was being sarcastic, but apparently neither man understood me well enough yet to tell.They both answered, “yes” in unison.
Ringo asked another question, “I thought St.Patrick’s Day was your busiest night?”
“Oh sweetie, you’ve not seen anything like New Year’s in Chi-town.We’re going to set up a blues band in the basement.”
His eyes bored into mine.“You walked all the way up a mountain, for me?”
“And stepped in goat shit.”
“And you’re okay with me being a hitman?”
“Absolutely.I don’t faint at the sight of blood anymore.”
He studied me.“Not at all?”
I shook my head.“Not at all.”I lied.
He smiled, the light finally returning to his eyes.“I love you.”
Good.Because my leg hurt like a mother.
26
