Page 85 of The Wilder Widows

Shit.

“You ready?” he asked, pushing himself off the wall, slow, deliberate steps closing the distance between us. With every step that brought him closer, my already racing heart sped up. As he closed in, I noticed he’d trimmed his beard, smoothing down the straggling course hairs I’d noticed earlier today, and he had styled his thick hair into soft waves. When he extended an elbow, I slid my arm through, letting my hand settle on his forearm. Even though I couldn’t see it through the grey suit coat, I knew my hand rested on that tattoo I’d loved so much.

“Ready,” I said, and I hoped I meant it.

He escorted me to his truck, opening the door while I stepped inside. After he shut me in, I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing while he walked around the front. After climbing inside, he fired it up, and the awkward silence filled the cab, palpable enough to reach out and touch.

“Still like Italian?” he asked, and I nodded.

Speak, Sylvie! I tried to command myself, but my nerves held my tongue captive.

“Vincini’s Italian is still in business. It’s just around the corner. Sound good?”

“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled. Words refused to form, but at least I managed to make some noise.

The one-minute drive felt like an eternity while we rode along in silence. All I wanted to do was stare at him until I could convince myself that he was real. Close enough to see. Close enough to touch. Maybe I’d gone down in the streets of Pamplona and been the latest victim of El Diablo, and everything since was just some bizarre coma dream. Maybe the ornery bull had hit pay dirt and finished me off. Perhaps I was dead, and I had made it to my heaven. Because heaven for me would be a lifetime with Tom.

Instead of openly gawking at him, I forced my eyes to the road. The truck pulled up in front of the restaurant I remembered so well. The one I’d begged my parents to take me to every year for my birthday. Tom tossed his truck in park and hopped out, and instead of waiting for him to open my door, I did it myself. When I stepped out toward the curb, I forgot about the height of the vehicle, and I misjudged the distance to the ground. With a shriek, I tumbled forward, reaching into the air for anything to grab onto to break my fall. When my fingers felt the solid wall of flesh in front of me, I grabbed tight, only to feel strong arms snake around my waist. I collapsed in his arms, suspended in his embrace... the embrace I’d envisioned every night I’d closed my eyes since we parted.

“You okay?” he asked, amber eyes boring down into mine.

Nodding, I tried to will my body to right itself. To stand up and pull myself from his embrace. But my body resisted, instead pressing deeper into his chest. Deeper into the one place that had once upon a time felt like home. Still felt like home.

Finally, my body responded to my mind’s desperate pleas, and I pressed off his chest, smoothing my dress while I regained my composure.

“Still a klutz, I see?”

His white teeth flashed at me. That cocky smile hadn’t changed one bit.

“Some things never change,” I said, but actually, I was referring to his smile. And the feelings only Tom could evoke in me.

“Come on.” He extended an elbow, and I took it. “Careful this time. Walking can be tricky.” Laughter trickled through his words, and I chuckled in response.

The hostess seated us at a table in the back, and I was grateful they’d given us a dark, quiet corner. I didn’t need the whole restaurant watching me bumbling like an idiot while I tried to learn how to speak full sentences again. Having Tom watch me struggle to speak would be embarrassing enough.

“Bottle of red?” he asked, and I nodded. “Pinot noir, please,” he said to the waiter who set down our menus and walked away.

I buried my face behind the menu, trying once again to find the words to say. What did I even want to say? I still love you? I’m an idiot? You have a daughter?

That last thought nearly caused me to get up and bolt out of the restaurant. Should I tell him? And if I did, would he hate me forever?

“So, the Sylvie I remember was a chatterbox,” Tom said, and I peeked up from behind my menu. “She was always laughing. Always talking. So many ideas running around inside that beautiful brain of hers. You look like her. You sound like her. But I’m not so sure you’re her. You’re too quiet. Are you her?” Leaning forward, he pressed his elbows into the white tablecloth.

“I’m still her,” I managed to say. “I’m just nervous as hell.”

His dimples deepened as he smiled. “And you don’t think I am?”

Scoffing, I shook my head. “You’re Tom. The most confident, cocky, self-assured man I ever met. Tom doesn’t do nervous.”

“Oh, I’m nervous, Sylvie.” He chuckled. “More nervous than if I was lying in a trench with bullets whizzing over my head. But one of us has to speak, or this will be a long, awkward night.”

“You are? You’re nervous?”

Sitting back, he crossed his arms across his broad chest and blew out a puff of air. “The girl who broke my heart just waltzed back into my life. Yeah. I’m nervous.”

Broke his heart? So he had loved me?

“A day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t thought about you,” he went on. “So, imagine my surprise when I go out to investigate the suspicious car circling my block only to watch it slam into a fire hydrant, and the girl who got away is sitting in the front seat.”