Page 202 of Matteo

Joel snorts. “Please. She’d have this place running properly in a week.”

“Properly?” I say, stepping into the conversation. “You saying I don’t?”

“You run it properly, boss,” Sonny says, “but Elizabeth would give it a woman’s touch.”

“A woman’s touch?” Elizabeth wrinkles her nose up. “I like to think I add more than that.”

“You sure do,” Joel answers, easily. Sonny nods.

“You’d like to see Elizabeth replace me?” I ask the boys, grinning.

Elizabeth answers. “Depends how badly you want to be replaced.”

“See?” Joel says. “You’re having threats already.”

“Relax.” Her eyes meet mine. “I don’t want your job, Matteo. You seem to be doing it just fine as it is.”

We look at one another, the corners of her lips curling into a smile, and I can’t help but smile back.

“I should get going,” says Sonny. “I should get out of here before I say something I shouldn’t.”

“You’ve already said plenty you shouldn’t,” Joel remarks.

“That’s exactly why I should leave.” He stands up. “You coming?”

Joel hesitates, glancing between Elizabeth and me. I realize even the tech guys have wandered off and are now at the bar, talking among themselves.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “I’ll head out.”

They give Elizabeth big hugs, talk about keeping in touch, and exchange numbers.

“Get out, before you have me in tears,” she says.

Joel sighs loudly. “Loved having you around. I’m going to miss you.”

Sonny’s expression sobers. “Likewise.”

They leave, taking the noise and the laughter with them, so that only the white noise of the background now floats between us. The bar is still busy and people are still talking. Music plays low in the background, but at our end of the table, it’s suddenly quiet and uncomfortable.

I wish we could go back to how we used to be, to who we used to be. It kills me inside that we can't. Elizabeth picks up her beer bottle and takes a gulp. I watch the movement of her throat and the way her fingers curl around the top of the bottle.

I shouldn’t notice things like that anymore, but I do. I always watch her and observe her. I always know what she’s wearing. I can always tell if she’s slept well or not. I can always tell if something’s bothering her. I try to look away, but can't. This could be the last time we're sitting together in a bar.

It will be, asshole.

I let my gaze drift over to the jukebox, wondering, for the hundredth time this week, how we've come to this.

“It’s been a great evening,” she says, pulling my attention back to her.

“Yeah?” I can't stand the idea that she seems happy to be leaving. “If your definition of success is Sonny not embarrassing himself too badly,” I add.

She gives a short laugh, and silence falls between us again. It's still uncomfortable, and awkward, because we're now strangers who will soon go our separate ways. Words are aching to tumble out of my lips, but I restrain myself. I can't tell her how I really feel, how sad I am, how sorry I am, how I wish we could start over.

She doesn't want that. I’ve already said these things.

Time to man up and let go of the best thing that has happened to me. I lean back slightly in my chair. “You’ve handled everything well.”

“Oh?” She lifts her brows a fraction. Our gazes lock and I’m reminded of how she’d stare at me, after we kissed, and when I’d trace the scar above her eye.