Page 35 of The Mobster’s Nurse

"You don't have to be scared," I tell her.

"Easy for you to say."

“Sometimes it’s important to just act on … feelings.” I kiss the top of her head, “I’m proud of you, too.”

I keep my lips pressed, pecking short kisses across the top of her head. "I know what it cost you. I see it. I feel it. It cost me something, too."

She's quiet for a moment, processing that. Her hand curls gently against my chest.

"What now?" she whispers.

"I lie here with you," I tell her, "and I don't think about anything else. Not yet."

She makes a small sound that might be a laugh. "You said 'not yet.'"

"I'm being honest."

"I know." She kisses my chest once, lightly. "I know you are."

We stay like that. The candles burn down slowly in the dimness, shadows flicker on the walls.

When my phone rings, I feel her tense before I've even moved.

I sit up. Grab it from my pants on the floor.

It's Dad.

"Yeah?"

"Come back to the ranch. I've spoken with New York and Sicily."

"Grandfather was up late," I comment.

"Are you coming?" Dad asks.

I look at Ellie. She's already sitting up, already gathering herself back together. Watching me with steady eyes.

"On my way," I say.

I hang up. Turn to her. "I'm sorry. I thought we'd have longer."

"Don't worry about it," she murmurs.

But I do worry. More about this thing between us than the Irish. More about the way she goes quiet and capable and slightly out of reach the moment the outside world pushes in.

When we were together — really together, bodies and attention and nothing else — I felt like nothing could touch us.

Now I'm back in uneven water, trying to read her, trying to hold on without gripping too hard.

She finds her clothes. I find mine. We move around each other in the candlelit room without speaking, and it's comfortable, and it's painful at the same time, and I don't know what to do with either of those things except carry them with me when I walk out the door.

"Ellie."

She looks up.

"We'll talk. When I'm back. About all of it."

She holds my gaze for a moment. Then nods — small, real, enough.