Thirty
“Oh my God, I’m sorry I’m so late,” I say as I push open the front door of my nonna’s—wait a minute—my house. I stop short when I see the living room is empty.
That’s weird.
It’s just past eight-fifteen, which I feel terrible about, but my lateness couldn’t be helped. As I predicted, it was extra busy behind the counter this morning, and I had to give my father some brief training that turned into an epic yelling match—as in we kept yelling at each other back and forth, both of us telling each other what to do and putting on a real show for the customers.
Good times.
By the time I got out of there and then used my dad’s car to drive over to nonna’s—it was parked directly in front of Sweet Dreams and I was late so, hey, he owed me—it was way past eight o’clock. And while my family is notoriously late, my brothers are just like my dad—they don’t like it other people’s tardiness.
Well, I can blame my being late on dear old Dad, so my bros are just going to have to deal with it.
Where the hell are they, anyway?
I’m walking through the house, entering the kitchen, but no one’s waiting for me, though there are plenty of boxes scattered about. Looks like she’s already getting ready to move, which is exciting.
I check out the two bedrooms downstairs—empty. I go up the rickety stairs to my nonna’s bedroom, stopping short when I see a tall, familiar man standing at the window, staring out at the ocean with his back to me.
I know that back. Very intimately, in fact.
He turns, his hands on his hips, and all the air clogs in my throat, making it difficult for me to breathe.
It’s Carter.
He’s frowning at me, more in confusion than anything else, and I press my lips together, trying to figure out what to say to him first.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Yes, Stella. That was so freaking brilliant.
“Your grandmother asked me to meet her here at eight. Said she wanted to talk to me about some terms in the contract for her condo,” he explains. “What are you doing here?”
I take a cue from my nonna and don’t bother answering his question. “Where is she?”
“I’m not sure. When I got here, she left me a note on the front door with my name on it, and it said she had to go to a quick meeting, but she’ll be back.” Carter’s frown deepens. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“My brothers said the contractor would be here at eight a.m. and if I wanted to meet with him to talk about the renovations, I should show up. So—I showed up.” I throw my arms in the air, feeling a little defenseless.
And a lot confused.
He studies me for a while, keeping quiet, and I take my opportunity to blatantly check him out. He looks…good. Clad in a dark-blue suit and a white button-down shirt, he’s not wearing a tie, which gives him a casual, sexy air. He must’ve gotten a haircut—from Eleanor?—but he kept most of the length on top, so his dark hair has this slightly floppy quality that is totally appealing.
Oh, who am I kidding? I find everything about this man appealing.
And I look terrible in my typical barista outfit of jeans, a pale yellow Sweet Dreams T-shirt and my hair in a high ponytail. Only mascara on, and it’s probably smudged beneath my eyes, as usual.
He looks like a god and I look like a slob.
“I think we’ve been set up,” he finally says.
I gape at him. “What do you mean?”
“I think your precious nonna tricked us. Where are your brothers? Aren’t they supposed to be here?”
“Well, yeah. Along with the contractor.” I frown. “Oh God, what if she changed the meeting time?” I vaguely remember her typing on her phone. Was she texting someone? I didn’t know she could actually text. And she told me to go to bed early and was very mysterious.
“I bet she did,” Carter says grimly.
“Oh God, Carter, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. Is that because I’m here? I need to take my opportunity while I have him in front of me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say softly, still drinking him in. God, this man makes me feel so freaking thirsty. “I’ve—missed you.”
He remains quiet, his gaze never leaving me, and all I can do is stare helplessly back. “I’ve missed you too,” he finally says.
I take a step toward him. Then another. “I told my family all about you.”
His brows lower. “What do you mean?”
“I told them you lived with me. That we were—involved. Until everything fell apart.”
“You told them?”
I nod. “Yeah, and my dad didn’t want to kill me like I feared he might.” I laugh, though it sounds hollow. “My brothers acted like they had some bet going about us and my nonna reported she witnessed you grabbing my ass in her future kitchen.”
His lips barely turn up in a smile, and I take that as a positive sign. “Did this happen last night?”
“Yes.” I take another step forward. “I confessed all to Eleanor and Caroline too, though Caroline already had us kind of figured out.”
“Oh, I filled her in last night. We had Sunday family dinner at the Wilder Hotel,” he says. “Our family dinner consisted of the two of us. I’m staying at the hotel until I can move in to my new place.”
I take another couple steps closer to him. “You were at the Wilder Hotel? We were practically in the same neighborhood.”
“I thought the same thing.” His smile grows a little, though he’s not revealing any teeth yet.
“Your new place. I heard you bought a condo.”
“The Marina one.” He shrugs. “I liked it.”
“I’m happy you found something, though I miss you living with me.” I’m getting close enough that I can feel his body heat radiating toward me.
His eyes grow hooded and the smile fades, replaced by a very serious expression. “I’ve missed you too. A lot.”
His admission emboldens me. “I’m so sorry for what happened that night, Carter. I-I didn’t mean any of it. You are—everything to me.”
His jaw works. So does his throat. The longer he takes to speak, the more dread grows within my stomach, until I’m positive he’s going to reject me. Tell me I’m too late. Tell me he’s already over me. Over us.
“I’m sorry for what I said too. I thought I ruined everything,” he admits.
Really? “I thought I ruined everything.”
“You’re telling me it wasn’t all one sided after all?” he asks, raising a brow.
I draw closer, until I’m standing directly in front of him, within touchable distance. And my entire body aches to feel his hands on my skin. “It definitely wasn’t one sided. I don’t want us to end. I want—I want a relationship with you.”
He finally touches me, his fingers skimming along my forearm, making me shiver, and that’s all the encouragement I need to launch myself at him. Of course he catches me, his arms wrapping tight around my waist, his hands smoothing down my back as he murmurs against my temple, “I’m down.”