“Yeah, I know. Cool, right? I haven’t seen him since last summer.”
“When he flew you to the Bahamas on his partner’s family jet?” My brother was so impressed by that jet that he talked about nothing else for weeks afterward. Seemed a bit excessive to me, as if there weren’t a million flights from New York to the Bahamas.
Whatever.
“I talked to him last night. He’s coming in for the opening.”
Which makes sense. His brother Tris is finally opening his restaurant after talking about it for as long as I can remember. Unlike my own family of three, the DeLucas are like their own little gang. Enzo is the only one who moved away permanently. His brothers, Gian and Tris, and his sister, Lusanne, all remain in Bridgewater, most of them working for the family business in some capacity.
How many meals had I eaten at their home, envying their big, joyful family? I’m more than grateful for our own little tribe of three, but there’s just something about the DeLucas who have invited us, Mom included, to more meals than I can count.
Something about Enzo.
My brother is watching me closely.
“That’ll be fun for you,” I choke out. “When’s he coming in?”
Another blast of cold, and I know the answer before Devon can say anything. I know it from the way his face lights up. He and Enzo have only seen each other a handful of times since graduating college. Mama DeLuca complains to anyone who asks about her son’s fame that it comes with a price. Although Enzo only lives two hours away from Bridgewater, his visits are infrequent.
“Hey, Devon.” The smooth, deep voice confirms what I already guessed. It’s him.
I don’t dare to turn around, preferring rudeness to the mortification of looking at the man I mooned over for most of my childhood. And early adulthood.
Holy hell.
Enzo DeLuca is here, in this bar. Right behind me.
“Is that Chari?” Enzo says, his voice deeper than I remember.
Nope. Not Chari.
Nothing to see here.
I suppose it’s time to turn around.
3
Enzo
Chari.
Char like charbroiled, and e like the y in baby.
It might have happened years ago, but I still remember the way she told the new kid at school how to properly pronounce her name. I remember everything about Devon’s sister, including the night we helped her celebrate her twenty-first birthday.
She’s a hard woman to forget.
As Devon embraces me, I slap my old friend on the shoulder and wait for her to turn around. Her brown hair is longer than it was the last time I saw her. Admittedly, that was three years ago. Our paths didn’t cross on my last several visits home, and before that, she was still in graduate school. Avoiding her when I have come home worked well until now. I casually asked Devon if she would be here tonight, and he said no. That she tends to stay home on Fridays.
But I’ve seen recent pictures of her. I don’t have any reason to be caught off guard when she finally swivels on her stool. Doesn’t matter—if the twenty-one-year-old Chari was hotter than she should have been for my best friend’s little sister, the twenty-nine-year-old is guaranteed to get me into trouble.
She looks like a young Brooke Shields. Full lips, full brows.
Fuck.
Full breasts.
I force myself to appear completely unaffected. Devon, as always, is on high alert. Protecting his sister is one of his oldest habits, something he appears to have held on to despite the fact that Chari is now very much a woman.
“Hello, Enzo.”
Standing from her stool, she approaches me with a smile. The kind you give an old friend, not someone you’re attracted to. Which is perfect. That’s exactly the response I need to get through this weekend.
“It’s been ages,” she breathes into my ear. As if that isn’t enough to make me rock hard, her breasts press full-on against my chest.
“Too long,” I admit, stepping back as quickly as humanly possible.
“Were your ears ringing? We were just talking about you.”
I don’t even get a chance to say anything else before we’re completely surrounded. I always hope it will be different here, in my hometown, but in some ways it’s worse. Here, the people who come up to me used to treat me like one of them. Now I’m that guy.
As graciously as possible, I shake hands and answer questions.
“Yes, it’s great to be back home.”
“No, Hayden isn’t with me.”
“Yes, we’re still working on a line of liquor. Vodka should be available by the end of next year.”
“The poor guy hasn’t even made it to the bar,” Devon points out finally. Bless him.
“All right, folks, leave him alone,” someone shouts from behind the bar.
Pushing through the crowd, I reach out my hand to the bartender. Grasping it, Mike doesn’t even ask what I’m drinking. He knows me well, even after so many years.
“On the house.”
Moments later, Mike hands me a lager. When I take it, he waves a hand at the crowd behind me, telling them to back off. They know better than to screw with him, and they do as they’re told. For now, at least, I can breathe again.
I begin to pull out a stool at the bar and then remember something.
Chari hates the cold.
“Should we move down there?” I point to some open seats at the other end. “Away from the door?”
I don’t understand the look that passes between brother and sister, but when Chari bursts out laughing, I have a difficult time not staring. She’s still so full of life. So vibrant.
But she’s still Devon’s younger sister.
“Sure, we can move down there,” Devon says, not sounding particularly pleased about it. We head away from the door, and he sits between his sister and me, a calculated move, I’m sure. And probably a good thing. “So, Chari and I have this bet,” he says. “She doesn’t complain about winter. I don’t have sex. Whoever caves first is the big loser.”
“Well, unless things have drastically changed around here, I’d say Chari has this one in the bag.”
I look at the future victor in question, and wish I hadn’t. She hasn’t gotten any less compelling in the last sixty seconds.
“First Mike, now you. Where’s the loyalty? Geez.” Devon shakes his head. “No faith.”
“In your ability to keep it in your pants? You’re right. None at all.”
Looking past Devon, I apologize belatedly to Chari. “Sorry for the crudeness.”
Chari makes a face. “I can assure you, I’ve heard worse.”
I change the subject anyway. “So Devon tells me you’re at Bridgewater Elementary?” I know exactly what grade she teaches, but I pretend not to remember. “Fourth grade?”
“Third.” And then the damn woman bites her bottom lip. I’ve seen her do it before, many times, in fact. But it feels different now.
Chari had a crush on me when we were younger, but by the time I realized it, I was already away at college. Then, a few years ago, I’d come home for the weekend on what happened to be Chari’s twenty-first birthday. As the night wore on, the strong attraction I felt for her became harder and harder to deny and worried me enough to stay away from here these past few years.