“No, it wasn’t that. He spilled it and just left it there. Didn’t even pick up a napkin.”
“Messy! Yes, that was it. They are never right, are they?”
“Same for you.” I plopped down on the couch beside him. “I’ve listened to you complain just as much.”
“Truth. No one is ever actually a match for either one of us.” He leaned into me and placed his head against my shoulder.
Reconsidering… I’d been doing a lot of that recently.
“It’s so good to be back.” He nuzzled into me.
“Are you tired? Does the old man need to take a nap?”
He shot up quickly and shot me one of his famous evil glares. “I’m forty, not dead.”
“I like being younger than you.”
“You just like teasing me, and it’s only two years.” He gently pushed his finger into my arm.
“Still younger.”
“And still a bitch hurtling towards middle age. How things haven’t changed in the last six months.”
“I missed you, Marti.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “Honey, I missed the fuck out of you. Phone conversations just aren’t the same.”
“Yep. Even FaceTime just makes me feel lonelier.” I put my arm up on the back of the couch, and he leaned into me again.
“Well, we areallthat each other has. Maybe we should have kept other friends.”
“They were boring. You’ve never been boring.”
“I feel boring.” He sat up again, and I missed the warmth of him. “All I do is go to work, the gym, and home. I’ve watched so much Netflix that I bought stock.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not yet. I could use a drink, though.”
“I still have your favorite bourbon.” I pushed myself off the couch and walked over to my little bar. I picked up the bottle of Bird Dog that only Martin had ever drunk. “Single or double?”
“Double, definitely.”
“I got all the stuff to make lasagna. I know how much you love my lasagna.”
He clapped happily. “You’re first generation from Italy. Your grandmother taught you how to make the family pie, and it’s delicious. Of course, that’s what I want.”
“I also baked a cake.”
“Maybe asmallslice after dinner.”
“Oh, you’re also counting calories?”
“If I were, I wouldn’t be able to eat more than two bites of your lasagna.” He joked, but it was true. The family pie was about as rich as lasagna could ever get.
“Yeah, it’s rich as shit.” I walked over, grabbed the decanter, and poured two glasses. “Shit, I don’t have any ice in the bucket. Hold on.” I walked around the corner, grabbed some ice from the freezer, and sauntered back into the living room.
“I love you, Ryder. I’m really glad to be here.”
