“Yeah,” I breathed, stepping closer, hands jammed into my jacket pockets to stop them from shaking. “Yeah, Britt. I’d like that.”
Her lips curved into the softest smile, her eyes glistening. “Okay.”
I took a slow, shaky breath, forcing myself to turn, to walk out, to not ruin the moment by doing something stupid like kissing her right there.
As the door clicked shut behind me, I leaned against it for a second, exhaling hard.
Then I practically floated down the hallway, my feet barely touching the ground, grinning like an idiot as I made my way to the rental car parked at the curb.
Sliding behind the wheel, I let my head fall back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. My chest was still tight, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t from pain. It was from hope.
Hope.
God, it tasted sweet.
As I drove away, the city lights flickering past my window, I caught myself humming under my breath, tapping the steering wheel, smiling at nothing like a man completely drunk on the tiniest scrap of a second chance.
And maybe that’s exactly what I was.
Chapter 54
Ace
Three months.
Three damn months, and I still couldn’t believe this was my life.
If you’d told me half a year ago that Brittany and I would be sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, shoulder to shoulder, arguing over which pasta shape made the superior macaroni and cheese, I would’ve laughed in your face. Hell, I would’ve called you delusional.
But here we were.
Macaroni Fridays had become our thing.
Every Friday night, rain or shine, one of us would pick up the ingredients — elbow pasta, sharp cheddar, cream, sometimes bacon if Brittany was feeling fancy — and we’d make a mess of her tiny kitchen, laughing like idiots and pretending we had any idea what we were doing.
Sometimes Sylvia joined us, when she wasn’t knee-deep in papers or fending off her lovesick student — some guy who apparently thought moody brooding was the key to winning her heart. Brittany filled me in on all the drama, usually while snorting into her wine glass and half-spilling it on the rug.
And me? I soaked up every second like a man starved.
Tonight was no different.
Brittany was on her knees by the oven, peeking inside with an exaggerated squint. “Do you think it’s supposed to bubble like that?”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, fighting back a grin. “It’s macaroni, not a science experiment, Britt.”
She shot me a glare over her shoulder, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re no help.”
“Hey,” I chuckled, pushing off the counter to join her. “I provide emotional support. That’s a critical role.”
Sylvia wandered in from the hallway just then, shrugging off her coat, her dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. She dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.
“Another love letter?” Brittany teased, straightening and brushing her hands on a dishtowel.
Sylvia let out a groan, dragging a pillow over her face. “I swear to God, if that kid leaves one more note on my office door, I’m filing a restraining order.”
I snorted. “What’s his deal, anyway?”
Brittany laughed as she pulled the dish from the oven, setting it on the counter with a flourish. “Apparently he’s convinced Sylvia just hasn’t noticed how perfect they are for each other.”
