Page 51 of All's Well that Friends Well
“Of course,” I say, glancing down at the shirt. It’s a normal navy tee, unique only because of the weird orange patterns on the inside of the neck cuff and the inside of the sleeves. “You tossed it at me while shiftily avoiding my gaze. You know—after you forced me to spill my secrets.”
His gaze lingers on the orange neck. “I just grabbed it out of the drawer of shirts I don’t wear. I didn’t—I didn’t realize.”
I pause, lifting one hand to finger the orange accent. “I didn’t take you for a hidden-pattern man.”
“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug that’s not quite as casual as he’s going for. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?”
I raise my brow at him. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Tension drains out of his gloriously broad shoulders when I say this, a sigh passing through his lips. “I didn’t choose that shirt. It was a gift. You’re correct—I’m not a hidden-pattern man.” He pauses. “I prefer to know upfront what patterns I’ll be dealing with.”
“Mmm,” I say softly, looking closely at him. “A woman, then.”
His jaw clamps shut, but he gives me one jerky nod.
I run my hand down my front, feeling the fabric. It’s nothing fancy; it wouldn’t have been expensive. Then I lift the shirt to my nose; it smells faintly musty. “You keep it butnever wear it,” I say slowly. “So it’s from a lover—one you can’t hate. Or your mother?” But at the look on his face, I shake my head. “From a woman you loved.” I swallow, forcing myself to clarify. “Still love, maybe.”
His voice when he speaks is tight but firm. “Loved.” He hesitates and then adds, “She passed. Years ago.”
I hum as a few pieces of the puzzle slide into place. “I see,” I say, even though my heart is sinking.
I’m wearing a shirt his deceased lover gave him—a shirt that’s probably painful for him to look at or remember. In no universe does that bode well for me.
It’s not always about you, Juliet,I remind myself, fighting away the urge to rip the shirt off and get another one.Anyother one.
I remain still and quiet instead, a queen of self-control.
Luca just stares at me for a second, almost expectant, and then he snorts, looking away. “What—you’re finally respecting boundaries for once? You’re the most invasive person I’ve ever met. You’re not asking inappropriate questions?”
The words hurt, even more because they’re true, but I simply shrug. “I’m not cruel.” I take a step back, and then another, finally turning around and heading toward my old room. I only pause when one last thought hits me. “I don’t know what happened between you, but I hope you know that you’re allowed to mourn.” Something else occurs to me, too, equally as possible, so I go on. “Or tostopmourning. You’re allowed to do that, too.” I swallow. “Just in case you need permission…” I look over my shoulder at him, noting the stricken look on his face. “You’re allowed to do those things.”
Then I turn back toward the room he now uses as anoffice, in which I know I’ll find a lovely, comfortable bed. I’m suddenly very, very tired, and it’s still raining, and—yes—I could call my sisters to come get me. I could even ask Luca to take me home. But I’d rather stay here. “I’m going to take a nap,” I say casually. He’ll tell me if he wants me to leave. “Wake me up in an hour, will you?”
He doesn’t answer until my door is halfway closed. “What did it say?” His voice is rough, casual, even uninterested. “The career test?”
But I stop, my hand still on the doorknob. “You really want to know?”
A faint grunt of assent filters down the hall to me. Despite the heavy emotions now swirling in my chest, I smile.
“Something I’m incompatible with,” I say. “But if you’re extra nice to me from now on, I’ll tell you.”
I hear a bark of laughter, and then footsteps heading for the steps. “I’m going to go grab the food you left on my doorstep for all the wild animals to find.”
“My poor peach bars,” I say. “But thank you.”
I don’t wait for his response. I just go into my old bedroom and shut the door, grabbing my phone from the desk to text my sisters and tell them not to wait up.
Because Luca is letting me stay longer. He had the chance to kick me out, but he didn’t.
I’m going to live in this moment for as long as possible.
LUCA
I’m pulledfrom a deep sleep by a buzzing sound; it’s part of my dream at first, a bee I swat as it flies around my head, growing louder and larger until it’s the size of my hand. I jerk out of the way, and I think that’s what finally wakes me; a twinge of pain shoots through my neck, and I slap the spot, much the same way I was trying to slap the bee in my dream.
It takes me a second to figure out where I am and what’s going on, because my view when I open my eyes is not one I normally see. It’s my current ceiling, my current room, but rotated—that’s when I finally have the presence of mind to sit up, only to discover I’m sleeping sideways on the bed.
My fuzzy brain lags behind as I blink stupidly around, until it hits me.