Chapter 16
Zara
When I nearly jump out of my skin at the slamming of the car door, it’s confirmed. Cole has gotten to me in a way no man ever has. Ever.
I wake up and think of Cole. I fall asleep thinking of him, and dream of him too.
Every other second of the day I struggle to concentrate on something other than him. Maybe this is normal for other people—I’ve certainly had friends who were preoccupied with their new boyfriends to the point of obsession—but it’s never happened to me.
Honestly? I’m not a big fan.
My parents did not raise me to be dependent on a man for anything. Including happiness. Even tonight, having dinner with a new friend, I couldn’t help but be distracted by thoughts of Cole’s dinner with Tony.
Lisa, of course, noticed.
“OK, girl, out with it,” she said.
I didn’t want to be that person, the one who dominates every conversation with details of her love life. But I talked about him for a solid ten minutes, and she didn’t seem to mind a bit.
“Why the hell would you cover up your freckles?” she asked when I got to that part of the story. “I love freckles.”
“They aren’t just freckles,” I told her. “Not like this.” I held up my arm. “They’re more like this”—I point to my chest—“times ten.”
Lisa didn’t seem overly horrified by the thought, and I had to admit to myself it seemed like a pretty silly thing to worry about in the scheme of things. But still, it’s a daily burden to cover the damn things up, and I can’t imagine being comfortable enough in my own skin to leave them bared for all to see.
When I hear footsteps on the porch, I practically run to the door. Opening it, I’m surprised to see Cole is dripping wet. I hadn’t even realized it was raining. Or more like pouring. Usually I love listening to the rain and take every opportunity to sit on the back porch to watch, and listen. Since Grandma hated air conditioning, every window in the house is open.
How did I not hear it?
I can practically hear Lisa saying, You’ve got it bad girl. Like, really bad.
“I guess you don’t believe in umbrellas?” I ask, stepping aside to let him in.
“Usually I do, but there wasn’t one in my car.”
Of course he’s wearing a light blue T-shirt. Light enough to reveal pretty much every line and ridge of his amazing chest. He smells like a combination of cologne and hot wings, a strangely enticing scent. Of course, the guy could probably come in here smelling like mushrooms, which I hate, and I’d still want to jump his bones.
Speaking of, Cole is giving me a look that says he feels the exact same way about me.
I’m about to say something inane about mushrooms and smells when he reaches for me. And then, his mouth is on me—searing me, branding me—and his hand is on my breast, and I’m a goner. So is he. In fact, we don’t get past the stairs into my living room with our shirts intact.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I wiggle out of my shorts, Cole doing the same.
“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten undressed so fast in my life,” I say, about to reach back to undo my bra when Cole stops me. He spins me around, the chaotic pace of a moment ago giving way to something slow and sensuous as he pushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck, simultaneously unhooking my bra.
“Part of me wants to be inside you this instant, Zara,” he says, slowly removing my bra and then pulling me back against his very hard erection.
“The other part of me . . .” Both hands slip up from my waist to cover my breasts. “. . . wants to relish every second of this.”
His hand, his hips, they move in tandem. This time, his kisses are more urgent on my neck, moving up to my ear.
Splaying my hands over his muscular thighs, I try to hold on as best I can. Instead, I’m falling completely apart. He’s like a puppet master, the invisible strings making my body respond with little effort.
When one hand slides lower, straight into the top of my lace underwear, I close my eyes. This is just way too much. Every nerve ending in my body wants to answer his call.
“I’m not the only one soaking wet around here,” he says, his voice a low purr.
His fingers slide in and out easily, and in three seconds flat, my body heat rises. My skin is on fire. My cheeks are likely flaming red. As his hips circle against me from behind, I imagine Cole inside of me, and I shatter, calling his name.
At which point the wretch pulls his hand away, and my undies with it. Damned if I’ll be the only naked one in this room. But when I turn back around, intent on making Cole as naked as I am, he stops my hand.
“Give me a second.”
He reaches down to his discarded wallet in the front pocket of his shorts, and by the time he comes back up, Cole is as naked as the day he was born. And I’m pretty sure he’s going to break me. In every possible way.
Hair still wet, his fist clenched around what I assume is a condom, Cole has never looked more intimidating. He stalks me like his very willing prey, and I go to him in a rush of intent and desire.
And just like that, our bodies are a tangled mess. His tongue coils and tastes as he pushes us both toward the living room couch. No way we’re making it upstairs, and I’m totally fine with that. By the time he’s hovering over me, his knee nudging my legs apart as if I needed encouragement, I’m more than ready.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the day we met.”
As Cole lowers himself into me, inch by delicious inch, I watch the muscle strain in the arm he has propped on the back of the couch. And then I look into his hooded eyes.
Fully inside me now, Cole doesn’t move.
Yet.
I try to make him, but Cole resists the thrust of my hips. He lowers his head, his mouth, and sears me with a kiss, coaxing me to open for him. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, his tongue circles my mouth, mimicking his movements down below.
“Closer,” I murmur, filled with the overpowering need to feel him everywhere.
Now, instead of being propped up, Cole is resting on my chest, his body completely and deliciously covering me. We move in perfect rhythm, the sounds of heavy raindrops from the front window somehow increasing my pleasure, the perfection of this moment out of time.
I reach up to his thick, wet hair and pull him even closer, if such a thing is possible. The building tension only intensifies as he expertly circles his hips. There’s not a ton of room for us to move around here on the couch, but Cole doesn’t seem to mind.
And neither do I.
Not when my butt cheeks are clenching together and my toes are curling in delight. And certainly not when I come against him, leaving very little question of whether or not I just had a total and complete orgasm. Thankfully, there are no neighbors nearby.
“Ah, Zara,” he moans.
Still pulsing, I do all that I can to make him feel the same intense rush of feeling.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Come with me, Cole.”
And that’s all it takes. With a roar of pleasure, he presses hard into me, and then stills.
Honestly, most guys don’t look all that sexy when they come. Not so with Cole. Eyes closed and mouth open, he’s a veritable snack.
No, a meal. Multiple courses. Maybe a buffet.
And I’m already hungry for him again.
Judging by his expression, he feels exactly the same way.
Chapter 17
Cole
I can’t remember the last time I had sex three times in one night. An excess of pent-up desire for this woman turned into what can only be described as a full-on sexcapade. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
“I’m thinking you need this?” I hand Zara her bra, and she grins sheepishly, taking it.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
As much as I hate the thought of leaving, it’s past midnight on a school night. Zara laughed when I told her that after our last round. She said I sounded like a teacher. Not all that surprising with two educator parents.
“What are you up to tomorrow?”
“You mean today?” Zara rearranges herself, now fully clothed. Unfortunately.
I can’t resist. Closing the distance between us, I pull her close. “Yeah, today.”
When our lips touch, it’s like the very first time and the millionth all at once. As if I’ve known no other lips.
“I’ve got to get the article finished. And you’ve inspired me to start running again, so I’m going to grab some new sneakers.”
“I didn’t realize you were a runner.”
She makes a face, reaching up to fix an apparently errant lock of my hair. “I used to be. It was the best way to discover new places when we traveled. But I got out of it somehow.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I thought you played basketball with the guys on Thursdays?”
“Not this week.”
I’m rewarded with a smile. “What do you have planned instead?”
Knowing we probably don’t have more than another week or two, I try to think of something special.
Except now she’s frowning, a line between her eyebrows. “Hang on a sec,” she says. “I just realized. I never asked about your dinner meeting.”
And I certainly didn’t volunteer the information.
“I’ll tell you about it tonight. If you want to get together after work?”
When she blinks, Zara’s lashes flutter against her cheek, making me want to kiss them. And kiss her cheeks. And her mouth. I would devour the woman if I could.
“Definitely. But give me a hint. I’m dying to know what he said.”
Rubbing circles into the small of her back, as if to massage away the sting of my words, I lay it all out for her. She’ll find out later tonight anyway.
“Tony offered to sell me the firm.”
“Which is what you expected, right?” The press of her hand on my shoulder distracts me for a second.
“Pretty much, although I didn’t expect for the price to be so low. He’d be practically giving it to me.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “So. What did you say to him?”
“I told him I wasn’t interested.”
Zara swallows. “I see.”
She’s disappointed. Hell, I’m disappointed. Tris’s words come back to me, and he’s not totally wrong. I have thought of moving home, especially since Pops is struggling so hard. But it’s hard to fathom, walking away from everything I worked so hard for.
Like Zara did.
I admire the hell out of her, but I don’t think I can do it. Not now, not when I’m this close to finally reaching my goal.
“What did he say?”
I lean down to kiss her, wanting to leave tonight with the memory of this—her lips, moving across mine. Our tongues tangling in a slow, sensual dance. And damn it all if I’m not getting hard again.
I pull away, reluctantly.
“We’ll talk tonight. Actually, this morning. See you at the Wheelhouse?”
I’m not typically a morning person, but I’ve found myself getting up progressively earlier to see her in the morning.
“You know where to find me.”
Her words remind me that, in a few weeks, I won’t find her sitting in the corner booth of my hometown coffee shop. I won’t see her every morning, or kiss her like I can right now.
How awesome would it be if I could?
A little voice tells me what I already know—that I could, that I have an offer on the table that makes it possible. But I can’t accept Tony’s offer . . . I just can’t.
“I do,” I say, going for one last kiss. “See you in a few hours.”
She mentioned me staying the night, which I would have gladly done if I’d had my things with me. Maybe this weekend.
On the other hand, is that such a great idea? We live in different places, and long-distance relationships are tough.
I tell myself it’s only two hours away. I tell myself I can see her on the weekends.
It won’t be so bad. This can work.
It has to.
* * *
“It won’t work.”
I love Pops, but he can really be a stubborn old goat.
“Yes,” I tell him as we walk around the neighborhood. It’s slow going, but I’m thrilled he’s up and about and feeling well enough to resume our walks. “It will.”
After another week of attempting to balance the trial and Zara—one of the best weeks of my life—I can feel the party slowly coming to an end. On Friday, we completed witness testimony, and today we’re moving on to closing arguments.
I introduced Zara to my family over the weekend, and they all got along great—just like I knew they would. But now I’m paying for it with an earful from my grandfather.
“Maybe for a while,” he says, refusing to take my elbow again.
“Step up here,” I say, mindful of the uneven sidewalk.
I get a grumpy glare in response.
“What did you tell me the day you came home? When I asked why it had been almost two months since you’d graced us with your presence?” Pops asks.
He would bring that up.
“Awful quiet all of a sudden. For someone who likes to talk so much.”
Pops pushes his brown-framed glasses back up on his nose.
“I don’t talk that much.”
He snorts as we walk along, Pops waving to everyone he sees as if he’s the mayor.
“It’s not a criticism, boy. You learned to talk your way out of anything. I expect that comes in handy now.”
We both wave to my mother’s hairdresser’s sister, who just popped out onto her porch. I suspect it’s a ploy to see Pops. She must be ten years younger than him, but I’m pretty sure she has a thing for my grandfather. Her husband died a few years back, and every time we walk around the block, she seems to appear out of nowhere.
“Is it me or does Frances have some kind of homing device to know when you’re around?”
“Nice try. What did you tell me that first day back?”
Relentless. No doubt where I got that particular trait.
“That I hadn’t been home because of work,” I mutter.
“Mmm-hmm.”
I can think of a hundred arguments here. That I’d only been busy because I was preparing for this trial. That Zara could come to Philly too. That I would make time.
But I already know Pops will shoot all of them down, one by one.
“Or maybe you can just take over Tony’s firm and call it a day?”
I stop walking.
“How do you know about that?”
I specifically asked Tony not to mention it to my dad, at least until I leave town. For this exact reason.
Pops taps his finger to his temple. “This guy wasn’t born yesterday.”
Which doesn’t explain how he knows about my meeting.
“Did Tony tell Dad?”
“Nope.” Pops starts walking again.
I want to needle him for his source, but it’s obvious he’s not talking.
No use trying.
Instead, I ask, “You think I should move home? Give up everything I’ve worked for all these years to be with a woman I’ve known for a few weeks?”
His response doesn’t really matter. I’ve gone over this in my head. Told Tony I wasn’t interested. Told Zara I’d be leaving after the trial. We’re already talking about her coming to Philly next weekend, because the trial shows every sign of ending by then.
“Pops?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.
He looks up at me. When did he start looking so fragile?
I hate it. I hate that he won’t be with me forever.
“I’m proud of my life, Cole. I’m proud of having served my country. Of raising your father and his sister. Of teaching students without strangling any of them for thirty-five years. And I’m proud of you.”
My chest swells with pride. I’m a lawyer, though—I sense the “but.”
“But do you know what I’m most proud of?”
I shake my head, fighting back the tingling in the back of my throat.
“I’m most proud of loving your grandmother. I’d have given anything up for her. A hundred times over. None of it would have meant anything without her.”
Aw, shit.
I look away, taking a swipe at my eye. For the rest of the walk, Pops doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His advice is crystal clear.
I heard what he whispered to my mom the day he met Zara. In the kitchen when he didn’t realize I was at the door.
“That boy is in love,” he said.
And I didn’t disagree.
Chapter 18
Zara
“Hey, Mrs. Snider,” I hear from my booth. Finally, after weeks of agonizing, I’ve managed to complete a rough draft I’m proud of for the NatGeo article. Some people might like the extra time to write, but for me, if I have three weeks to complete a job, I’ll take the full three weeks. Thankfully, a few quick one-offs in the meantime keep the money coming in.
I stare at the last few lines with tears in my eyes. That’s always a good sign, when I can make myself cry. I do love my newly chosen career. It’s not the one I expected, or the one I set out to have, but it is the one I needed.
“You’re here early today,” Mrs. Snider comments.
I peer over my shoulder. I’m here often enough that I recognize the law clerk—he shows up at least three days a week to fetch food for his office at the courthouse.
“Everyone seems to get hungry earlier on Fridays. Not sure why.”
The familiar clang of the old-time cash register rings out.
“Here you go, kiddo.”
Her phrasing makes me smile. All these years later, and Mrs. Snider still sounds like a teacher.
“Thanks. Hey, did you hear about that case? Probably not, being that the verdict just came back.”
My heart seems to freeze within my chest.
“What was it?” Mrs. Snider asks, clearly eager for the answer.
Cole warned me this was likely to happen. If not today, then early next week. He’s actually been a little strange the past few days, a little distant. Probably because he knew. And though I’ve been dreading this moment, nothing was going to stop it. It’s not like the trial could go on forever.
He’s leaving.
We only talked about it once, Cole asking if I’d like to come see his place as soon as the trial is over. Me saying I would. Other than that, it’s been avoidance city.
“They lost,” the clerk says.
My heart skips a beat as I decipher that answer. They, who? Could Cole have lost the case?
“I feel for that poor family,” Mrs. Snider says. “But I suspect Dean couldn’t have done anything differently.”
“That was the verdict,” the clerk says. “The whole thing just sucks all around.”
I stop listening.
Cole won the case. Of course he did. I’m ashamed of myself for wondering, even for the briefest of seconds, if he would be more likely to stay if he lost.
What an awful thought. Of course I want Cole to do well. To get the job of his dreams.
But I also want him in my life.
I’ve been in love before . . . or at least I thought so. I question that now. Never once have I ever felt this seen, this at peace with being known by another person. He listens to me. He gets me. And it’s not one-sided. I get him too—he has this rare combination of ambition and drive that’s somehow not obnoxious at all. It’s funny to think how wrong I was about him.
Cole Donovan is the exact opposite of the man I thought he was when he first walked into the Wheelhouse. And now he’s leaving.
Maybe a long-distance thing could work.
But maybe not.
Grabbing my wallet, I make my way to the counter.
“Just a salad today,” I say. “Maybe a scoop of tuna on top? But not too big.”
Mrs. Snider knows all of my quirks by now.
“And hold the cucumber.”
That, from behind me. I didn’t even hear him come in.
Before I can spin around, Cole’s arms are around me. It’s like being wrapped in a warm, weighted blanket. I close my eyes and turn my head just a bit, giving him better access as he plants a kiss on my cheek from the side.
When I turn around, he’s beaming from ear to ear.
Tossing my arms around him, I congratulate him on the win.
“How did you know?” he asks, pulling back.
God I love him in suspenders.
“A clerk from the courthouse was just in here,” I say. “But it’s pretty easy to tell. You look like the cat who ate the canary.”
“Make that two salads,” he says to Mrs. Snider, leading me back to the booth.
“Congratulations, Cole. I’m so happy for you.”
He flashes a bigger grin, if possible.
“I don’t have very long. Lots of loose ends to tie up. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
And I know precisely the reason for that.
He slides into the seat across from me, reaching out both hands. I grab them, like anchors, and don’t want to let go.
“Will you be all finished today?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Pretty much.”
“So . . .”
“Zara,” he says at the same time, and I don’t like his tone at all.
I was going to ask if he wanted me to come to Philly this weekend, but something stops me. Instead, I wait for him to finish.
“Is there any chance you’d ever come to Philly? Not now, or for a visit,” he rushes, “but I mean, in the future?”
As much as I like that he’s thinking of a future for us, we’ve had this conversation before.
“Cole, I . . .”
I’ve given this a lot of thought. Another big, deep breath.
“I’ve lived in cities before,” I say, something he knows already. “Aside from Oxford, maybe, there’s not one I’d go back to. To live, I mean. They’re just . . . not my cup of tea.”
His jaw clenches as I talk.
“I feel at home here. In my grandmother’s house. In this town. I know it seems silly to say that when I’ve been to amazing places all around the world, but this is where I belong.”
“Those other places didn’t feel like home because they weren’t,” he counters. “They were temporary places. Philly would be different.” His chin rises. “You would have me.”
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
“Will you think about it?”
“Of course I will.” I’ve thought about nothing else. Though the words ring false to my own ears. I really don’t want to move back to a city. Saying yes just feels like delaying the inevitable.
“You look miserable,” he says, letting go of my hands as Mrs. Snider brings our salads.
“It’s just . . . I really can’t imagine moving. But like you said, it’s way too soon to be talking about that anyway. We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”
Cole’s entire demeanor changes.
“A few weeks is enough, Zara. I’m crazy about you.”
His expression melts my soul.
“I love you,” he says, as if reading my mind. “I didn’t imagine blurting that out here, but”—he shrugs—“I guess it’s as good a place as any. We did meet here.”
I am acutely aware of that fact.
“I’m thirty-two. Not some twenty-five-year-old with no experience to know the difference between a fling and what we have. I am in love with you.”
His words make me feel as if I could fly up from my booth and right out the front door. I’ve thought them, in my head, but never would have said them so soon.
Not Cole. He just goes for it. In everything.
“I love you too,” I whisper, wanting to hug and kiss him and just generally be with him twenty-four seven. “But I have a request.”
He beams. “Anything.”
“You asked that I consider something I never planned to do. Leave Bridgewater. I’d just ask that you do the same.”
From the look on his face, that’s definitely not what he was expecting.
“I would never want you to give up a career goal, Cole. Not even for me. Especially not for me. But . . .”
“But?”
“Is that really your goal? To be a partner at Smith & Sullivan? You talk of this place as if it’s a part of your family. You talk about your parents, about Pops, with such reverence that . . . I wonder if you’ll consider moving here too. You have that offer from your dad’s friend.”
I stop, seeing his expression. “You won’t even consider it?”
His frown is all the answer I need.
“I did, trust me. Between Tris and Pops. Then Tony’s offer. And you, leaving your job in Washington to come here. I have considered it, more than you know. But in the end . . .”
He trails off.
Silence stretches between us. I pick up my fork and stab around at the salad, not really hungry anymore.
He watches me, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry, Zara.”
I’m not exactly sure what to say, so I settle for, “Yeah. Me too.”
He looks at his watch.
“I’m gonna take this to go. They’re waiting for me back at the courthouse.”
So much for a happy “I love you” moment. Why does the reality of these things never quite measure up to how you imagine they’ll go?
“OK.” What else is there to say?
“I’ll text you later?” He picks up his plate.
“Sure.”
Standing, he comes over to my side of the booth, kisses me on the cheek, and then walks away.
My move, I guess.
He loves me. Next step, decide if loving him back is worth leaving Bridgewater. Unless by some miracle he changes his mind about coming home? I get it. Truly I do. Leaving Washington was gut-wrenching. Giving up one path and choosing another? Change is never easy.
Suck it up, buttercup, because a big change is about to come your way, like it or not.
In the next few days, Cole will be gone, and big decisions are on the horizon.
Chapter 19
Cole
“Congratulations, Cole, you deserve it.”
Standing in the office, shaking my boss’s hand as he welcomes me as a new junior partner of Smith & Sullivan, I’m distracted by the view behind him. Our offices are in a prime spot in Old City, across the street from the best deli in town, two blocks from a trendy gym that I haven’t seen the inside of in two weeks.
Everything about this moment is perfect, and exactly as I had imagined it. Except for one thing.
The sinking feeling in my gut telling me it’s all wrong.
“Thank you, sir.”
He never even asked if I accepted. Why bother? Who would say no?
“We’ve got a lot of details to work out, but I have a deposition in an hour. How about dinner?”
Why not? It’s not like Zara is coming in for the weekend. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her, every day hurtling toward Pops’s prediction. He warned me the long-distance thing wouldn’t work out. And so far, he’s right. When I left, I fully expected to see her again in a week. That first weekend, I’d been unexpectedly tied up with work. Some complications with a new case that needed to be resolved. And this weekend Zara was supposed to come here but cancelled at the last minute. She’d been invited to a surprise party for Lisa’s birthday, and I stupidly encouraged her to go. To be with her new friends.
Which would be fine, except I really miss her.
Every night we hang up the phone with “I love you.” I’ve never said those words with more certainty. She’s on my mind constantly. She makes me laugh. She hangs on every word I say as if I was someone important. When I mentioned that to Zara, she said, “You are important. To me.”
We haven’t discussed either of us moving again. I get the appeal of Bridgewater. A major magazine called it the “cutest town on the East Coast,” and they weren’t wrong. Zara has a million-dollar view on the lake, a house not tied to a mortgage. The perfect situation, really, except . . .
“How’s Saturday night? I’ll invite the others. We’ll make it a celebratory dinner.”
The other partners, he means.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I offer my hand again, and he shakes it.
“I’ll let you get to your deposition,” I say, wanting to get out of the office now. He responds with some parting comment that I don’t even absorb. I’m not in the mood to celebrate. Or even to work.
I beeline back to my office, grab my briefcase, and leave before word gets out. Luckily, I have no other meetings today. Rather than go home, I start walking, until I find myself on a bench two blocks from the office in a small half-block park.
For a while, I just sit there. I watch a sole bird in the tree in front of me. At least one of us is happy. He sounds happy, anyway. Who knows? I don’t speak bird.
But I do speak human. So I grab my phone and call the person who knows me best aside from my mother. I could call her too, but she’d have me in my car, trunk packed, tonight. I chuckle as the phone rings, thinking of the day I left for home after the trial.
“They say you never want your adult children back home, but I’ve loved these last few weeks,” she said as Pops rolled his eyes behind her.
“Hey, what’s up?” Tris says when he picks up.
A fair question. I can’t remember the last time I called him during a workday.
“Not much. I just.” Closing my eyes, hardly believing these words were coming out of my mouth, I say, “I just made partner.”
“Holy shit. Congratulations. You deserve it.”
That seems to be a popular sentiment today.
“Thanks.”
I paused before answering, and it’s enough to clue him in.
“Something’s wrong.”
Basically, yes. Everything is wrong.
“Zara,” he guesses. “I thought she was coming up this weekend?”
“Apparently there was a last-minute surprise brunch for Lisa Sunday morning, so she’s going to that. I just don’t get it. When I left, everything was great.”
“Was it really?” Tris is a man of few words. But he gets straight to the point.
“It would have been if I didn’t come home.”
“Ah. Seems to me you did just the opposite. Home is here. But I get it. You and Enzo, two peas in a pod.”
Tristano’s brother lives in Manhattan, the only DeLuca brother to “get out” of Bridgewater, as Enzo says. And even though they have a healthy brotherly rivalry going on, I know it irks him that his brother isn’t in town. For a lot of families, it would be completely normal for all the siblings to fly the coop, as it were. Especially since there aren’t many booming industries in Bridgewater.
But not for the DeLuca family. They were as tight as you can get. A little like my family, only bigger.
“Uh-huh.”
I’m not sure what I expected, calling Tris. I know where he stands on all of this. “Do you really think I’m making a mistake? Staying here? You know how much I wanted this.”
The phone goes silent. And my bird is back. This time, with a friend.
Even the bird doesn’t want to be alone.
“Two things. One, you’re calling to ask me if you’ve made a mistake. All the years we’ve been friends, you’ve never done that before. Not once. And second. You just answered your own question.”
I did? How the hell did I do that?
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“Hold on,” he yells to someone, presumably his dad. Usually at this hour they’re both at the shop getting ready to open. Which makes me suddenly crave a tray of pizza.
Not a pie, like they say here. A square tray. As it should be.
“You said you ‘wanted’ this.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“What?”
He repeats. “You said ‘wanted’ this. If someone asked what my dream was, I would say, ‘To open the best damn Italian restaurant on the East Coast.’”
Tris and his restaurant. He’s been talking about it for ten years. To hear him tell it, the only thing holding him back is money, but I suspect it’s just an excuse. He doesn’t want to leave his dad high and dry.
A problem for another day.
“I wouldn’t say, ‘I wanted a restaurant,’” he continues, “as if I’m content to get yelled at every night by a hotheaded Sicilian.”
From the way he says it, I’m pretty sure Mr. DeLuca is listening.
“I’ll let you go,” I say, laughing now as Tris’s dad answers him. I don’t know a lot of Italian, but I do know rompicoglioni. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him call Tris a pain in the ass, in an affectionate way, of course.
Gotta love the DeLuca family.
“All right. Let me give you a call later.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Tris.”
He hangs up, and I know we won’t talk later. Not on a Friday night. The shop will be slammed. But an idea sparks in my mind, one I like. By the time I get up from the bench, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
Chapter 20
Cole
“Congratulations, Cole, you deserve it.”
Standing in the office, shaking my boss’s hand as he welcomes me as a new junior partner of Smith & Sullivan, I’m distracted by the view behind him. Our offices are in a prime spot in Old City, across the street from the best deli in town, two blocks from a trendy gym that I haven’t seen the inside of in two weeks.
Everything about this moment is perfect, and exactly as I had imagined it. Except for one thing.
The sinking feeling in my gut telling me it’s all wrong.
“Thank you, sir.”
He never even asked if I accepted. Why bother? Who would say no?
“We’ve got a lot of details to work out, but I have a deposition in an hour. How about dinner?”
Why not? It’s not like Zara is coming in for the weekend. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her, every day hurtling toward Pops’s prediction. He warned me the long-distance thing wouldn’t work out. And so far, he’s right. When I left, I fully expected to see her again in a week. That first weekend, I’d been unexpectedly tied up with work. Some complications with a new case that needed to be resolved. And this weekend Zara was supposed to come here but cancelled at the last minute. She’d been invited to a surprise party for Lisa’s birthday, and I stupidly encouraged her to go. To be with her new friends.
Which would be fine, except I really miss her.
Every night we hang up the phone with “I love you.” I’ve never said those words with more certainty. She’s on my mind constantly. She makes me laugh. She hangs on every word I say as if I was someone important. When I mentioned that to Zara, she said, “You are important. To me.”
We haven’t discussed either of us moving again. I get the appeal of Bridgewater. A major magazine called it the “cutest town on the East Coast,” and they weren’t wrong. Zara has a million-dollar view on the lake, a house not tied to a mortgage. The perfect situation, really, except . . .
“How’s Saturday night? I’ll invite the others. We’ll make it a celebratory dinner.”
The other partners, he means.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I offer my hand again, and he shakes it.
“I’ll let you get to your deposition,” I say, wanting to get out of the office now. He responds with some parting comment that I don’t even absorb. I’m not in the mood to celebrate. Or even to work.
I beeline back to my office, grab my briefcase, and leave before word gets out. Luckily, I have no other meetings today. Rather than go home, I start walking, until I find myself on a bench two blocks from the office in a small half-block park.
For a while, I just sit there. I watch a sole bird in the tree in front of me. At least one of us is happy. He sounds happy, anyway. Who knows? I don’t speak bird.
But I do speak human. So I grab my phone and call the person who knows me best aside from my mother. I could call her too, but she’d have me in my car, trunk packed, tonight. I chuckle as the phone rings, thinking of the day I left for home after the trial.
“They say you never want your adult children back home, but I’ve loved these last few weeks,” she said as Pops rolled his eyes behind her.
“Hey, what’s up?” Tris says when he picks up.
A fair question. I can’t remember the last time I called him during a workday.
“Not much. I just.” Closing my eyes, hardly believing these words were coming out of my mouth, I say, “I just made partner.”
“Holy shit. Congratulations. You deserve it.”
That seems to be a popular sentiment today.
“Thanks.”
I paused before answering, and it’s enough to clue him in.
“Something’s wrong.”
Basically, yes. Everything is wrong.
“Zara,” he guesses. “I thought she was coming up this weekend?”
“Apparently there was a last-minute surprise brunch for Lisa Sunday morning, so she’s going to that. I just don’t get it. When I left, everything was great.”
“Was it really?” Tris is a man of few words. But he gets straight to the point.
“It would have been if I didn’t come home.”
“Ah. Seems to me you did just the opposite. Home is here. But I get it. You and Enzo, two peas in a pod.”
Tristano’s brother lives in Manhattan, the only DeLuca brother to “get out” of Bridgewater, as Enzo says. And even though they have a healthy brotherly rivalry going on, I know it irks him that his brother isn’t in town. For a lot of families, it would be completely normal for all the siblings to fly the coop, as it were. Especially since there aren’t many booming industries in Bridgewater.
But not for the DeLuca family. They were as tight as you can get. A little like my family, only bigger.
“Uh-huh.”
I’m not sure what I expected, calling Tris. I know where he stands on all of this. “Do you really think I’m making a mistake? Staying here? You know how much I wanted this.”
The phone goes silent. And my bird is back. This time, with a friend.
Even the bird doesn’t want to be alone.
“Two things. One, you’re calling to ask me if you’ve made a mistake. All the years we’ve been friends, you’ve never done that before. Not once. And second. You just answered your own question.”
I did? How the hell did I do that?
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“Hold on,” he yells to someone, presumably his dad. Usually at this hour they’re both at the shop getting ready to open. Which makes me suddenly crave a tray of pizza.
Not a pie, like they say here. A square tray. As it should be.
“You said you ‘wanted’ this.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“What?”
He repeats. “You said ‘wanted’ this. If someone asked what my dream was, I would say, ‘To open the best damn Italian restaurant on the East Coast.’”
Tris and his restaurant. He’s been talking about it for ten years. To hear him tell it, the only thing holding him back is money, but I suspect it’s just an excuse. He doesn’t want to leave his dad high and dry.
A problem for another day.
“I wouldn’t say, ‘I wanted a restaurant,’” he continues, “as if I’m content to get yelled at every night by a hotheaded Sicilian.”
From the way he says it, I’m pretty sure Mr. DeLuca is listening.
“I’ll let you go,” I say, laughing now as Tris’s dad answers him. I don’t know a lot of Italian, but I do know rompicoglioni. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him call Tris a pain in the ass, in an affectionate way, of course.
Gotta love the DeLuca family.
“All right. Let me give you a call later.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Tris.”
He hangs up, and I know we won’t talk later. Not on a Friday night. The shop will be slammed. But an idea sparks in my mind, one I like. By the time I get up from the bench, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
Chapter 20
Zara
Legs dangling from the dock, I watch the only boat on the water disappear. Cole said the owners live over there, on the other side of the lake. But it’s too far for me to see much beside the faint outline of a house.
Or more like a compound. It’s huge.
When he told me I could come here anytime, I never actually thought I’d take him up on the offer. But my house is just too . . . empty. And now that I’ve turned in the NatGeo article, I’ve got at least the weekend off, so no Wheelhouse for me this morning.
I could have gone to yoga with Lisa, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be the best company right now.
Is part of this my own making?
Yes.
I’ve talked to my friends. My parents. As a Libra, I don’t decide on what to have for dinner without a massive, four-alarm survey. But no one can make this decision for me, and in the end, I’m on my own.
When I left D.C., I knew what to do well before I’d done it. And honestly, I think I know this time too.
I don’t want to leave Bridgewater. I like it here. No, I love it. And living in Nana’s house is like being tied to family, even if she’s gone.
But I love Cole too.
Pulling the trigger on leaving is just pure stubbornness, like the way I used to walk up a mountain slope sideways on skis rather than take the chairlift. No good reason for it. Except chairlifts are scary. At least, they were when I was a kid. I nearly stopped skiing when my dad told me I had to get on one, that he refused to watch me inch up the bunny slope one more time.
So I got on, and I didn’t fall off. Now, I love to ski. The thought of climbing up that mountain seems ridiculous. But that’s the thing with fears. They’re not always rational.
Neither is love.
We’ll do the long-distance thing first, of course, just to be sure. But I really didn’t need to come out here today to think. The answer is already there, deep inside me.
“Careful you don’t take an unintended dip in the lake.”
My head spins so fast I think it might fall off.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in shock. “You have a big dinner in, what, three hours? How will you get back in time?”
He doesn’t answer fast enough, so I jump to my feet as he approaches me.
“How did you even find me?” I ask.
I left my phone in the car, on purpose.
“You weren’t home. Or at the Wheelhouse. Or at yoga,” he says wryly.
“You went to the yoga studio,” I say, impressed he knew where to find it. I’m so befuddled at the moment, I can’t even remember telling him about a possible yoga class.
He reaches for me, but I take a step back. I still have questions.
“What’s going on?”
Cole gives me a long, hard look, filled with the kind of reverence every woman wishes to see from the man she loves.
He’s looking at me like . . .
It can’t be.
“Cole?”
My hands begin to shake.
“I cancelled the dinner.” He takes my hand. “I called Tony and accepted his offer.”
My jaw drops.
“The bird, it had a friend.”
Did Cole hit his head?
“Yesterday afternoon, I watched a robin leave his perch and then come back with a friend. Or maybe it was a lover. Who knows?”
“I see.”
“He could have been the most content little bird in the world. But he was alone. And what good is building a nest, even if it’s the best nest going, if you have no one to share it with?”
I’m melting.
“Cole, don’t do this for me. We’ll make it work. And if it does, I’ll come to you. I came out here to think everything through, and one thing became clear to me. I’m miserable without you.”
He holds out his arms, and I go to him. This time, I don’t move. Neither does he. We stand like that for who knows how long.
“Hey . . .” He pulls away, kisses me, and then says, “I wanted that job because it seemed like the benchmark for being successful. The logical step for a guy who’d clawed his way to the top of law school and wanted to keep moving up.”
I can’t let him give up that dream. Not for me.
I say as much, and he shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.”
“Cole . . .”
“I want you. I want to wake up to you every morning. Talk over coffee before work. I want to spend time with Pops while I still can. Play basketball on Thursdays with the guys who liked me before I became some hotshot attorney. I want this, Zara. And don’t look at me like that. I’m sure.”
“But Cole . . . you seemed so sure you didn’t want to come back here.”
He notices, for the first time.
“Your makeup?”
The fact that he didn’t realize until now makes me smile so hard it hurts.
“I haven’t worn it all week.”
“Oh, Zara.” He kisses my cheeks first, and then my nose, and then my neck. By the time he gets to my mouth, I’m so ready for him. His decision means so much to me.
I could tell him, or . . .
Unbuckling his belt, not an easy feat since he’s already hard as a rock, I dip my hands inside his pants, intending just to stroke him, until I see his face.
Pure, unadulterated bliss.
Instead, I push down his shorts and underwear and drop to my knees. When he grabs hold of my hair, I look up one last time.
His groan encourages me as I wrap my lips around him. Urged on by his hands in my hair, gripping slightly, I use everything at my disposal to show Cole he’s made a good decision. I can tell by his murmured words he appreciates the gesture, which is why I’m surprised he doesn’t let me finish the job.
“Take it off,” he says, his voice urgent and low, his gaze on my sundress. When I do, Cole strips down too. He reaches for his pocket, but I stop him.
“I’m on the pill.”
And that’s all it takes.
Tossing his shirt onto the dock, he sits down and pulls me with him, kissing me so thoroughly it’s only when I’m straddled above him that I realize what the shirt is for.
Good idea. Splinters in your back would suck.
We don’t waste any time.
When I guide him into me, it’s a different sensation than the other times. No barriers exist between us, physical or otherwise. I quicken the pace, and Cole matches every move, thrusting hard.
I love it.
And I love him. Better to say it than think it.
“I love you,” I say, just before I’m ready to release. Gripping his shoulders, I move my hips one last time, taking him deeper than ever. Screaming, knowing there’s no one around to hear, I call out his name.
He does the same as a sweet, sweet bliss wracks my body. Still filling me, even as I begin to relax against him, Cole holds me tightly in his arms.
“Could we stay here on this dock? Forever?” Cole asks.
When a bird calls out, as if to respond, we both start to laugh.
“It’s a sign,” I say, still not completely sure about his story. I’ll need more details about how he came to his decision later. For now, though, I’ll just lie here and revel in the fact that we’re together. That nothing and no one can come between us.
“I love you too,” he says as I raise my head up to look at him.
“I am so sorry,” I say. “I was a total jerk to you when we first met.”
“It’s OK.”
“No, it’s not. I insist on making it up to you.”
“That’s silly. You don’t have anything to make up for.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No,” he says, “you do not. Case closed.”
“Ugh.” I try to think of a pithy response. “I object.”
He smiles knowingly. “Overruled.”
“Wait, you can’t do that. You’re not a judge.”
“Maybe not in the courtroom, young lady. But today I am, and I deem you guilty. Time for your punishment.”
My pulse immediately quickens. “Sounds promising.”
His smile is full of anticipation.
“Oh, it is, Zara Phillips. It most definitely is.”
Epilogue
Zara
“Holy shit, Tris,” Cole says beside me. “It’s Enzo.”
Although the noise level in the bar is much too high for us to actually hear the television, the bartender perks up at Cole’s remark and grabs a remote control.
“Turn it up, Mike,” Tristano says to the bartender. In response, Mike gives him a “what the hell do you think I’m doing” look.
“Today,” the announcer on the TV says, “Angel, Incorporated, and our very own Enzo DeLuca, a former Bridgewater resident, officially filed an application with the Federal Drug Administration for approval of a pill that, get this folks, counteracts the negative effects of their specially formulated alcohol. The implications are broader than just avoiding a hangover. The pill, if approved, could be a game changer. Mr. DeLuca is the son of Antonio and Maria DeLuca, owners of our beloved Deluca’s Pizza . . .”
“Wow,” Cole says, slapping Tristano on the back. “He did it. That’s fucking awesome.”
Everyone is looking at Tris, who doesn’t seem to love the spotlight.
“Pretty cool, Tris,” the bartender says. “So the rumors are true?”
Chari and Lisa told me about his friend’s brother’s success, but Enzo and his partner have tried to keep everything on the down-low before filing today. I’m surprised no one got wind of it earlier. This isn’t some fly-by-night business.
Angel, Inc. is the real thing. Or at least it will be, if it gets approved.
My fiancé looks at me as Tris is inundated with questions.
“It is pretty cool, huh?” he says with a wink at me.
“You know what’s cool?” I ask, lifting up my hand. “The fact that we’re engaged.”
Yesterday, on our one-year anniversary, Cole popped the question on the very dock where we made love the day he came back from Philly. It probably would have happened sooner, but for the first few months, Cole was pretty wrapped up in the transition. After Tony left for good, it took another few months for him to settle in.
By spring, Cole had a steady flow of clients, a newly painted and decorated office building—thanks to his amazing girlfriend—and he finally had a second to breathe.
“You just like to see it sparkle in the light.”
It’s true. Who knew the low lights of a bar would have such an effect? I pull my hand back.
“I know we said we wouldn’t rush the wedding, but have you thought about it at all?”
“You said we shouldn’t rush,” he chastises. “I’m ready now. How’s this weekend?”
I roll my eyes.
“If I ever eloped, my mother would kill me. Literally kill me. Although getting them nailed down is going to be a challenge.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Then we’ll go to them.”
I really do love this guy.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” I say. “Remember that article? The one I was writing last summer?”
“You mean the one with a cover headline,” he mocks, “no, I don’t remember it at all.”
I’m still a bit in shock about that one. Not only did the editors love the article, they put it on the cover. And I’ve been writing steadily for them ever since.
“Stop,” I say, shoving him. Although he doesn’t move. Cole is like an ox. If oxen are immovable, which, to be fair, I’m not sure if they are. “The editor wants me to write an article on quintessential small towns. I’m really excited about it.”
He smiles, leaning over to kiss me on the nose. “Sounds like fun.”
I nod. “It will be.”
When I handed in that first article, I’d been a nervous wreck. They’d asked for a piece on my most defining moment. But in the end, I wrote just the opposite. I’d articulated that, although there had been many defining moments in my life, the most life-changing one wasn’t a moment at all. It was a belief, in myself, that allowed me to flourish. The article had flowed, and from it, a handful of others.
“Uh, Tris,” Cole says, nudging his friend, “the dirty blonde in the corner is eyeing you up.”
Sure enough, Cole is right. Which isn’t all that surprising. The three DeLuca brothers are all hot as hell—a purely factual observation Cole has nonetheless teased me about ever since I made the mistake of mentioning it to him.
“Not for me,” Tris says, lifting his hand to the bartender.
“I love you,” I whisper into Cole’s ear.
He turns his head so quickly, my lips are still right there. And he takes full advantage of that fact.
“Get a room,” Tris says.
“Hey, Tris. How are you?”
I look up to see Chari behind me. Jumping from the stool, I give her a hug. It’s been a few weeks since we’ve seen each other. A teacher, she’s been out of town visiting a friend, taking advantage of her summer off.
“Hey, Char,” Tris says. I think she knows the family pretty well. As the two of them chat, I catch Cole’s eyes. There’s no place I’d rather be than in this little town in PA, surrounded by my soon-to-be husband and our friends.
I’d say I’m a lucky girl, but luck has nothing to do with it. This is the life I’ve chosen . . . no, that Cole and I have chosen together.
And I plan on enjoying every minute of it.
That’s all she wrote! If you enjoyed Overruled by Love, I would very much appreciate a review on Amazon and/or BookBub.
✔️ If haven’t jumped into the Boys of Bridgewater series, start with book one, Last Call.
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