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“Oh, Weston,” Gracie breathes, and she sets her wine down on the coffee table and scoots closer to me. Her hand finds its way to my knee. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
I force a laugh and shake away the single tear that forms. “Fuck, this wine is doing strange things to me. It’s just been a while since I said that out loud, that’s all.”
Gracie presses her lips together in sympathy. “You don’t need to justify yourself. Do you want to talk about her?”
I meet her eyes this time, so close to me now and soft-ened with care. I’m hyper-aware of her hand on my leg, and, beneath my jeans, goosebumps form. That’s why I start talking – to keep my mind busy. “Well, she passed when I was eighteen. Breast cancer. She was diagnosed at such a late stage, we barely had any time with her at all before she was gone. It was tough. She worked at the same school her entire career, so there’s a nice memorial for her there now. Every class she ever taught adored her. And as you can imagine, being a teacher also made her a great mom. She always understood us. Always knew the fine balance between offering guidance and sitting back to allow us to learn from our own mistakes. She was .?.?. great. Really fucking great.”
Gracie smiles, and it eases the pressure in my chest. “She sounds lovely.”
“She was. But obviously I didn’t realize that until she was gone,” I agree, my gaze absentmindedly drifting across my apartment. I grit my teeth as my focus blurs. “A bad habit of mine .?.?. Only realizing how special people are when it’s already too late.”
When Mom passed, my relationship with Charlotte was only months old. There’d been no roadblocks yet, only the good times, and suddenly I was in pieces. It would have been easier for her to walk away then, but she stayed. She stayed and put me back together. Our bond strengthened beyond measure, and not long after, I told her I loved her.
I blink, tearing my attention from the wall and back to Gracie’s hand on my knee. The heat of her touch blazes its way up my thigh. The way I talk with Gracie reminds me of how I used to talk with Charlotte in the beginning. Honest and vulnerable, open and raw. I’m not the most talkative guy to begin with, but somehow I can talk to Gracie.
And the only other girl I ever felt this comfortable around, I fell in love with.
I clear my throat. Gently, I place my hand over Gracie’s. Intertwine my fingers with hers. Feel the warmth of her skin. She glances up, her lips parted with surprise. She doesn’t pull her hand out from beneath mine.
Just as I open my mouth to speak, something vibrates. Gracie jolts and her hand disappears as she reaches for her jacket next to her and pulls her buzzing phone from the pocket. She stares at the screen and her face pales like she’s seen a ghost.
“It’s Luca,” she says. Her voice shakes with his name. Hesitantly, she presses the phone to her ear as she gets up and crosses to the kitchen. “Luca?”
I crane my neck to watch her, not bothering to disguise the fact I’m listening. My apartment is too small to allow for privacy. She paces nervously as she listens to Luca on the other end of the line.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll be right there,” she says. She ends the call and hastily cuts back over to the couch, grabbing her jacket while still tapping away at her phone screen. “I’m so sorry, Weston, but I have to go. Thank you for dinner.”
I stand up with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Luca’s wasted and he’s outside our apartment door, but he’s lost his keys. I need to let him in. I’ve ordered an Uber.” She runs a hand through her hair, flustered, as she pulls her jacket over her shoulders and heads for my door. I wasn’t ready for her to leave yet.
“You know you don’t have to run after him anymore,” I remind her.
As Gracie reaches for the door, she casts a hard look back at me. “I love him, Weston. Wouldn’t you drop everything to help Charlotte if she needed you?”
I don’t answer, because she’s right. If Charlotte called, I’d run out of here too. I can’t judge her for doing the exact same thing I would. “Okay. You have my number now, so can you let me know when you get home safe?”
Gracie nods and slips through the door into the dim, yellow light of the hallway. By the time it occurs to me to walk her outside to wait for her Uber, she’s already long gone. I rub my hand down my face with a groan, then grab the remaining wine from the kitchen and return to the couch. I drink straight from the bottle this time.
GRACIE
I lost count of how many glasses of wine I drank tonight, but I estimate a lot, given by how queasy I feel the entire ride back home. It’s not far between Weston’s apartment and mine. Ten minutes max, yet it feels like forever when I know Luca is waiting for me.
As I jump out of the Uber, I suck in a breath of fresh air and rush inside my building, take the elevator to the fourth floor, then break out into a pathetic sort of jog down the hall. My shoulders sink with relief and I slow to a walk when I lay my eyes on him.
Luca’s sat on the floor outside our apartment, his back against the door and his knees pulled up to his chest. He lifts his head and grins. “I am so glad to see you, though I can’t see much of anything right now. You’re kinda blurry, Gracie.”
I scoff and offer him my hand. He takes it, and I forget that only fifteen minutes prior, it was Weston’s hand I felt instead. “Why are you so drunk? It’s only Tuesday,” I say, hauling him up from the floor.
“So? It’s summer. Every night can be a party.” Luca wiggles his eyebrows at me and that little smirk of his that I love so much sends my stomach somersaulting. His hair is ruffled, his shirt creased and only half tucked into his pants. “I took too many shots. Regretting that now.”
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
I eye him sideways with disapproval as I stick my keys in the lock. Such an idiot, walking home when he’s drunk and alone. “Whydid you come here? You’re staying at your cousin’s place.”
“Force of habit,” he answers with a sheepish grin. “Can I stay? I don’t want to sleep on Paul’s couch again tonight. He’s still at the bar, anyway.”
