Her throaty laugh ties my insides in knots. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Jade bracing her hands on my shoulders and throwing a leg over the bike like she’s done this a thousand times, or the sheer torture of her toned thighs gripping me tight and her breasts glued to my back as she holds onto my waist.
I’m in big fucking trouble.
* * *
Off the highwaysits a small Italian diner that my parents used to love. The squatty brick building with red, white, and green awnings stretched over the windows doesn’t look like much, but the owner is from Verona, and his food is as good as, if not better than, any of the places I’ve eaten in Italy. The last time I came here was with Mom and Dad for their anniversary.
I considered not bringing Jade here for that very reason, but Sarah suggested that it might be healing for me to go to places like this and allow myself to “sit in” my memories. Which basically feels like being stripped naked and thrown on a bed of hot coals.
Jade squeezes my shoulder when I indicate and turn into the parking lot. It’s so subtle that I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it. But her touch reminds me that I’m not alone, making it a little easier to breathe.
The moment I pull into a parking space, I inhale a few deep breaths while tears prick my eyes. Only when I’m sure none of them are going to fall do I remove my helmet.
Hopefully, I’m right in pegging Jade as a fellow Italian lover. She had been at that fair, after all.
With Deputy Douchebag.
A little moment of jealousy that I’m not used to feeling pinches my throat. What did she ever see in that guy?
She removes her helmet and sets it on the seat so she can flip over her hair and run her fingers through her curls. Whatever shampoo or hairspray voodoo she’s used hits me like a punch in the face, and all of a sudden, I’m not sad anymore.
I adjust myself in my jeans.
Definitelynot sad.
When she stands back up, her hair looks as perfect as it did before. And Jade Quinn might be the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. All soft curves and don’t-mess-with-me eyes.
She peers up at the sign with a smile curling her lips. “Would you believe that I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never been here before?”
“No?”
She lifts a slender shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m so busy with the store that it feels like I never go anywhere.”
I manage to reach the door before she does so I can hold it open for her. Friends do that for each other, right? “Where would you go if you didn’t have the store?”
She pauses for a second before saying, “That’s a good question.”
It’s one she doesn’t get to answer because the server steps through the swinging kitchen door and grabs two menus, rattling off tonight’s specials as she brings us to a table by the window. There are fake red and white carnations sitting in a bud vase beside the red pepper flakes. Not exactly romantic, which is a good thing.
Jade nibbles her lower lip in the most distracting way as she flicks through the menu’s plastic pages. “What’s good?”
I don’t even have to glance over the listings to answer. “The lobster tagliatelle.”
Her brows get this little wrinkle between them when she slides her finger over to the price.
“Order whatever you want,” I say. “My treat.”
The slight shimmer on her eyelids makes her green eyes pop when she glances up at me. “I can pay for my own food.”
“And my poor, dead mother would turn over in her grave if I let you.”
Jade’s eyes widen a fraction as her gaze falls to her menu. Too soon to play the dead mom card? Maybe. But the fact of the matter is, I’d rather lick the bottom of my boot than let her pay for her meal, even though it’s nice knowing that she didn’t agree to come with me because of what I can buy for her.
When the server comes back over and Jade orders the lobster, I have to force a delighted smile off my face. I tell the server to make it two and tack on a bottle of my parents’ favorite wine because why not? I can only have one glass since I’m driving, but you can’t come into this place and not get the Sangiovese. Pretty sure that’s some sort of cardinal sin.
Once we’re alone again with nothing but the hum of the other couples sharing quiet conversations and the soft instrumental music drifting through the restaurant, I ask Jade her plans for the week. She starts listing all the things she has to do at the store, and it seems like a lot for one person. Too much, really. Panic attack-inducing for sure. Iris’s questions about Quinn Brothers filter into my mind.
The server drops off a bread basket, and as we each slather butter over our rolls, I decide now’s as good a time as any to broach the topic of selling the store.
