Page 43 of The Killer Card

“I know you.”

That shuts her up pretty fast. Because despite the time and the distance and every shitty word we’ve ever exchanged, I do know her. I know how long she procrastinates and how well she lies. I know exactly how to infuriate her, make her blush, make her smile like her entire world is made of stars. I know how she takes her coffee, the mask she puts on her face before bed, the specific hair products she uses and how to use them.

I know Naomi Mychal in a way I bet very few other people do, and I know damn well she hasn’t written her toast either.

She eventually caves under my stare. “Fine! I haven’t written mine either, but I’m going to,” she swears. “I’m just waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“As am I,” I point out to Elias with my pen. “How does one make thank you for bailing me out of jail every few years and giving me a job sound classy?”

For a moment she actually appears to be thinking. “Thank you for providing me with opportunities that no one else would and supporting me through my darkest days?”

I blink at her several times, and then immediately write that down. “Fuck you for being good at this…”

When she laughs I feel like I’ve earned some kind of reward. But then I remember it might not necessarily be all because of me and I find myself looking at her coffee again. It’s none of my business, I tell myself as I have a dozen other times before. Since she decidedly made it none of my business.

“If I was good at this,” she chuckles. “I would have already finished writing mine. I guess it’s easier when it’s not my best friend I have to impress. Or bring to tears.” Her eyes narrow as she sips her coffee. “I haven’t decided.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“What’s in the cup, Naomi?”

Fuck. You. Asshole.

She pauses, blinking slowly. Then her eyes narrow in a glower I know just as well as I know her smile. “Excuse me?”

My jaw tenses. “What’s in the cup—”

“Coffee—”

“And?”

She sucks at her teeth, holding the mug out to me. “And creamer. Too much fucking sugar and a little bit of caramel.”

Don’t ask—

“Anything else?”

Scoffing, she sets the mug down on the table. “Fuck you, Graham.” I watch her take the stairs down the porch, crossing the lawn toward the gravel road and break into a steady jog down the hill.

I wait until she’s out of sight before I reach for her mug, taking a careful sip.

Coffee. Creamer. Too much sugar. Caramel.

Nothing else.

“Mierda…” I mutter, turning to look at where she’s already vanished down the hilly road.

Chapter Thirteen

Naomi

Okay, so the whole bonfire on a chilly summer night thing is pretty nice. Definitely not something we ever got to do in South Florida and being in the middle of Boston doesn’t lend well to massive backyard fires. But here, where the sun sets late and there are blissfully no mosquitos, and you can actually see the stars when you look through the canopy of trees… Yeah, I’m starting to get why Nelly chose this place for her pre-nuptial getaway.

Since tomorrow and the night after are going to be out at some of the local spots, everyone decided that grilling in would be the best option.

The day had been spent in blissful leisure, not a flower in sight- thank God. Elias and Cristian went fishing on the lake behind the cabin for several hours. Nelly, Clara, and I went down to the pool at the clubhouse to sunbathe and I think Rowan and Graham went brewery hunting for tomorrow. Or rather, brewery selecting. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one in these parts.

They also swung by the ice cream factory and picked up a few cases for us despite the fact that s’mores were already planned for dessert.