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Maybe I understand her pain a little better now too because, fuck, she may not know it, but I don't think I could live in a world without Nora either.

Without her smile, her stubbornness, all the fucking yellow. The way she talks and talks and just can't seem to shut up when she's nervous or angry. The way her face lights up when she talks about food or books. The way she touches my arm when she wants my attention, like she doesn't know what that tiny touch does to me.

Her.

All of her.

Somewhere along the way something just... clicked. Like a stupid fucking puzzle piece had been missing from my life and I never even noticed the empty space until she came along and fit herself right into it.

Now I know it was there because I know she's there, and the whole damn puzzle doesn't make sense without her anymore.

Fuck.

I need to find a way to see her as a friend. That's it. That's all she can be.

My friend.

My dead best friend's wife.

I can do that. I just need to ignore the way her presence somehow quiets all the noise in my head without even trying, and the way my hands fucking itch to hold her, touch her, pull her closer.

And I definitely need to stop looking at those full lips and wondering what they taste like.

“FUCK!”

I throw the sheet off and stalk out of my room toward the bathroom.

Cold shower it is.

I walk into the kitchen and stop in my tracks.

Nora is standing with Chiara at the counter, both of them speaking Italian while they whip something in a bowl. I have no fucking clue what they're saying, but Nora laughs at something her sister says, takes a spoon and dips it into whatever they're making.

Then she tastes it.

And licks the spoon.

Slowly.

I hold back a groan.

Fuck.

Friend.

“Morning,” I greet as I walk over to the Italian coffee pot and look inside.

Strong and black.

Thank fuck.

“Morning, Grumpy. Sleep well?” Nora smiles at me, and I make a point of keeping my eyes on hers because those lips...

Nope.

Not going there.

“Slept okay.”