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This time, she does laugh. “Did you like it?”

I flick my eyes up to the ceiling. I hadn’t planned to mention my weakness for friends-to-more romances… but then how can I lie to her? “I did,” I say truthfully. “It was funny. The guy in that book is the kind I’d like to see my little sister with one day.”

She presses her lips together. I think it’s to hold back another laugh. I’ve missed that laugh more than I can explain.

I swallow and dip my head. “Still not gay, by the way.”

And then she does laugh.

It’s glorious.

“You’re a reader,” she says.

I take her in—her lips, her eyes, her voice, the wide jeans and pink top she’s in. I am so blessed to be here. “I am,” I tell her. “Always have been.” I swallow, then ask a question I already know the answer to. “You, too?”

“Yes. It’s my favorite.” She licks her pink lips.

“Mine, too.” I stare at her, begging for more.

Her eyes crease with a grin. “I should go.” She picks up the Addison Adams novel and goes to move around me.

“Wait,” I say, moving with her. “Already?”

“Yep. I’ve got what I need.” She holds the book up. “Your glowing endorsement sealed the deal.” Rosalie peers down, her gaze falling over the book. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and when a stray lingers at her cheek, I am so tempted to tuck it away for her. “And you still need to find something for your… mom.” She smirks, almost laughing a second time.

“I could give you my number,” I say, knowing I sound eager. I am eager. In fact, I am much more eager than I sound. “You know, for that city tour?”

Her brows cinch and she stares up at me. “I understand that you are single and one hundred percent not gay. However, I am… newly single and not looking.”

Ouch.

In my weakness, I plead for some higher power to turn back time. To make things as they were. But that isn’t going to happen. I need to be patient. Rosalie is worth my patience and all of my time.

“Sure,” I say, stepping back, giving her space. I can’t scare her away. It would rip me to shreds. “That’s understandable. But I’m a great friend. So, if you need a friend, I’m often here. Or at the café.”

She nods, her lips twitching. “Thanks, Zev. A friend would be perfect.”

I smile, all while dying a little on the inside.

Ten

SIX WEEKS AFTER THE ACCIDENT

Fran’s husband—yeah, I’ll never be used to that—has lugged all of my boxes inside. And gone to practice, because the man is a legit professional athlete. The life my bestie is living now… Just wow.

“I still can’t believe your mom let you move,” Fran says, pulling a homemade crocheted blanket out of one of my boxes.

I rip open a box that reads “kitchen” on it and grit my teeth. “Well, apparently I’m twenty-six years old and she doesn’t get to tell me where I can or cannot live.” I sigh. “And I knew if Grammy came, she’d let me leave.”

“Are you kidding?” Fran says. “Living with Noreen is going to be a blast.”

I love my grammy. But she isn’t Fran. I’m supposed to be living with Fran. I’m supposed to be keeping her out of trouble. “Yeah,” I say. “She’s good to me.”

“And you’re good for her.” She doesn’t say what we’re both thinking. Grammy’s been lonely since my grandpa died—at least that’s what I’ve heard. It’s such a fresh loss for me, and while it’s been a year, it’s fresh for Grammy, too.

“I certainly need a friend,” I say.

Fran wraps an arm around me and leans her head against mine. “Hey, you have me.”