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I set my glass down hard enough that it clinks on the glossy wood tabletop. “The first thing I taught Eli was the best wine is whichever one you like. It doesn’t matter if it’s old world or new, inexpensive or costly. Because what’s the point of spending time with something—or someone—you don’t like?”

It takes all my willpower not to look at Kelly when I say it.

“Hear! Hear!” Neil says, insisting we clink glasses.

* * *

Kelly, either chagrinned or chastised, calms down after that. She even smiles when, loosened up by the wine, I tell a story about how Eli got bitten by a NYPD horse in Central Park. It was a true story, from when we were together back then and took a weekend trip to New York City. Eli makes a show of acting embarrassed, but I know he loves telling that story, because he got a letter of apology from the department a week later signed Captain Hay, and he nearly killed himself with how funny that was.

“I love it when you tell that tale,” he says to me, and I have to bite my cheek.

“Oh my God, that was awful,” I say, bending my head down as I try not to laugh.

“But it’s always better when you tell it,” he continues. “Because you always neeeigh-l it.”

Now we’re both laughing—at least until we realize we’re the only ones. Neil and Kelly are both staring at us, Neil with a bemused expression, like we’re circus animals, and Kelly in a way that looks pointedly uncomfortable.

We move on to chatting about New York City and their apartment there.

When I look over at Eli a few minutes later, he raises a brow. His lips curl in a little smile, and I know he’s thinking about what I said earlier. I told him we shouldn’t bring up what we used to be, then I went and told that story.

But maybe he’s right, just a little bit. Maybe there were a few good times.

CHAPTER6

Eli

TRACK:Adele, “Someone Like You”

By the time our server takes our dessert orders, I’m a fuck of a lot more relaxed than I was when we first walked in here, and it’s all thanks to Reese.

Sexy-ass Reese in that snug dress that made my throat go dry—and my pants swell at the sight of the sweater material clinging to every dip and curve of her body when Neil took her coat off her.

I’ve never known Reese to tell a lie—in fact, she seems to get off on telling me exactly what she thinks—but right now, she’s playing the part of my girlfriend seamlessly. So seamlessly, it feels natural for me to sling my arm around the back of her chair, running my thumb over her shoulder as she tells a story about her nieces.

Which of course she quickly pulls away from as soon as the dessert arrives.

I’m reminded, each time that happens, how this isn’t real. How I need to cool my fuckin’ jets with the warmth I get each time Reese looks at me or her knee brushes against me.

And each time I do that, I’m reminded we could get found out at any time. We survived this long without any questions sharp enough to poke holes in our story. But I know it could happen at any moment.

Luckily, Neil seems particularly interested in the work I’m doing in one of the buildings I bought a couple of years ago—an office building right next door to this restaurant called the Waterfront Block. It was falling apart, and my plan had always been to tidy it up and flip it on the commercial market.

“So why haven’t you sold it yet?” Neil asks, sipping his coffee.

I tap my fingers on my knees as if I’ve had a cup myself, which I could never at night. I have to restrict myself to two small cups in the morning or else the only thing to settle my heart rate is a five-mile run.

Reese puts her hand over my fingers, giving me a squeeze. It’s when she does stuff like this that I do an about-face about wanting to go. I want to stay like this, her hand on mine, like we’re here together by choice and not necessity.

“Eli?” Neil asks, frowning. I try to remember what he was saying. Selling the Waterfront Block, right. It’s a good question—I fixed it up and should have flipped it last year. But I haven’t been able to let it go yet.

I shrug. “There are a few tenants in there. Guess I’m having a hard time letting go.”

“It’s not empty?” Kelly asks. “It looks awfully shabby.”

A prickle of irritation goes over me. “The cladding needs work, but I’ve fixed up the inside. The upper floors are vacant. I rented out the lower few to a couple of artists when I was first trying to keep the place liquid. They use it for studio space.”

Reese is studying me. “You don’t want to evict them,” she says softly.