Page 34

Hallie

I wake with a head of dark messy hair on my chest, arms wrapped around my waist, and a giant man between my legs, sleeping peacefully. Sleeping like I’ve never seen him sleep before.

Which is probably for the best because we were up most of the night.

After the first round, Rio took me downstairs and fed me. I’m not sure if any of his friends know, but the guy is one hell of a cook. All those cooking lessons his mom gave him while growing up have clearly stuck. He whipped up a homemade pasta sauce that he promised would be better if it got to meld together longer, but I didn’t know how that was possible because it was already delicious.

He watched me eat my bowl of pasta, unable to keep his hands off me the whole time, but I didn’t mind. After so long without being touched in that way, it felt good to be needed. It felt good to be taken care of too.

And as soon as I finished eating, he sat me on the kitchen counter and took care of me in another way.

Unlike the first time, the second time was hard and fast. He had a hand cradling the back of my head so it wouldn’t slam against the kitchen cabinets, and once we both came again, he carried me to his shower to clean me off, where he dropped to his knees and threw one of my thighs over his shoulder. He made me come again with his mouth, as if he were on a mission to give me all the orgasms I missed over the last six years.

We both passed out asleep after that.

And as much as I’d love to lie around with him all day and try to find the energy to return the favor, I have a job I need to get to.

I peel myself out from under him, making sure not to wake him up, before finding one of his flannel shirts tossed on a chair. I slip my arm through that, buttoning it all the way down the front before heading downstairs.

Thankfully, it’s not a construction day at Rio’s house, so I’m not worried about anyone walking in on me wearing my client’s shirt as a dress with nothing on underneath.

When I get to the kitchen, I put on some music, letting it connect to the speakers only on the first floor. I choose something soft and melodic to start my morning before turning on Rio’s espresso machine.

At the fridge, I contemplate grabbing the dairy milk instead of the almond since he’s not awake and can’t have a taste of my coffee anyway, but something about it feels wrong. So, I grab the almond milk instead.

I’m pulling a shot when I hear a sleepy, raspy voice ask, “What do you think you’re doing?” from behind me.

I look over my shoulder to find Rio, leaning his hip on the kitchen counter, right where he fucked me a few hours ago, sweatpants hung low. Smirk on his face and not wearing a shirt, showing off my tattoo.

Mine.

Only mine.

I’m still processing his confession last night, that he hasn’t been with anyone but me.

I’ve forgiven him for our past. I understand where his head was at when he made the choices he did. And though I know there’s a part of him that thinks it’s going to take more or that he should continue to punish himself over it, I think the fact that he tried so hard for six years to get over me and couldn’t was torture enough.

And I kind of love that he couldn’t do it.

“What are you smirking at?” he asks.

“Just thinking about what a terrible time you had trying to get over me.”

He laughs to himself, crossing the kitchen to me. “Ain’t that the fucking truth.” His palm slides against my lower back. “And my other question. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making myself a latte.”

“That’s my job.” He takes the almond milk from me at the same time he leans down and plants a soft kiss on my lips.

“You were sleeping.”

“Then you got out of bed. I think you know by now I only sleep when you’re next to me.”

“So honest today.”

“Yeah, well I just got laid for the first time in six years, Hal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know as a thank you for fucking me.”

Laughing to myself, I curl into him, hiding my face against his chest. He wraps his free arm around me, holding me close as he continues to work on my latte.

“Hi,” he says quietly, lips brushing my hair. “Are you tired?”

“Exhausted.” I pull back to look at him. “But happy.”

The most stunning smile spreads across his lips. “I’d hope so. I put in a lot of work last night to make sure you’re happy.”

Chuckling, I rest against him again, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I’m happy too.” He leans down and kisses me. “Your latte is ready.”

I find it on the counter. “What’s the art today?”

“Well, clearly, that’s a dragon. I’m not sure how you’re not seeing it.”

It’s literally a blob of foam in the center of the cup.

“But I only had one hand,” he continues. “So just imagine what I could’ve done with two.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time imagining and remembering what you can do with two hands.”

“Don’t flirt with me, Hart. Not when you’re about to leave me all day.”

“Do you want to try it first?” I ask, holding the mug out in his direction.

His smile is sweet when he brings the mug to his mouth and takes a sip, but our little moment is interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, his mom’s name is obvious enough that we both see it.

“Sorry,” he says, switching the sound off. “I’ll call her back later.”

“You should answer it, Rio. I don’t need another reason for her to hate me.”

He gives me this look, as if he wants to argue, but then it softens to something laced with sympathy. Because we both know he can’t tell me that I’m wrong.

“Please answer it,” I plead.

He hesitates for a moment before he leans down and brushes a kiss on my hair, answering his phone at the same time.

“Hey, Ma,” he says, leaving the kitchen to take the call in another part of the house.

The reality of the broader situation comes into focus again.

Rio and I may have forgiven each other, but his mom hasn’t. And not only does that worry me because I know how close the two of them are, but there’s a part of me that misses her too.

Not only was Mrs. DeLuca my mom’s best friend, our neighbor, and my boyfriend’s mom, but she was practically my second mother as well. As soon as we moved in next door, she treated me like the daughter she never had.

The day she found out about her husband’s affair, I’ll never forget the way she looked at me when she realized I knew and didn’t tell her. It was this agonizing mix of betrayal and disappointment on her face, and it’s been ingrained in my mind ever since.

She looked at me like she hated me with every fiber of her being and I can’t exactly blame her for it. Every day for the last six years, I’ve regretted not telling Rio sooner, but I equally regret not telling her.

I have missed her for as long as I have been missing him.

Trying my best not to focus on those facts or what is most likely a less-than-cordial phone call happening in the other room, I grab my own phone as a distraction. I have new progress photos of Rio’s house that I should share on my Instagram.

I didn’t have any social media until I moved here last spring and realized what a huge part it played in growing a clientele. I started an Instagram page after I learned that every designer at the firm had one, and I began posting consistently while I was working on Wren’s house. I don’t have a large following, and most of the comments are from my dad, but I figured it would only aid in helping me land a full-time position at Tyler Braden Interiors if I could start curating an online presence and personal aesthetic.

Except this time, when I open the app, I find a lot more than the few hundred followers I had before. Now, I’m just shy of thirty thousand.

There are new comments on every single post. Some are asking how they can request to work with me, others thanking me for listing the paint colors I used in the captions, and even more simply gushing over my style.

“What’s wrong?” Rio asks, coming back into the room.

I hold my phone up to show him. “I have almost thirty thousand new followers on my design account this week.”

“Hell yeah, Hal!” His smile lights up his whole face. “I’ve been sharing all your posts about my house, and my friends have been too. Zee has an obscene number of followers, and Miller’s account for the patisserie has a big local following. And of course there’s Ryan, who is almost never online, but when he is, his engagement is wild. I think he shared your account in his stories yesterday.”

My throat does this odd tightening thing. “That’s so nice of them, but they barely know me.”

“Well, they know me and how I feel about you, so whether you like it or not, you’re already part of the group. I’m pretty sure the girls are ready to ban me from girls’ nights in hopes that you’ll start joining instead.”

That sounds overwhelmingly lovely. I have craved friendship and community for so many years now. I was a social butterfly before my dad got sick and I’d like to get back to that part of who I am.

“You go to their girls’ nights?” I ask playfully. “Why does that not surprise me in the least?”

“They have way better snacks than what the guys have when they get together.” He takes my mug, setting it on the counter. “Come here for a second.”

Taking my arms, he guides them to wrap around his neck, his own going low around my waist as he holds us together.

“I like this song,” he says.

He begins to sway, dancing with me in his under-construction kitchen while we’re both barefoot and I’m only wearing his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Dancing with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

A flash of an old memory comes back. He told me he’d catch his parents doing this all the time in their kitchen. I know he spent the last six years trying to distance himself from anything that resembled their relationship, so him saying this is something he wants to do feels a bit bigger and more important than simply swaying in his kitchen together.

“Was the call that bad?”

His jaw flexes before he nods to tell me yes.

“She’s upset with you because of me.”

“I don’t care, Hallie.”

“But you should. I know how important she is to you.”

“Of course she is. But I also let her feelings sway mine for six years longer than they should’ve. I’m finally doing what I want.”

“Rio.” I toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “She hates me.”

“I think we both know it’s not actually you that she’s angry with.” He lets that truth hang in the air for a while before he adds, “I’m not letting anyone ruin this again. Not her and not me. Please don’t worry about it. I think she’ll come around one day and if she doesn’t, well, that’s her own problem. But I’m not fucking this up again.”

I want to argue back and remind him that there’s no way in hell that he’s going to be okay for long if his mother is opposed to us being together. He respects her too much to allow this rift between her and the woman he’s seeing. I just hope that one day, I’ll get the chance to change her opinion of me.

“Hallie,” Rio whispers, still dancing slowly with me in his kitchen. “Are we doing this? You and me. Because I’m all in.”

I laugh lightly. “I thought last night kind of answered that.”

“I’d really like to hear you say it, to make sure I’m not assuming anything here.”

He has this sweet, pleading look in his eyes as he waits for my confirmation.

“You’re not assuming anything.” I pull him down to kiss me. “I’m all in too. It’s you and me.”

Again is what I’m tempted to say, but for good feels more accurate.