Chapter 25
Jess
“I’ve missed Boston.” I twirled in a circle, my face tipped toward the sky.
It wasn’t as busy as New York, and there wasn’t the same urgency, but the city had always had a place in my heart.
The history and the architecture were enough to make anyone stop and take in the sights.
Being here made me feel like the main character in the story instead of one of the teeming masses the way New York did.
The air was crisper too. Though it was June, the cool breeze was enough to keep me on my toes.
“Think the girls are okay?” Brian asked. “We can head back.”
I scoffed. “They were more than happy to see us go.”
When we’d left, the whole crew was busy making friendship bracelets and s’mores while talking endlessly about last night’s concert.
Dylan had arranged for a massive camp-out movie night in the penthouse, tents and sleeping bags and all, and the hotel staff had gone all out, providing snacks and lanterns.
She’d mentioned her husband Cortney’s family owned the hotel chain, so it made sense that they’d let her do whatever she wanted.
If the last day hadn’t been so strangely surreal, I’d have questioned it.
Right now, I was floating along in a fairy tale, so it didn’t seem so far-fetched.
The girls insisted that they’d prefer to stay at the camp-out overnight—again—so I’d have my very luxurious hotel suite to myself. I should be thrilled to have a night off after having gone without one for so long, yet I had no idea what to do with myself.
So I asked Brian to take a walk with me.
We’d been invited to dinner with some of Dylan’s friends and their husbands, but I’d declined, preferring a quiet evening after the chaos of the previous day.
The girls and I had spent this morning walking the Freedom Trail and the afternoon at the Museum of Science, and though my feet hurt, I needed the quiet and the fresh air to process the events of the last thirty-six hours.
The concert might have been the greatest experience of my life, aside from the days the girls were born.
The pure happiness radiating from Kit and Greta had filled my heart with joy.
Yes, I was still riding a high, but secretly, it had more to do with holding Brian’s hand than meeting Lake Paige.
The act had been so innocent, yet it felt significant.
The intensity in his eyes when he looked at me had made my heart race, and the gravity of what he’d done for me and my kids had hit me like a bus.
I was falling in love with this man.
Not the boy I’d fallen for a lifetime ago.
The man standing next to me right now.
Weeks ago, I’d made my peace with the attraction. Attraction was normal. But this urgency, this ache in my chest, was so much more than lust.
He wore jeans and a T-shirt as we traversed the city. It was a look I hadn’t seen on him in twenty years. The casual attire made him look younger, which sent my thoughts skipping back in time to the days we’d often walked these streets together. Young, carefree, and in love.
The differences were like night and day. Life now was complicated and difficult, and every day contained challenges my young mind could never have conceived of back then.
We’d had a lot of fun roaming these streets, dreaming and chatting and holding hands. But we were different people now. Grown and weary and tired. That version of Jess was so far away from me, I could barely feel her, even back in Boston.
And Brian? The grown-up version of him made my knees weak.
“This is so beautiful,” I remarked as we strolled along the Rose Kennedy Greenway. “I remember when this was an ugly highway.”
His response was easy, mundane, his expression introspective.
For a long while, we were silent, but with each step, emotions bubbled up inside me. When I was bursting, unable to hold back, I stopped abruptly and wrung my hands.
He stopped too, turning back and frowning at me in concern.
“Thank you,” I blurted out. “For everything. This whole trip has been a dream come true.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, dipping his chin. “But the look on the girls’ faces last night was all the thanks I need.”
I shook my head. “Someday, I’ll find a way to repay you. But for now. Just let me say this.”
With my heart thudding heavily, I clutched his hand and forced myself to hold eye contact.
“Thank you. For your friendship and your kindness to my kids. Thank you for being someone I can depend on. It’s been a long time since I had someone in my corner, on my team. I forgot how good it feels not to have to face every battle alone.”
He sucked in a breath.
“Sorry,” I said, dropping his hands. “I wasn’t trying to make things weird.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t. And I am on your team. As are Cal, Lo, Sully, Sloane, Tia, and the boys. Even the damn cat. Our whole dysfunctional family.”
“You have no idea how lucky you are,” I replied, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. “The work you do is so important, and you get to do it with people you love and who love you back.”
He blew out a long breath. “I should be thanking you,” he said, his brow creased. “It wasn’t until you showed up that I realized how much I’ve been holding back. My priorities have been muddled.”
Without waiting for a response, he tugged me toward the crosswalk, where the signal had just changed.
Being here with him was surreal. The city had changed so much, but while we walked the streets together, it felt as though we’d fallen back in time. We talked endlessly, laughing and reminiscing, the present and past mingling together.
“We had fun,” he said softly as we navigated the cobblestone sidewalks of Boston’s North End, heading toward Genaro’s.
“We did.” I smiled, overcome by the ghost of a once familiar light, magical sensation that came with being young and in love and free from all the burdens of adulthood.
“I hope the pizza is still amazing after all these years.”
“Enzo, Delia’s fiancé, swore that it is. He’s a Boston guy. Knows his stuff.”
He held the door open for me, then guided me past the small seating area with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles, straight to the takeout window.
The smell hit me hard, followed by a wave of nostalgia. I loved pizza, but no New York pizza shop smelled like this.
A tiny woman with gray curls tied back in a bandana popped her head up over the counter. “Whatcha want?” she asked, her Boston accent thick.
Brian looked at me, and I nodded. After all these years, my order hadn’t changed.
“A slice of mushroom and a slice of pepperoni,” he replied.
Paper plates in hand, we stepped outside again. The slices were as big as they’d been twenty years ago, hanging off the plate at each point. The crust was so thin I had to use both hands to keep it from falling as we walked across the street to North Square Park.
“It’s nicer than it used to be,” Brian said as we found a bench. Between bites, he surveyed the sculpture garden and impeccable landscaping.
Since my hands were both occupied, I nodded toward the small gray clapboard house.
“That’s the Paul Revere House. I’m glad this little spot is getting some love.
We learned on our Freedom Trail tour that this was a public gathering place back as far as the sixteen hundreds.
There used to be a meeting house here too.
It’s where several important parts of the Revolution were planned. ”
He smiled at me. Around us, tourists chatted and took photos, and the cool night air smelled of delicious food and possibility.
“You have room for cannoli?” he asked. We were wedged on a small stone bench, our knees touching as he munched on the crust of his pizza. Nothing had changed. He could still inhale a slice, no matter how large, and have room for more.
I straightened, nodding. “Mike’s or Modern?” I asked.
He stood, taking my paper plate from my hands. “Obviously Modern. I know a lot has changed since we were last here together, but you can’t actually think I’d abandon all my cannoli principles.”
“Wasn’t sure if you’d switched allegiances,” I quipped.
He reeled back, a hand on his chest. “Never.”
His beard almost hid the speck of pizza sauce on the corner of his lip. If I hadn’t been studying him so intently, I probably would have missed it. But now that I’d seen it, I couldn’t stop myself from wiping it away with the pad of my thumb.
We touched frequently, but never intimately, unless one counted the hand-holding at the concert. I blamed my lack of judgment on the nostalgia clouding my brain.
The minute my thumb touched the corner of his lip, I knew it was a mistake. So, breath held, I drew my hand back quickly.
But he caught me by the wrist, his golden eyes molten as they locked with mine. Holding me firmly, he angled in close, though not too close. In his proximity, all I could think about was his lips and how desperately I needed to kiss him.
My lack of self-control was ridiculous. I was a forty-one-year-old single mother, not a lovesick college student.
But none of that mattered.
So I closed the gap.
The moment our lips met, fireworks exploded behind my eyes. And rather than sweet nostalgia, I was hit with a wave of pure heat.
He pulled me closer and cupped my chin, his soft lips intent.
As if my body had a mind of its own, I found myself pushing toward him, almost landing on his lap.
The kiss wasn’t indecent. We were in public, after all. But it was intentional. His lips were firm and focused, teasing my mouth open as I melted into him. It was new and old and invigorating.
But then it stopped.
“I’m sorry.” He heaved a breath as he pulled away and stood. Silently, and without meeting my eye, he gathered our paper plates and deposited them in a nearby trash can.
My heart fell into my shoes. Had I done something wrong? Did I have horrific pepperoni breath? I touched my tingling lips, trying to make my brain process what was happening.