Chapter 27
COLE
Maybe it was a good thing we were interrupted.
I hadn’t planned on admitting that. Delaney asked Jules about the gym. I simply sat back and watched the two women converse, my whiskey no longer just a drink, but a shield.
If I were honest, it was an entirely enjoyable experience, sitting beside the woman I hadn’t stopped thinking of for one second since we parted, and all of my buddies.
The pact.
An idea sprung from my desire not to repeat my parents’ failed marriage.
Mason agreeing so his heart wouldn’t be broken the way his father’s was when the love of his life passed away.
Parker. Beck. Not one of us wanted to repeat our parents’ mistakes, but here we were—every one of them paired up.
Me, the last man standing. The lightning strike they talked about when meeting, the one more real than it had ever been before.
“And this one, quiet as usual,” Delaney said. “What brings you in this weekend? Anything special?”
Whether Delaney already knew the real reason and was just fishing, or it was a simple question, I wasn’t sure.
“You know how I feel about the city.”
“I do. Personally, I love going in for a day or even a weekend, but I can’t imagine living there. It’s too bad there wasn’t some fancy Ivy League university here you could transfer to.”
Beck overheard that one.
“He doesn’t need a fancy school. Just thinks he does.”
Leave it to him to breeze in and out of a conversation, dropping that and walking away.
“He’s right.”
That from the beautiful woman on my right.
Juliette looked fucking incredible. She wore a red sundress that looked somewhere between small-town casual and the last remnant of having just spent a week in Italy.
I was staring at her. Long enough that I’m sure the other guys noticed by now. But it was impossible to look away.
“Do you like teaching?”
“One hell of a question for someone who makes his living as a college professor.”
“It is. But the question stands.”
That was easy. “I do. Sharing my love of history with a new generation who, for the most part, loves it too? Yes, I do.”
She blinked, Juliette’s dark lashes and big brown eyes drawing me in deeper and deeper.
“Would it be just as fulfilling if you weren’t at such a prestigious university?”
I thought about that for a second.
“Sure, it would be fulfilling.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
“Yeah, there is.”
It was the but I wasn’t dying to discuss. “So let’s talk about your manuscript. Tell me more about where you’re stuck.”
By the time we finished talking, Mason had left. We chatted a bit with the musician after his set, and the bar began to clear out.
Even though the night was winding down, I wasn’t ready for it to just yet.
When Parker and Delaney decided to leave, I told him I would walk Jules back.
I got the look from Parker—not the first since Milan.
I’d had to reassure him daily that I wouldn’t break Juliette’s heart, something Delaney seemed to worry about too, and I couldn’t say I blamed her.
“I come here all the time, and I’m only a few blocks away. You don’t have to walk me home.”
I flagged Beck for the check. “Regardless.”
We said our goodbyes, and when I opened the door to the bar, Juliette’s hip brushed mine as she walked by. I sucked in a breath, but that didn’t help. The scent of lemon brought me back to Italy.
To her.
“New scent?”
“It’s the one I got in Riomaggiore.”
“I thought you bought that for your mom?”
I laughed at her guilty look, knowing what had happened to her mother’s gift.
“In my defense, I also got her the pesto and spoon rest in Vernazza.”
I moved my fingers across my mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“This way,” she said, taking a left.
“I know. I was at your house before. Remember?”
Juliette looked up at me. “How can I forget?”
Seeing her certainly hadn’t put the genie back in the bottle. As I suspected, I wanted more. More than just another conversation. More than just being in her presence.
But more was dangerous as hell.
Before long, we were standing at her door.
“Do you want to come in?”
I ran my hands through my hair, thinking about the simple question. Of course I wanted to come in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets.
“Quite honestly, Juliette, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She gave me a small smile, reassuring but studying the situation too. “Honestly, I don’t either.”
“I shared more with you in Italy than I intended to.”
I wasn’t sure why that admission felt important. But it did.
“I know. And I’m glad you did. It’s incredibly difficult for you to open up, and I get it. I mean, not that I’m saying I understand what you’ve gone through. But everything made a lot more sense then.”
My brows raised. “Everything?”
She smelled so good. She looked so good. Everything she did was wrapped in brightly colored paper with an obnoxiously big bow—something you couldn’t look away from. A present you wanted, not to rip open, but to unwrap slowly, appreciating the packaging as much as the gift inside.
“You know. Old Cole, new Cole. Essentially the same, but context matters. In this case, it’s everything.”
“And I’m the context?”
I couldn’t resist. I took a step closer, brushing my fingers along her cheek, down to her chin. I just wanted to touch her.
I pulled away just as quickly.
She sighed softly. “You are. But I don’t know what to do with it. Guys like you hurt women like me.”
That was the splash of cold water I needed, because she was right.
“If you knew how badly I want to fuck you right now, Juliette—how everything about you sets every one of my senses on fire—you know that, right?”
“Cole…”
The same tone she’d used in Milan, on the boat.
“I probably shouldn’t have come into town this weekend.”
“No, probably not. Again, you never know. You have to watch out for those glimmers and the possibility of something unplanned.”
Glimmers were one thing. Taking Juliette into her house, ravishing her, and waking up to admit to Parker that I’d done the one thing I promised I wouldn’t—fuck around with his fiancée’s best friend?
“I should go.”
Juliette gave me a sad smile. “Yeah. You probably should. I’ll see you later?”
If she hadn’t asked it as a question, I would’ve walked away. Instead, I made another bad decision. Halfway down the stairs, I turned back.
“Tomorrow? Are you working?”
“Just writing in the morning, but I’m free after that. If you’re around, text me.”
“Sounds good. Buonanotte, monella.”
“Sogni d’oro.”
My dreams would be anything but sweet.