Chapter Thirty-Three
Max
The sun is doing beautiful things to this city today. Usually it’s colder in March, but it’s fifty-something and sunny, the perfect day that screams spring is on its way.
It hits the old stone of the buildings, glints off the windows and bounces back warm and gold, the kind of light that makes everything look like it was meant to be photographed.
I tip my face up to it for just a second at the crosswalk and think about this morning—Maggie holding up two scarves and asking which one made her look like a ‘serious woman of culture,’ and Sophia folding herself over the counter of the shop laughing.
Every second of it felt so easy. So ordinary. So right.
It made the ache I feel in my heart for Becca even stronger. I miss being close by and having little outings together. The late-night video calls can’t make up for window-shopping with your best friend.
But I kind of feel like Maggie and Sophia could be that for me here, be the friends that fill me with happiness and joy like Becca does in Abbott.
I sigh and Gio matches my pace as it slows. He stays one step behind, and I wish he would walk next to me like a normal person.
I smooth down my skirt as we approach the corner, seeing the sign for the café across the street.
The skirt Sophia picked out for me is deep green, fitted through the waist and flared at the hem, with small gold buttons down the front.
Paired with a deep v-neck black ribbed blouse that hugs me perfectly and black tights.
The shoes are black mesh slingbacks with a chunky heel and a square toe.
Totally out of my comfort zone, and my feet are already freezing.
Sophia called them ‘chic but make it approachable.’ I didn’t know shoes could be approachable, and certainly for the price tag you wouldn’t think these are approachable to many people, but I trust her judgment.
She has a degree from some fashion school and started designing her own clothing line.
I asked her questions when she described different fabrics being right for different seasons—she’s so passionate about it all.
Maggie talked about Sophia and her fashion-related accomplishments with so much pride. Maggie has talked about working for one of the businesses Cal and Nico own, but has made it clear she would prefer nothing more than to get away from anything related to her brothers.
We cross and Gio pulls open the café door.
I see Cal immediately.
His dark curls and tall frame stand out anywhere. He is across from the counter; a shoulder pressed into the red bricks of the wall as he leans and waits. His back to me, black suit jacket dark against the warm red of the bricks and light creams of the café interior.
He turns when he hears the door—or maybe he just always knows where I am—and his eyes do a slow, complete trip from my face to my shoes and back up again.
A shot of electricity shoots through my core remembering the photo I texted him earlier. Imagining him thinking about it right now as he eyes the skirt.
He says nothing for a beat when I step up to him. Just looks at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” His voice is quieter than usual. “You look—”
“Sisters,” I give a single word explanation before he can finish. “All credit to the sisters. I would have shown up in a t-shirt and cardigan, but they staged an intervention.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m going to have to thank them.” His voice lowers as he brushes a kiss to my cheek and his breath hits the shell of my ear. “But I do love you in my t-shirts.”
“Mmm.” I lean against him slightly, tilting my face up to his. “You can thank me later.”
“I was just thinking,” he says, his hands looping around me in a hug that doesn’t last long enough, “that I can’t wait to take this off you later.” He says it into the side of my hair, quiet enough that it’s just for me.
Behind me, Gio makes a sound that is very professionally almost nothing but sounds mostly like a choked laugh.
I press my lips together and look at the menu board above the counter.
“Gio.” Cal nods in acknowledgment, without turning around.
“Boss,” Gio responds with tremendous neutrality.
“Just us today?” I ask, glancing back at Gio, who is standing close but relaxed, his jacket buttoned.
“Rudi’s day off,” Gio confirms, pausing. “Just me.”
The girl at the counter smiles at us and I look back at the menu. Normally I get the same thing: my caramel, chocolate, hazelnut latte and whatever pastry is closest to the register because I’m not someone who deliberates over café menus.
But today feels like deliberating. Today feels like trying the thing I’ve never tried. It feels brighter today, like the sunlight is begging me to get out of my comfort zone and just live in the moment—like I did with the shoes.
Cal looks at me with dazzling golden-green eyes and asks, “What coffee will it be today, Sims?”
“The lavender matcha latte.” I smile at the barista. “And the almond croissant.”
Cal looks at me sideways with a smirk and a frown. “Adventurous today?”
“Today feels different.” I match his smirk, but mine aches to break into a full grin.
Something moves across his face that I don’t have a word for yet, but I am beginning to recognize when it happens. Like he’s filing something away. Like he’s keeping a memory of a moment for later.
He reaches into his jacket pocket for his wallet and the fabric catches—just for a second—on the holster attached to his hip.
This is the first time I’ve ever noticed it.
He must not wear it at home.
The sight of dark metal makes my stomach drop—it feels like another punch of reality, like getting more security and changing cars at school.
It’s there and gone as he rights his jacket with one practiced movement.
I swallow and glance around, checking faces to see if anyone clocked it. First the barista behind the counter, then towards the patrons sitting at tables beside us. No one seems to be paying us any special attention.
I look beyond the lovely people enjoying their drinks—and catch a glint of sun ricocheting off a car passing by the café.
It’s dark and moving too slowly for the street.
The kind of slow that isn’t looking for parking.
The window on the passenger side is already rolling down, and I see an arm and I see what’s in the hand and I don’t think, I just—
“CAL—”
His body is already moving before I even finish his name.
His hand hits my shoulder and I’m going down, the counter edge catching my hip, and then the world fills with shards of glass and noise and screaming that might be mine, and Cal’s voice somewhere above me saying move, move, move.