Chapter 27
Carmello
Now
The pedestrian bridge isn’t a far walk from Celia’s Place, but we take my truck there in case the plumber calls while we’re gone.
We picked up ginger scones and cheese sticks from Seven Stars Bakery, and we’re lucky to find a free bench where we can eat on the lower deck.
It’s packed with runners, a big group is doing yoga in the grass at one end of the bridge, people are having picnics at the other.
I can’t count the number of dogs taking their morning walks here.
“The city has changed so much since I’ve been gone,” Olivia says. “But this is my favorite change. I’ve never been here during the day before, but I have come a few nights since the food truck event. It’s usually way less crowded than this.”
She says it like she’d prefer it was night right now. “Isn’t this more your vibe?” I ask.
“I don’t always want to be social, Carmello. Sometimes the extrovert feels the need for peaceful moments like an introvert.” She squints her eyes. “Just like the introvert needs moments to go out and dance salsa.”
“I see what you did there,” I say. “And I’m ignoring it. At least until I get free time.”
“We can get up and dance right now.” She opens her arms wide. “Right here.”
I put my coffee cup down. “Bet, let’s go.”
Her eyes sparkle with excited surprise, and I anticipate the feeling of her hands in mine, the smell of blueberries in her hair while we dance.
I want to feel our bodies pressed together the way they were last night.
She opens her mouth to say something, but then someone walks right by us with their poodle, and she squeals instead.
Her attention stolen by a “pretty pampered princess.”
“Oh, those are such nice kisses. Thank you,” Olivia says to the poodle a minute later.
“I’m so sorry,” the owner says. “Those shoes are so cute, and I’ve been wanting some for a while, so I know they’re expensive. Here comes my girl slobbering all over them.”
Olivia’s face twists into an unreadable expression. Who knows how she’ll reply. “Girl,” she says, “I found these in Providence Place Mall on sale just two days ago for half off.”
The woman gasps and asks from what store and the two of them start talking about everything from gold earring recommendations on Etsy to hair products they’ve tried at Wildly Green—while Pampered Princess the poodle licks all over Olivia.
And I sit here watching the one person I never thought would reenter my life remind me of one of the reasons I was devastated when she exited it.
When the woman walks away, Olivia shifts back to me.
I note the joy on her face. She gets so much serotonin from simple human connection, and I realize I still get serotonin seeing her smile.
“That curly-haired girl just reminded me,” she says.
“I want to meet your pitty, One Piece. Teddy told me all about your little baby that night your dad dropped him off at the restaurant.”
Olivia breaks apart her ginger scone. She takes a small bite and moans out loud from the sweet taste.
She always does that, and most times I can keep my mind from thinking of all the ways she might make that sound for me.
Today is not one of those days. I wish we were alone here.
I’d lick the crumbs off of her lips and taste the matcha on her tongue, if she’d let me.
At this point, knowing she’s leaving for Japan soon is the only thing keeping me in check.
I shift on the bench so she can’t see it on my face or anywhere that’s growing on my body. “One Piece is sixty-eight pounds of pure muscle,” I say, “but does not know his body weight. Always wants to be held. So, definitely far from little, but he does think he’s still a baby.”
“That’s perfect. He can sit on my lap,” she says, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her she can sit on mine. “How long have you had him?”
“I rescued him from the shelter a few months after Teddy was born,” I say. “He was already beefy, but they estimated him to be about a year old. I wanted them to grow up together.”
“Living vicariously through your son?” She smiles.
“You always wanted a dog when we were kids.” She takes another bite.
There’s that sound again. I inhale deeply through my nose.
Sip my coffee. Hugging her last night felt right, felt good.
I think we both needed it. But will my body give me a damn break?
“Will you bring him by Celia’s sometime? ” she asks.
“I used to bring him in to work once in a while,” I say, “but there were a couple of incidents with customers complaining about his breed. I don’t want to have to kick someone out of Celia’s for calling my boy a monster.
So I have a dog walker go by my house every day to play with him and bring him out. ”
“Very understandable,” she says. “But I’d protect him for a few hours.”
I laugh and tell her I’ll bring him by, but inside I’m wondering how realistic it is that she’ll be here long enough for me to have a chance to keep my word. I watch her sip on her matcha latte and clear my throat. “You used to hate matcha, but maybe not more than almond milk,” I say.
When we were eighteen, Olivia tried going vegan, but a week later she was whining, Ugh, I miss cow’s milk, and now our kisses taste like grass.
“Yeah, well. Bodies change and, as a result, sometimes so do we,” she says now.
There’s weight behind those words but I get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s on her mind, so instead of pressing, I gesture to the cards in her lap.
“You ever going to read off a question?”
We agreed on the way here that even though we couldn’t cook today, we could go over some questions and see which ones might pair with dishes we already know will be on the menu.
Her mouth twists up on one side. Eyes flicking to mine. “So bossy,” she says.
I can’t control the thoughts that follow. Me wondering if that’s how she’d like me in bed.
I wet my bottom lip. “Just read the question, O.”
She gives me a challenging stare, but then she backs down and splits the deck, pulls out a random card from between.
I watch her eyes widen, then her full laugh does something to the muscle beating in my chest. I love the way she throws her head back and that it turns her cheeks pink in the process.
“I guess the universe really wants us to think about this question,” she says.
“You’re fucking with me.” I grab the card from her and read it out loud. “Is there a ‘first time’ experience you’d relive the same way all over again?” I squint my eyes at her, but I’m smiling. “Did you plant this one here on purpose?”
“You think that little of me?” she teases. “Why would I do that?”
“Maybe because you already know my answer, but you want to hear me say it out loud.”
She stops laughing in favor of sucking that big bottom lip into her mouth. I grind down on my molars watching her slowly release it. “We’re supposed to be matching flavor profiles.”
“Well, I think this one should be paired with a spicy dish because it’s risky,” I say.
“What about Bicol Express?” she says, choosing one of my favorite pork dishes. “Looks innocent, just like the question might be, but the chilies are surprising.”
“That’s perfect,” I say.
“Now that we’ve decided,” she says, “you should answer the question, so I don’t have to assume.”
A strand of her hair falls over her face and, before I can think better of it, I reach to brush it away.
Her brows knit together, and her mouth visibly softens in surprise.
But I hold her stare, still feeling the adrenaline rush at the hidden meaning behind her words.
“We were young, and we didn’t know what we were doing,” I say, “but our first time together was…special. It’s the only first of something I wouldn’t mind reliving again the same way. ”
A beat passes. Then: “If you asked me that question, I might’ve answered the same way.”
Heat flicks across my core from her words.
God, what would it feel like to have her mouth against mine again?
I’ve been silently asking myself that for weeks.
If I’m honest, I’ve wondered for a decade.
I’ve dreamed about her, ached for her touch.
And now she’s right here in front of me with her lips parted slightly like she knows I want to lean over and kiss her.
It feels like a subtle invitation—that is taken away by the wind.
It carries her hair in the air and our napkins too.
We laugh and hurry to snatch them up before they fly off the bridge and into the water. After tossing our trash in the garbage, Olivia leans her elbows on the rail to look out over the Providence River.
“If I lived here,” she says, “you’d always know where to find me.”
The words sound wistful and they do a mix of things to my heart that I can’t process right now. I swallow and check my watch. “We should get back soon for the plumber, but do you wanna go over some more questions while we walk across the bridge first?”
She smiles and says, “You sure?”
Her tone sounds like the extended version of her question is: Are you sure you want to spend more time with me?
I want to tell her that whenever I see her heading into Celia’s lately, I find myself hoping it’s not the last time I’ll get to see her do that.
Weeks have gone by, but it’s felt like seconds.
I want more. I crave our conversations, and I love to hear her voice in the kitchen.
That the start of this day was shitty, but whatever it’s going to cost me won’t hit as hard because I get to be here with her.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”