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“You weren’t an asshole, Jet. You were—” “An asshole.” I laughed again. “I was, and you know it. And if Ben had lived, I hope he would’ve changed, called me on it, stopped enabling me and started calling me an asshole. Loving someone means wanting the best for that person, not indulging selfishness. I love my children, and that means I don’t spoil them or let them play with knives, right? Love sometimes means calling another person on their bullshit, even if doing so requires an awkward, uncomfortable conversation, like this one we’re having right now.” Covering the lower half of my face with
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Then, with the deft grace and charm of a professional Cletus-handler, the exceptionally short woman escorted me to my bedroom, smiled at me patiently with her blinding smile and bluish-purplish eyes, and left me with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. But before she left, she’d placed a kiss on my forehead like I was a twelve-year-old.
“Beyond that is the San Lorenzo food market.” “A food market? Sign me up.” My brother’s smirk became a small grin. “We like the Sant'Ambrogio market a little better, on the other side of town, but it’s a walk. Though, I don’t know if Jess likes Sant'Ambrogio better ’cause we take the long way, crossing the Ponte Vecchio and walking along the other side of the river. She says it’s quieter on that side, cooler in the summer.”
“I don’t want y’all to coexist. I want y’all to co-ha-bi-tate.” Cletus threaded his fingers together as though to illustrate his meaning, earning a quick glare from me. And then, as though his only goal in life was to make my blood boil, he made a circle with his thumb and index finger. I stopped his other index finger before he could complete the lewd hand gesture. “Cletus. Stop.”
Taking one of my hands, he brought it to his—still shirtless—chest, over his heart, and pressed it there. “Make no mistake, what just happened between us was momentous for me. My life and heart have been forever transformed. You are the architect and artist of my own personal paradise. Now, when I close my eyes, I won’t need to imagine what heaven feels like. I’ll know.” Oh. If I’d been the swooning sort, I would’ve swooned. In fact, you know what? I still might.
I channeled my inner Cletus and plotted.
Drew pulled a beer bottle from the side pocket of his cargo pants and twisted off the lid. For the record, it wasn’t a twist-off. The man seemed to be capable of opening anything with his bare hands—beer, bear trap. Also, he often used the pockets of his cargo pants as beer holders. I’d contemplated buying a pair for the weekends just for this purpose.
