Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4) - Page 57

I’m all for that and suited up to go to more than a few of those with her.

But that one Saturday night, years ago, I just wanted to be with my work buddies, their partners, and Dane’s wife and kids.

Brook made a scene, and we had to check out before the birthday candles were blown out.

She claimed she got food poisoning from a spinach dip. It never touched her lips. I got her to confess that the next day. Even with that, I held onto the hope that we could make it work.

For Auggie’s sake.

It was always for the sake of her son.

Scratching my forehead, I call Brooklyn’s number, and naturally she doesn’t pick up. That would be too fucking easy. She wants to lure a voicemail message out of me, but I won’t give her that, so I hang up.

I won’t give her anything.

I want one thing from her. I want ten minutes with Auggie so I can tell him I love him and I’m always around if he needs me.

My position in his life holds no legal weight. I’m not his father. My name isn’t listed on his birth certificate.

I’m just a guy who fell in love with him the first time I held him in my arms. I learned how to change diapers, warm up formula, and make paper airplanes for the kid.

In a perfect world, I’d have a relationship with him still, but this world is imperfect and filled with difficult moments.

I’m going to keep our connection alive in the only way I know how. I just hope one day he appreciates the effort, and it brings up long-stored memories of the man who loved him when he was a little sprout.

I’m turned by the sound of a knock on my apartment door.

I pocket my phone before I set off in that direction.

I swing the door open to find my favorite person in the world on the other side.

“Afton.” I breathe her name out in a sigh. “Jesus, I’ve missed you.”

It’s been days since I’ve seen her. I pulled two extra shifts. I helped out a friend by covering for him, and the captain asked if I could lend a hand when Lorenzo fell ill. I joked his cooking took him to his knees, but Dane said he thought every bite was pure genius.

I didn’t argue because I learned a long time ago that Dane Beckett is rarely wrong,

He is this time, but I kept that to myself.

“I’ve missed you too.” She adjusts her laptop bag on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to stop by without any warning.”

I pull her inside before I take her mouth in a soft, lush kiss. It drags a moan out of her. I want more of that. I’ll get more, but first I want to talk.

I’ve missed the sound of her voice, the way she smells, and the look in her eyes when she sees me smiling at her.

“How are you?” Her fingers burn a path over my shoulder to the back of my neck. “You’ve been working a lot.”

“I’m good,” I answer succinctly. “What about you?”

I’m fine with skipping past the pleasantries, but I know she needs them. She’s hesitant. I felt it when I kissed her.

“A lot has happened.” She huffs out a nervous laugh. “A lot.”

Warren better not be a part of any of it.

“Tell me.” I link her hand around my forearm and lead her into my home. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you an iced coffee.”

A wide smile brightens her face. “I’d love that.”

I love you.

I need to say it. I want to say it. I have to find the right time.

“I’ll get on that.” I take a step toward the kitchen. “You’re beautiful, Afton. I don’t know how it’s possible, but every time I see you, you’re more beautiful to me.”

She glances down at the jeans and yellow T-shirt she’s wearing. “I like that you think I look good right now.”

I laugh at that. “You look phenomenal.”

I’m rewarded with a soft kiss to my cheek. “You’re looking good too.”

I perk both brows. “You have no idea what that does to this guy’s ego.”

Patting the center of my chest, she laughs. “I have a feeling that your ego is just fine.”

Chapter 44

Luke

The two cups of coffee in my hands almost tumble to the floor when I walk back into my living room.

Anxiety rips through me.

I’m only self-conscious about one thing, and Afton has her eyes on it now.

I take another step forward, and I don’t know whether it’s the scuff of my bare feet against the hardwood or if she senses I’m behind her, but she turns to look at me.

Tears.

That’s all I see. Tears stream down the cheeks of the woman I love.

I fucking love her.

She gets it. She gets me.

“Luke.” She darts her gaze back to the screen of my laptop. “You did that?”

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Calvettis of New York Romance
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