Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“Me too,” he murmurs, still holding on.

I pull back and he lets go. I flash him a smile and take a couple steps toward my car, but he calls out, so I stop.

“Hey, Mia.”

I turn back. “Yeah?”

“We have a little time before dinner.” He nods his head toward his car, parked next to mine. “Why don’t you let me buy you a birthday drink first, so we can catch up without an audience?”

“Oh. Uh…” I grab my phone, checking the time. I didn’t tell anyone I would be making any stops after work, so I probably shouldn’t. But I’d really like to know what he’s up to, and he may be less forthcoming in front of Mateo. I felt so horrible when everything happened, and it would be nice to hear he’s doing well. “Sure, I guess I have time for one drink.”

“You don’t have any kids waiting on you at home now, do you?”

He asks it lightly enough, but all things considered, this still feels like a sore subject. “No, none for me,” I tell him, flicking a glance at his face, looking for any hint of bitterness or resentment. Finding none, I tentatively add, “Meg has the babies.”

“More babies?”

I smile fondly and nod my head. “The last one was a little girl, Rosalie. She’s so adorable; you won’t be able to stand it. If she’s not in bed already you’ll have to meet her after dinner. She’s a bossy little mini-Meg, but it’s much cuter in toddler form. She’ll probably force feed you plastic food—she loves to play maid—or make you drink lots of pretend tea. Tea parties are her jam. She already loves forcing grown men to squeeze into her townhouse and drink imaginary liquid from tiny little pink tea cups. All the other Morelli men have had to endure it; it’s your turn. Meg’s pregnant again, finally with a boy this time. Everyone’s very excited.”

Nodding, he says, “Mateo finally gets his heir.”

I nod, unsure where to take this conversation. History tells me he won’t want to talk about Mateo, so I walk around to the passenger side and climb in, hoping things remain friendly.

He drops into the driver’s seat, casting a questioning look at the cupcakes. “Didn’t get enough of them at work?”

“Oh.” I lean down and put the box in the floor by my feet. “They’re for Meg. It’s cool enough out though, I’m sure they’ll be fine while we grab a drink.”

“Baby cravings? I remember she had a thing for gummy worms last time.”

I grin at the memory. “Yeah, apparently Morelli babies make you crave all the sweets.”

“That’s ironic,” he states.

It really, really is.

Absently placing a hand on his thigh like old times, I ask, “So, how are you? Where are you living now? You’re doing well?”

His gaze lingers on my hand long enough that I feel I should move it. I don’t want to be obvious, so I draw it back and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

Finally he glances up at me, nodding. “Yeah, I’m doing well.”

I give him a genuine smile. “Good, I’m really glad to hear that.”

He nods, then he says, “So, you’re still with him, huh?”

My heart stalls, the way he asks. Like it still matters. Like he still cares. Like maybe, just maybe, it still stings.

I’m done with lies though, and there’d be no point. I’m too old for this shit. Instead of trying to break it gently, I do the kindest thing I can do—tell him unapologetically, “Yes, I’m still with Mateo. We’re very happy.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. He nods his head in acknowledgement, then after several seconds, he finally says, “I should’ve danced with you at the wedding.”

I really don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to dredge up the past; I just want to hear about the present. Discomfited by this turn of the conversation, I assure him, “It’s fine. It didn’t matter.”

“It did. I wasted so much energy trying to punish you for your feelings for him, and all I did was screw myself. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

“Vince,” I say, feeling worse with every word out of his mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. I was the problem. You treated me like gold. You tried to protect me.”

“I chased you away,” he states. Putting the car in gear, he backs out of the parking spot next to mine and heads for the road. “Do you know who I was most jealous of that night?”

I’m already sighing with dread, because of course I can guess.

He shakes his head, anticipating that. “It wasn’t Mateo. It was Mark. He did what I should’ve done. He saw that Mateo made you sad, and instead of being resentful, he took it upon himself to make you happy again. And it worked. And I should’ve been the one to do that.”