Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4)

Chapter 13

Luke

I silence my phone before I knock on the door to Afton’s house.

My brothers, Rocco and Nash, want to talk. Rocco called me three times today. I answered once. After realizing what a mistake that was, I let the other two calls go straight to voicemail.

Nash called a few times, looking for the same thing that Rocco wants.

Answers.

Dante met up with both of them for a poker game last night, and he let it be known that I tried to object at Brooklyn’s wedding but broke up someone else’s instead.

My sister, Chloe, stopped by my apartment early this morning with coffee, muffins, and her daughter.

Nash told her about what happened via text, but all she said was that she loves me and is around if I need to talk.

She’s not pushy like my brothers are.

I have no clue if that’s because she doesn’t have Calvetti blood running through her veins. She came into our lives a few years after our mom died. My dad married her mom, Irena. We were one big happy family until a few years ago when Irena passed.

Chloe and I worked through that grief together, so our bond deepened.

She knows me well enough to understand that I’ll open up when the time is right. I’m not there yet.

I rap my knuckles against the red door.

I hear the faint sound of footsteps before the door flies open.

Dressed in a white and blue striped blouse and jeans, Afton smiles at me. “Hey, Luke.”

“Hey,” I mumble back because I swear to fuck I’m at a loss for words.

She’s breathtaking. It’s not her hair or her make-up. It’s just her.

It’s impossible not to notice how beautiful she is, but something about her seems different tonight.

There’s lightness in her posture. She seems relaxed and happy.

She takes a step back to swing her hand in the air. “Come in.”

I do, shutting the door behind me.

“You brought water?” she quizzes with a tilt of her head.

“I was going to bring wine, but I’m still avoiding anything stronger than this.” I hold up the bottle of chilled sparkling water that I picked up at the bodega around the corner from here. “I grabbed a roll of those fruit candies you like too.”

Her brows pinch together once she catches sight of the bright pink package in my fist. “How did you know?”

I gesture toward the two rolls of the same brand of candy on the coffee table. “It’s all in the details.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “It’s a habit I haven’t kicked since I was a kid.”

I drop the candy in her palm. “Who says you need to kick it? I’ve got a serious addiction to mint chocolate chip ice cream. I’m never giving that up.”

Her blue eyes widen beneath thick lashes. “You’re serious?”

I lean closer, locking my eyes on her face. “Dead serious.”

“I have a pint in my freezer.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “I guess that covers dessert.”

I can’t help but smile because damn, this is nice. It’s easy. There’s no bullshit to wade through or need to impress.

I feel like I’ve walked into the home of an old friend.

“Crack open the water, and I’ll grab two glasses.” She taps the lid of the bottle in my hand. “I made something special for dinner. You’re about to get a sneak peek of the latest viral recipe that will be on Rise and Shine tomorrow morning.”

“You lost me.” A deep chuckle rolls through me. “Are you going to be on the morning show? If so, I need to set an alarm to catch that.”

Her gaze wanders over the front of my blue button-down shirt before it lands squarely on my face. “I’m not. A social media influencer is. I cooked her dish and photographed it for Rise and Shine’s Instagram feed and website. I may have added a few spices to the mix. That’s a secret, so keep it to yourself.”

“My lips are sealed.” I punctuate the point by running my index finger over my bottom lip.

Her eyes are glued to my finger’s path. “Good.”

I drop my hand because the temptation to reach out and touch her lips is strong, and I don’t know where the hell it’s coming from.

“Follow me,” she says in a soft tone. “I tried a bite of the food right before you got here. You’re going to be happy that you came over.”

I already am.

***

“Let me get this straight.” I tap the fork in my hand against the side of the plate. “You went to photography school and then culinary school?”

Swallowing, she nods. “After I spent a year in college studying business.”

“You covered all of your bases.” I smile. “I’m impressed.”

“My parents weren’t.” She laughs, but it’s not based in joy. I’ve heard that same hollow laugh coming from inside of me in the past when something has struck a painful chord.