Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4)

Before I can ask her what her parents said about her jumping from one school to another, she shakes her head.

“My brother is an orthodontist.” She pierces a piece of carrot with her fork. “My dad is an ophthalmologist. My mom is a…”

“Orthopedist?” I ask with a grin. “I’m guessing it’s medical-related and starts with an O.”

Her eyes light up as she smiles. “Good guess, but no. My mom is a teacher. She taught advanced physics at a private high school until she retired last year.”

“Damn.” I lean back in my chair. “That’s a lot.”

“It’s a lot to live up to.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re right on par with them,” I say reassuringly. “You’re twenty-six, Afton. The client list on your website is damn impressive.”

She holds my gaze. “My brother is proud of me.”

The fact that her parents aren’t a part of that mention speaks volumes. I’ve never dealt with anything but overwhelming pride from my dad. I’m not raking in money at a fever pitch the way Rocco and Nash are at their respective careers, but I earn an honest living doing something I love.

If the accomplishment I’m known for on the day I leave this earth is that I saved a life in a fire or I uttered a kind word to someone who lost their life’s possessions, I’ll rest in peace.

“I barely know you, but you can add me to that list.” I look down at my empty plate. “The food was amazing, Afton. You can cook. Your photographs are stunning, and you built a business from the ground up.”

She slides to her feet to reach past me to grab my empty plate. “Thanks, Luke.”

I should be the one thanking her for the rush I feel when her hand brushes against mine.

“Are you ready for some ice cream?” She squints. “Let me guess. You’re a two-scoop kind of guy.”

“You called it.” I turn on the stool I’m sitting on so I can watch her round the island. “Maybe next time, I can cook for you.”

It’s a big assumption, but she’s giving me something I need right now. It’s not just the distraction or the escape from what I’m feeling.

We’re becoming friends.

Her brows perk. “You can cook?”

“I’m a fireman,” I remind her. “It’s part of the job description.”

Her gaze searches my face. “I like that idea. Since I already know where you live, you name the day and time, and I’ll be there.”

Chapter 14

Afton

I stand just outside my front door and watch as Luke disappears down the sidewalk heading toward the nearest subway stop.

It was his idea to call it a night after we had ice cream.

A part of me was grateful for that. I don’t know why I told him about how my parents feel about my career choice.

They’ve never come right out and said that they are disappointed that I didn’t follow their lead and pursue a degree in medicine or teaching. I’ve always sensed it, though.

There have been inside jokes between my folks about making rash decisions. Those jokes have always ended with both of them looking at me while they giggled together.

“Afton!”

My stomach clenches into a tight knot when I hear a man’s voice calling my name. I turn my head immediately. I know who it is before I see him approaching from the left.

I should be grateful that he didn’t arrive five minutes earlier, but I’m not.

I was hoping for a heads-up before I’d face Warren, but that’s not going to happen.

“Warren,” I say his name quietly.

His steps are quick as he closes the distance between us. The smile that has always graced his lips when he’s seen me in the past isn’t there.

I can tell that he’s angry.

The stiff set of his jaw gives that away.

“I got your message.” He stops two feet short of where I’m standing.

The last message I left on his voicemail was to the point. I asked him if we could talk. I told him I wanted to explain what happened.

I was cautious with my choice of words so there wouldn’t be a question in his mind about whether I was having second thoughts.

“Come in.” I push on the door handle to give him room to pass me.

He does without a glance in my direction.

Once we’re both inside, I close the door and turn to face him.

He’s looking around my home, taking in the space that we used to share. We never lived together. That was Warren’s choice. He told me that he wanted to save that for when we were officially man and wife.

I didn’t balk at it because I enjoyed the solitude after a long day at work.

He’d come over for dinner when he had an evening free, and we’d follow that up with some time in front of the television before we fell into bed together.