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“Nico,” she breathed his name, barely audible over the crowd and music.
His shoulders sagged a fraction. “You remember.”
He had been in her thoughts a lot since the accident. On and off, she had wondered how he was, hoping he’d been able to recover and that he was happy, never expecting to see him again.
“You’re . . .” Lexie scanned him from head to toe. “You’re alive.”
He nodded. “I am.”
“I thought—I mean—I never heard anything.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that. Guess I should have called or . . . something.”
“I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”
He let out a gust of air. “Right there with you.”
His words—the way he said them—sent a stream of questions barreling into her mind. Had he been nervous to see her again? Was this planned? Did he know she was still here or was this another chance crossing of their paths?
“You look . . .” Considering the last time she had seen him he’d been bruised and battered and covered in blood, she wasn’t sure how to articulate the marked improvement.
“Better than the last time you saw me?”
She laughed. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”
Their eyes held a long moment before Frank cleared his throat. “I take it you two know each other?”
“Ah, yeah,” Nico said. “You could say that.”
“I helped him out of a jam once,” Lexie joked.
“A pretty big jam, if memory serves.” His tone was light, but the intensity of his eyes as he spoke locked Lexie in place. She couldn’t look away. “The truth is, I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for her.”
Lexie felt heat rise in her cheeks at the compliment—the recognition—neither of which she felt overly comfortable receiving.
“Right,” Frank said. “Well, as much as I can’t wait to hear this juicy story, I’m in need of a beer first.” He slapped Nico’s shoulder and walked toward the cherry-stained bar.
Left alone with Nico, Lexie squirmed under his gaze. Her heart beat a mile a minute and she kept looking at her feet, fiddling with the menus in her hand, anything that gave her something to do besides stand there with nothing—and yet everything—to say.
“You—”
“I—”
They both laughed, awkward and unsure.
“Listen,” he said, stepping closer, visibly wincing as the jukebox volume increased, surrounding conversation becoming a dull roar. “I know this is totally unexpected, and I know you’re at work, probably busy, but is there any chance we can . . . talk?”
“Sure. Okay.” Lexie swallowed, felt her palms go damp and her stomach drop to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. Why she was so rattled by his presence, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the part of her brain responsible for conscious thought was currently grappling with the part that was telling her this wasn’t real—couldn’t be. “It’s just, we’re pretty slammed tonight so . . .”
For a moment, disappointment flickered across Nico’s face, then he looked around the packed room. “I understand. Maybe some other time.”
“Yeah. It’s a small town, so we’re bound to bump into each other.”
Frank—who had ever-so-casually drifted closer, beer in hand—stepped forward. “So, how’s about that table?”
Lexie tore her attention away from Nico to answer.
“Absolutely.” She handed over the menus she’d forgotten existed. “You can have a seat at table eight over there, and someone will be around to take your order shortly.”
