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“That’s weird,” she blurts out. “We aren’t even dating. We’ve never been on an actual date. I don’t even know what kind of shampoo you use or what your favorite season is.” Her eyes widen. “I don’t even know when your birthday is. We can’t live together. We’re, like … strangers.”
“A stranger you said I love you to and who’s seen you naked multiple times. A stranger who knows what you taste like and the sounds you make when you’re coming,” I murmur, a small grin breaking out across my face. “One who knows how you drink your coffee in the morning. Who knows that, even though I bought you a bunch of sketching pencils, you always use the same one. You love pasta more than the average person. You put an ungodly amount of salt on your French fries. And most of all … you are a terrible flyer.”
She doesn’t speak; she just gazes up at me.
“I know it seems fast. I get it. But, Briar, in six years, you’re the first woman I can even stand the thought of spending the night with, let alone living with. And if I’m being honest, after all we’ve been through together, I can’t imagine not living in the same house to make sure you’re safe.” I laugh, causing a dull pain in my chest from the gunshot wound from a week ago. “Or maybe you’ll keep me safe, I should say.”
We’ve talked a little bit about how she shot and killed Enzo and how she’s dealing with the emotions of that. I haven’t wanted to pry too much, but to be honest, she’s tough. She’s been through more in her life than most people twice her age. Some people wouldn’t be able to handle it, but Briar? She’s going to be okay.
Just another reason why I love her. She’s tough as nails.
Cupping her cheek, I press a kiss to her lips. “Besides, until I’m healed, you know I’m going to need you. Sponge baths and all.”
She smiles, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a nurse, Mr. Hale.”
“That’s too bad. I could get down with you in a sexy-nurse costume,” I drawl.
Swatting my arm, she shakes her head. “Well, too bad for you. There will be nothing sexy happening until you get cleared by the doctor. So, your sponge baths will be highly unsatisfactory, my friend.”
As the last words leave her lips, the wheels of the plane touch down, and her eyes grow huge. Bringing my lips to hers, I kiss her—hard. At first, her body stays tense. But within seconds, she kisses me back, melting against me like butter.
Once the aircraft comes to a stop, she pulls away. No doubt not wanting my mom, who’s sitting a few rows up, to see us making out.
“I see what you did there,” she says with a grin. “Real smooth, Hale. Distracting me so that I didn’t freak out during the landing.”
I shrug. “When you’re a dime piece like me, it’s easy to do.”
As she stands, I do the same, and she shoots me a warning glare. “You can take the few steps to the gangway, and then your ass is getting into a wheelchair.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’m fine, that I’m not an eighty-year-old man, but she shoots me another glare. This time, it’s worse.
“Don’t be a difficult prick. Sit your ass in the wheelchair and let me push you. Or else …”
My mother yawns, slowly standing. “Wowzer, that sleeping pill really worked. Knocked me right out cold.” She reaches down, grabbing her bag. “How was the flight for you all?”
I jerk my thumb toward Briar. “She could have used one. She only asked me about the different sounds the plane was making, like, fifty times.”
Briar gives me a pointed look. “Excuse me, but up until this trip to Italy, I had never even been on a plane!” She pokes her finger into my arm. “Maybe I’ll push your wheelchair into the security line and watch the guards pile onto you.”
“You could,” I say, lifting a brow. “But I’d just flash them my badge.”
Ignoring me, she takes a few steps off of the plane before she spots a wheelchair, ready and waiting, and wheels it behind me.
“Get in, big guy. Your chariot is ready.”
I glance at my mom, who points her finger from me to the chair.
“You heard the woman. Sit your ass down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter and plop my ass into the chair.
As she pushes me through the gangway and we get out into the airport, my eyes instantly find my sister, aunts and uncles, cousins, Rossi and his wife and kid. He flew home the day after I woke up and he knew I wasn’t going to die.
They all clap. My sister, Ginger, holds a sign that says, Welcome home, bub. And Rossi’s daughter sits on his shoulders, clapping her tiny hands together, as his wife stands beside them with one hand on Rossi’s back.
When I pass by my aunts, uncles, and their kids, each of them reaches out and touches my shoulder.
“We’re so happy you’re home,” my cousin Marie cries, and I can’t help but wonder what my mother told them happened to me since everything I did is confidential.
