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A knowing grin spreads across his face. “Fine. She’s okay, I guess. Pretty much hates your guts.”
Tell me something I don’t know, though I’m still not entirely clear why.
I mean, yes, technically, I dated her sister. Briefly. Not even first base. “What’s she up to?” I ask, trying to sound casual, like I didn’t just see her last night.
“She was working at this fancy schmancy restaurant—Salvatore’s. But she lost her job, thanks to some dickhead and his barfing kid.”
The grin evaporates from my face, replaced by a tightening in my chest.
Fuck.
Colby tosses the ball back with sharp, quick force, and it bounces off me before I catch it, the impact jolting me back to the present.
He watches it rebound away, then nods as he jogs after it. “Right. Catlike reflexes. Sharp as a tack.”
This time, when he snaps it at me, I catch it midair, but my chest tightens. I got her fired?
His gaze sharpens, the teasing gone. “Something going on with you and Jules?”
I hesitate, swallowing a ball of lead in my throat. “Nope.”
CHAPTER 19
Jules
Taylor’s voice bounces off the walls before the door even finishes closing. “Jules?”
“In the kitchen,” I say, leaning against the counter, a glass of wine cradled in my hand. Second glass. Or maybe third.
She bursts in and pulls me into one of her signature bear hugs. “Miss me, bitch?” she teases, grabbing the bottle of wine on the counter. “Wow, St. Émilion Grand Cru. The good stuff. We celebrating something big?”
“Not exactly.”
She catches the look on my face, and her smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
“Massimo fired me.”
“What?”
“Lisa and Dave smuggled this to me as a quick parting gift. For a red, it’s remarkably smooth. I was tempted to finish the whole thing myself. But since you’re here, I guess I’ll share.”
“You’re damn right, you’ll share,” she says, grabbing the bottle and studying the label, her perfectly arched brows liftingin appreciation. “This is a four-hundred-dollar bottle of premium red. No way you’re keeping all this to yourself.” She takes a deep breath, savoring the scent from the cork like it’s pure oxygen. “And let’s be real, you hated Salvatore’s anyway.”
“I know. But still.” I take another sip, the frustrations from last night seeping into today, settling deep into my bones. “I needed something—anything—to take the edge off, and we were out of tequila.” I swirl the rich purple liquid in my glass, staring at it for a moment. “It was awful.”
“Then I quit, too.”
“Taylor, no. You need that job. I can’t let you do that.”
“Oh, thank God. Because after this trip, I really do need that job.” She grins, taking a sip from my glass before handing it back. “Come on. You get the blankets; I’ll grab the snacks.”
We shuffle out to the balcony, our little slice of vintage Brooklyn. The rustic fire escape, once all rust and practicality, has been transformed with faux wooden floors and a sleek metal railing, turning it into our cozy perch.
Three floors up, we swing our bare feet like kids, imagining the passing cars below as part of a parade. On particularly tipsy nights, we might’ve even thrown in a royal wave or two.
Taylor drops a silver tray between us—one of the many vintage treasures she has a knack for finding. It’s piled high with pretzels, mixed nuts, and marshmallows—every bit of comfort food she could scavenge from the pantry.
Wrapped in blankets softened by time and way more fabric softener than anyone recommends, we settle in. The jagged skyline of old brick and steel stretches out before us as Taylor launches into a story about her latest almost-fiancé.
