Casanova(73)

She shook her head.

“There’s a women’s shelter in Key West. He writes them a check every Christmas to make sure they can stay open and makes sure every kid there with their mom has a birthday present and party.” I put my glass down on the coffee table. “He goes regularly to hang out with the kids. He bakes with them and all kinds of shit you can’t ever imagine him doing. The first words he usually hears from the women there are ‘thank you’ because he’s making a difference in their lives.”

“Holy shit,” Cam whispered.

“And he doesn’t tell anybody because he doesn’t want the recognition. He doesn’t want the validation of anybody because he doesn’t do it for that. He does it because he loves the kids there.” I rested my chin on my hand and looked at my sister and Raven too. “He’s letting me publish one of the articles on what he does, as long as I keep the shelter anonymous. He’s letting me tell everybody what he does because he knows how badly I want to.”

Raven smiled.

“How can you not love someone like that?” I finished on a whisper and looked down. My eyes stung yet again, but there were no tears. God only knew I’d cried out everything I had earlier on today.

Raven was right. There was no ignoring this.

I just had to figure out what the hell I was going to do about it.





One cocktail turned into two, which turned into three, that turned into three takeout pizzas, garlic dough balls, cookie dough, and another few cocktails in front of Magic Mike.

Yeah. And now, we were all regretting it.

All except my very smug sister who only indulged in the food. Apparently one delight of pregnancy was watching your friends and sister get wasted and laughing at their hangovers the next morning.

I got rid of her by making her take both Cam and Raven home. Thank God. I was about to commit murder two times over if she laughed at me anymore.

I wasn’t that hung over, if I was honest. I was tired more than anything. Emotionally and physically freaking tired. Even having a couple too many Pussy Pounders didn’t help me sleep particularly well. I woke up around four a.m. and barely slept from then until everybody else woke up.

Now, I’d showered, gotten dressed, and brushed my hair. It was still pretty damp, but I had no intentions of going anywhere today. Maybe into the newspaper office, but no further. Of course, if I went into the office, my boss would only ask me whether or not I’d found out more information about the supposed Walker secret—the one I’d heard nothing about.

The one I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything about. I’d had enough secrets where the Walkers were concerned this week.

I looked at my phone. A part of me wanted to pick it up and call Brett, but I didn’t know what I’d say. I hadn’t so much processed what we’d talked about as I had thought about what I was going to do next. Raven was right last night—I could hold onto the pain I’d already nurtured for far too long and never move on, or I could look at where we were right now and go forward.

From the perspective of today, I was pretty sure I’d forgiven him. No—I’d forgiven him. I wouldn’t be able to forget what he said, but I guess...strangely...I got it. We were young, and he made a mistake with what he said.

Maybe if I had been braver back then I would have interrupted that conversation and ask him what he was talking about the way I would if I heard him say that now.

He made a mistake, but so did I. So did I in not confronting him. We were both wrong, and I couldn’t blame all my hurt on him. I held responsibility for a part of it too—a much smaller part, sure, but still a part of it.

Perhaps that was what I had to say to him. That I was sorry I wasn’t brave enough to confront him. I was sorry I’d left. I was sorry it had taken me eight years to come back. That my apology didn’t depend upon him returning one for his part in it.

Two knocks at my front door pulled me out of my thoughts. As I stood to answer the door, I could feel the lightness inside. It was the right choice to make if either of us ever wanted to move on...No matter where moving on would take us.

I opened the door to the sight of a portly man with bright pink cheeks.

“Lani Montana?” he asked gruffly, an iPad in his hands.

“Yes?”

“Got a delivery for ya.”

“Oh, but I haven’t...” I trailed off as he turned and walked back to his van. “...Ordered anything,” I finished.

He threw his iPad onto the passenger seat of his van and opened the back door. It squeaked as it slid, and I frowned as he pulled out two large boxes with white roses in.

“Um...”

“Where’dja want these?” Delivery Man asked me.

“Um...”

He gave me a toothy grin. “Unexpected, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Best find a place for ‘em, darlin’. I got another six of these.”

I blinked at him.

“I’ll put ‘em through ‘ere in the kitchen, should I?”

“Sure.” I stepped to the side to let him pass.

He shuffled past me with a chuckle, the flowers safe in his arms. He set them down on the charcoal, granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen and turned, passing me again.

Another six of them? What on earth?