Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(53)

Dragging myself out of bed with the first sign of dawn, I checked the time in Tennessee, needing something to take my mind off of this limbo. My youngest brother was staying with Daisy and Trevor Payton since he’d been discharged from the hospital; I wondered if he might still be up. We’d been touching base every other day or so since I’d arrived in Italy, usually just a quick exchange of texts.

I missed him. I was used to seeing him every weekend, having him around. He was my buddy and I worried over him, especially now.

Unlocking my screen, I sent him a quick text asking if he was awake, and then I used the bathroom. Catching my reflection on the way out, I reminded myself to do something about my neglected beard.

My phone buzzed as I picked through my suitcase looking for some clean clothes, sorting a pile to the side that needed washing. Crossing to where I’d left my phone charging on the dresser, I scanned the new message.

Roscoe: I’m up. And before you say anything about me being up so late, I’ve been sleeping all day.

My lips curved at that. I could almost hear the words coming from his mouth, see him rolling his eyes at what he perceived as me hovering from Europe.

Billy: I wasn’t going to say anything about you being up. Wanted to see if you had time/energy to talk.

I hit send and brought the phone with me, walking back to my suitcase. I’d just picked up a clean pair of shorts when my cell buzzed again. Glancing at the screen, I saw Roscoe was calling.

“Billy. Hey.”

“Roscoe.” The knot in my stomach eased and I exhaled a fair measure of the worry I carried between our calls. He sounded better. Stronger.

“How’s Italy?”

I debated how to answer. Five days ago, after the train ride home from Florence and a quick dinner, I’d excused myself, planning to use the time to catch up on emails. Instead, I accomplished next to nothing, staring unseeingly at all the unread email in my inbox and debating whether—or when—to tell Scarlet the truth.

The days since had been more of the same. Every hour spent in her company had been both divine and frustrating. She talked and I said very little, keeping my hands to myself. Rather than ruin our truce by inadvertently saying something stupid or throwing her over my shoulder like Cletus suggested, I was content to listen to her melodic chatter and just be near her.

Because, if I touched her, I was pretty sure she’d end up over my shoulder.

“Billy? You still there?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m here.” I tossed the shorts back into the suitcase.

“How’s Italy?” he asked again.

“Nothing to complain about.”

“Drinking my share of wine, I hope.”

I glanced behind me, searching for a place to sit. “Uh, no. How are things there? Did you have your latest checkup?”

“I did, yesterday. Everything is healing fine and the doctors say I can start exercising again next month.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t.” He chuckled as he said this, his voice full of affection so I let his dad comment slide.

“And how is Simone?” I asked, pushing fingers through my hair. “How’s her recovery?”

“She’s so great. She’s already cleared for moderate exercise and will be going back to work soon.” Roscoe heaved a sigh. If I had to name it, I would’ve called it wistful. “I wish she didn’t have to leave. I’m feeling a little spoiled right now, seeing her every day, having her right down the hall.”

I smirked at that. “Spoiled?”

“Okay. Spoiled and tormented. Is that better?” He laughed and so did I.

Deciding not to sit, I walked over to the sliding glass door. “Yeah, that sounds more accurate. I’m glad you’re with the Paytons. They’ll keep you from overexerting yourself.”

“In more ways than one,” he grumbled, and that also made me smile. He sounded so much better than last week, more like himself. “How about you?” Roscoe asked, and I heard a door close on his side of the call.

“Like I said, nothing to complain about. When are you going to—”

“Nuh-uh, Billy. How are you? I want to know. What’ve you been doing? What’s on your mind?”

I leaned a hand against the doorframe and peered out over the Tuscan landscape. “Well, let’s see. I’ve been dealing with this irritating campaign development person who keeps harping on me about my image.”

“Your image? What’s wrong with your image? We look exactly the same, except you have those gray hairs.”

“No, Roscoe.” He never missed a chance to point out my gray hairs. I reckoned he was so proud of them because he was 50 percent of the reason they existed. “Not how I look. The man is near a fit since I called off the engagement with Daniella, keeps reminding me candidates without spouses don’t get elected.”

“Well, I’m glad you and Dani called it off. And for the record, so are the Paytons. In fact, I think they were relieved when she told them.”

That gave me pause. “Is that so?”

“Oh no, not like that,” he was quick to add. “They adore you, but y’all clearly weren’t suited for matrimony. They didn’t want either of you to settle for convenience. Anyway, how’s your hip?”