For You (The 'Burg #1)(135)

“She movin’ in too?” Colt asked, eyes still on the clothes, lifting the coffee to his lips but I had stopped breathing.

What did he mean “too”?

Was I moving in? Did he want me to move in? Did I want to move in?

We’d been back together for four days. I thought that was pretty much the definition of “too soon”. Then again, we’d known each other for thirty-nine years and that was undeniably the definition of “about f**king time”.

“Feb,” Colt called and my body jolted before I focused on him.

“What?”

“You were starin’ at me like I’d grown a second head.”

“Um…” I started then decided to shy away from the subject, “I asked Jessie to bring them over. I only own bar clothes. I don’t have anything to wear to the funeral.”

“You looked nice in that jeans skirt the other night.”

“I can’t wear a jeans skirt to a funeral,” I informed him, though I knew this was a wasted effort. Women shouldn’t bother saying things to men about the intricate rules of clothing, such as what was appropriate to wear and when. It wasn’t that men didn’t listen. It was that they were genetically programmed not to process such statements, “And anyway, I bought that to go with you to Costa’s. That’s my Costa’s with Colt Skirt.”

“You bought it to go to Costa’s?”

“Well, I didn’t. I sent Jessie on a mission.”

I was not monitoring what I was saying, I was still freaking out about the “movin’ in too” comment. If I was, I would have never told him I sent Jessie on a mission to buy an outfit for a date with him. It exposed too much.

He grinned again. This grin communicated two things too. One, he thought I was funny. Two, he knew I liked him, a lot, and he was feeling full of himself.

“Don’t you need to take a shower?” I asked.

He kept grinning through the word, “Yeah.”

I motioned to the bathroom with my head before I started to turn, saying, “Well, there’s crime to be fought, get a move on.”

I didn’t get to the door before he caught me, pulled me back into his body and bent his head to kiss my neck.

Then in my ear, he said, “I remember everything about you and I remember all the reasons why I loved you. Never could forget even when I tried.” I sucked in breath, unprepared for this stealth attack, while he went on. “Who knows, baby? We had all that time together, I coulda got used to it, learned to take it for granted.” His arms gave me a squeeze. “Now, that’ll never happen.”

I felt tears hit my eyes and there were a lot of things I wanted to do. Turn and kiss him. Wrap him in my arms so tight his body would be forced to absorb mine. Rip off his clothes and show him how much I loved him using my hands and my mouth. Or simply tell him I loved him, I had since the moment I set eyes on him and I never stopped.

Instead of any of these, I warned, “Colt, it’s eight forty-five and I haven’t cried yet today. I got a funeral to go to this afternoon. Don’t spoil my run early.”

He ignored me.

“We’ll settle this now,” he said and I braced because I didn’t know what we were settling. It was a good idea to brace because what we were settling rocked my world. “Call your landlord today, tell ‘im you’re givin’ up your lease. You gotta sublet for awhile, fine.”

“Colt –”

“Your Dad, Morrie and I’ll get your shit gradually. Spend some time today sorting it and mark the stuff priority that you need over here.”

“Colt –”

“I don’t give a shit where you put my stuff, what we’ve got double, what you decide to throw away.”

Well, that would mean he’d have matching mugs. I’d travelled light for fifteen years but indulged on a killer set of stoneware when I moved home. It cost a whack and I wasn’t home much to use it but I liked knowing I had it.

I didn’t share this, I said, “Colt –”

“Just don’t move the jerseys or the Harry’s print.”

“Colt –”

“And find some way to lose that f**kin’ picture of flowers your mother put in the second bedroom.”

“Colt –”

“It isn’t me or you.”

He obviously had been so focused on the picture he hadn’t seen the be-flowered sheets and comforter Mom put on the bed or, clearly, the very ruffled dust ruffle. They weren’t me or Colt either, by a long shot.

“Colt!”

“What?”

I turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Are you telling me to move in?”

“You got a problem with that?”

This was an excellent question, one to which the only answer was “no” yet, even so, I couldn’t utter that word.

Instead, I said, “Only people probably gonna use that room are Mom and Dad. She wants to sleep under flowers? What do we care?”

He smiled again and this smile only communicated one thing and that one thing made the tears prick my eyes again.

His voice was a lot less pushy and a lot more gentle when he said, “I gotta look at it every day.”

“Then close the door.”

His arms grew tighter, pulling me closer, before he whispered, “I’m gonna say this once and let it go.”