The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(117)

“Oh, Ethan, it’s so stylish!” Rose chirps. “I feel like I’m on Sex in the City!”

With the Black Widows chattering away at the bar, it’s just Ethan and me again. I take his hand and look around the kitchen. Though the main part of the restaurant has changed, the kitchen remains mostly the same. I squeeze my husband’s hand, then slide my arms around his lean waist.

“I think Jimmy would be really proud of you, Ethan,” I tell him.

His eyes get a little wet. “Thank you.” He clears his throat, then looks over toward the big stove. My gaze follows.

The shrine is gone—Ethan came home one night and without a word gave me the red bandanna, kissed me and left me alone. After holding the red cloth for a while, I placed a gentle kiss on it, then folded it carefully, put it in a box and tucked it in the back of my closet. I haven’t opened the box since. But it’s nice to know it’s there.

In place of the shrine, several pictures are now show-cased—the two I gave Ethan of him and Jimmy on the beach and on our wedding day. But there’s another one, too, one I’d found only when packing up my apartment to move in with Ethan, one I hadn’t seen in years.

It’s a picture of Jimmy, Ethan and me, taken at my graduation from college. I wore a pink dress, Ethan had on sunglasses, and the sun shone on Jimmy’s blond hair. We were all laughing as we stood three in a row, me in the middle, my arms around the handsome Mirabelli boys.

“I love that picture,” Ethan says, and his voice is a little husky.

“And I love you,” I say with my whole heart.

He kisses me then, one hand going to my tummy where our baby grows, his mouth perfect on mine.

There’s so much love in the world. Sadness, too, and heartbreak, but more than those, there are love and happiness and miracles of joy. My father may have died when I was only eight years old, but his love has followed me my whole life. Jimmy died far too young, but the love we had for each other is like a pearl in my soul, untainted and pure and now, at last, tucked away to make room for Ethan.

And Ethan…Ethan is my gift. My present and my future and the man I’ll love till the day I die.

Before my emotions—and hormones—get the best of me, I break off the kiss and wipe my eyes. “Get in there,” I say, fixing his collar. “You know the Black Widows don’t like to wait for their drinks.”

“After you,” he says, going over to open the door. I precede him into the beautiful dining room and smile at my elders.

“There you are, Ethan,” Rose coos.

“Thought you got lost back there,” grumbles Iris.

“Leave them alone,” Mom clucks, adjusting her short skirt. “They’re in love.”

Ethan smiles at me, then looks at his first three customers. “Ladies,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Mirabelli’s is now open for business.”