Page 61 of Late to Love

Something about the way he says it makes me hold my breath. “Anthony Hall, are you going to miss seeing me every day?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

I exhale, resting my head on his chest and squeezing him. For all his bluster and carrying on, Anthony has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.

“Besides, who else am I going to make fun of for their taste in music?” he continues.

I laugh and pinch his side as I look up at him. “Youlikemy taste in music, old man.”

“Do I, though?” he asks with a wink. Then he leans down for a kiss, the simultaneously soft and rough bristles of his beard more of a comfort now than anything. He parts my lips with his tongue, the kiss quickly turning heated, and I let myself go pliant. This man can have anything he wants, anytime. I swear he could lay me out in the grocery store aisle, and I’d be down for it.

When he pulls away, he smacks my ass. “Come on, Miss Belle. You’ve got bowling practice to get to.”

“Wait,” I protest softly and take his hand, gesturing to the rest of the loft. “At least look at what I did with the place.”

He smiles.Reallysmiles. “Show me around.”

So, I do. I point out the extra-long, extra-deep couch and loveseat in deep gray, and the deep purple retro coffee table, tiled and kidney-shaped, that sits with them. I show him the monstera plants that require almost nothing but complement the space. The finishing touches in the bathroom and kitchen, the custom bookshelves filled with all the science fiction paperbacks I’d found in random piles around the place. In his bedroom, the lush rug in a deep sunset orange that offset the white of the duvet covering his bed. And more, each area designed to feel clean but at home, beachside but without a shell or sand-themed piece of decoration in sight.

Anthony turns to me, pulling me close and cradling my face with his hands. “Darcy. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

I blink rapidly, trying to fight the tears that appear unbidden. “You probably won’t thank me when you see the bill,” I rasp, reaching for a joke to escape the outright tenderness I see in his expression.

“Don’t do that,” he admonishes gently, swiping the wetness beneath my eyes with his thumbs. “I’m trying to give you a compliment, Darcy Belle. You’re astonishing, and even though you did all this without any input, you created a home that is absolutely, one hundred percent me.”

And with that, he leans down and kisses me. It feels different than any kiss he’s given before, infused with tenderness and care, and maybe something else that I won’t dare hope for. I kiss him back, hoping he feels what I do. When he pulls away, the tension between his brows is gone, something I’ve never seen before.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He smiles again, and it cracks my heart wide open. “Come on. Time for bowling.”

Downstairs, Anthony takes his place behind the bar, relieving Harrison and immediately making me an Aperol Spritz. He slides it in front of me and I raise a brow.

“Who said this was what I wanted?”

He smirks. “You’re wearing orange.”

I glance down at the shirt, which does, in fact, have a bit of orange in it. “So?”

He leans his elbows onto the bar, self-satisfaction oozing from him. “I’ve figured you out, my dear. You choose your drinks to match your clothes.”

I catch my breath.My dear. “I most certainly do not,” I counter.

For the third time in half an hour, he smiles. A real, actual smile—inpublic.I half want to look around to see if I’m being pranked.Then he says, “You may not realize it, but you do.”

“Okay, well, I’d planned on ordering an Aperol Spritz anyway, so that was just a good guess by you.” Why am I so flustered? He can’t know me that well…can he?

But then I think back over the past few months. The way he could make my coffee after one day. The way a silk pillowcase appeared on one of his pillows the first night I slept over. How he knows precisely where to touch me, where to graze his teeth and where to bite, how hard I like to be spanked, the angle that’ll make me moan like nothing else. My favorite kind of pen, even.

I don’t get a chance to investigate how all this really makes me feel before the rest of the crew wanders in, none of them surprised to see me already at the bar, drink in hand.

Anthony has each woman’s drink ready to go, but before we turn to the lane, he stops us.

“I have something for you.”

They all look at me, but I lift my shoulders. “No idea,” I say, my own curiosity just as piqued. “What’s going on?”

He reaches for something beneath the bar, then pulls out four different gift bags.

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