Page 32 of Almost Always

He chuckled and started on the bacon. “I do remember the cake adventure. Might be our most successful experiment.”

“It tasted pretty good, even though it was still quite soft in the middle.”

“I’m certain Nonna and Poppy spent the next day hunched over the toilet.”

She giggled. “We did warn them that one piece per person was enough.”

“They were dedicated to being proud of us.”

There was a moment of silence before she softly said, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when they passed, Raff.”

He turned to see that she had climbed onto the counter, hair tumbling over one shoulder. She took his breath away, but her expression made him sigh. “You never have to apologize for that, okay? Things happen. They understood that too.”

“I didn’t even know until afterwards, when Dad called.”

“It was quite sudden,” he admitted. They’d been getting on in age and while there were no serious illnesses, something tipped the scales. First Poppy, then six months later, Nonna. Itwasa shock, but knowing they didn’t have to live long without each other seemed to make everything a little better. “But they knew how much you loved them. That’s what matters.”

She nodded, eyes downcast as she picked at the label on her bottle, tears sliding down her face. He lowered the flame on the pasta and stepped in front of her. Sliding a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up and smiled when their eyes met.

“Do not feel guilty for not being there, okay? Your dad sent regular updates about your life. They got to see you grow into the beautiful woman you are today. Nonna talked about you all the time and she was so proud of you. None of us could have predicted when they’d go, but they were both happy at the end.”

She sniffled and nodded. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away the tears and realized how close they were standing. The caramel swirls in her eyes were hypnotizing and the softness of her mouth tempting, but he caught himself before he did something stupid like kiss her.

“You ready to eat?”

“Yes,” she whispered and after a long moment of staring into her eyes, he stepped back and served the food.

CHAPTER 11

Crying had not been her plan for the evening. To be fair, from the moment Rafferty rushed out of her shop to jump into a fire, she’d found herself tearing up constantly. Her brain had the ability to think of the worst at all times and send her into a tailspin. So it wasn’t surprising that the minute they started talking about his grandparents, she had tears streaming down her face.

For someone who grew up with toxic people until the age of six, she didn’t know that family members could be loving and caring. It baffled her the first few years after she moved to New York, because nobody had ever shown affection like that. Rafferty’s grandparents became hers and they cared for her in ways she didn’t know was possible. Nonna fed her, and never criticized her body or appearance. She loved Daisy like she was her own.

Even her father was so caring, it all seemed so false at first.

Eventually she understood how much love had been around her when she was a kid, how fortunate she was to have people care about her for as long as they did. Knowing that Nonna was proud of her was what made her cry more.

They took their food and settled into big comfy chairs on the back porch. The sun had been setting when she got there and now the stars were putting on a damn good show. The soft lamp allowed her to admire the man sitting beside her, take in the way the sleeveless T-shirt flaunted his strong tattooed arms.

“Tell me about your tattoos,” she said, adjusting her saree around her legs once she had them tucked onto the chair. The silver lines she’d seen a hint of at the ice cream shop were now clearly visible. They really looked like lightning and when he moved or flexed his arm, it shimmered.

“These,” he started, stretching out his left arm, “are to cover up my scars. Between training and running into buildings, I accumulated quite a few wounds. Cal would play connect the dots sometimes and I liked the way it looked. The artist told me about Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken items with gold paint, and that inspired me. But instead of gold, we went with silver.”

“Because you’re not broken.”

He chuckled, nodding as he set his arm down, drawing her eyes to his bicep. Where the silver lines ended, there were a bunch of New York themed tattoos, including one of their brownstones. She ate her dinner, eyes tracing every inch of his exposed skin.

“Is there any skin available?”

He laughed. “My back mostly and my left leg. Ran out of ideas after my first thigh tat.”

“What’s on your other arm?”

He hesitated and jaw flexed before he shifted to show her his arm. The inside of his forearm had drawings that looked like they were doodles by his son—a rocket ship, planets, weird looking stars, Callahan’s name and a small selection of badly drawn flowers that she recognized as her work. They ended where the trees wrapped around the portion beneath his elbow.Haphazardly drawn lines were inked around his bicep along with flowers that she couldn’t identify because he lowered his arm and turned away.

“Wait.”

“Daze.” His voice was strained.

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