Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  “No, Nate. Let me know what you find after you run the plate number.” His eyes meet mine as he accepts the bowl with a nod of thanks. “Could be someone from the fighting circuit, a bookie looking to hedge his bets or maybe one of Forrester’s guys, checking me out before the championship. Doubt it though. These guys didn’t look local.”

  I strive to keep my face a mask of composure, doing my best to hide the fact that I’m pretty sure I know exactly who those thugs were, and who they were looking for earlier. Luca’s eyes linger on my face, studying me with extra intensity, as though he knows I’m hiding something. The man is a human lie detector, I shit you not.

  Maybe it’s wrong, not to tell him that two loan shark lackeys are attempting to track me down and quite possibly take a baseball bat to my kneecaps. (And not just because I’ve always considered my legs to be one of my most attractive attributes.) The thing is, I know if I tell him, he’ll drag Nate and all available Knox Investigations resources into the matter.

  I can’t do that to Phoebe. I won’t. Not the day before her wedding. She deserves a perfect day, unmarred by my family drama.

  I’ve never needed someone to solve my problems in the past.

  No need to start now.

  I turn and flee back to the kitchen, feeling safer in the kids’ company than I do in Luca’s. Unfortunately, my security blanket is short-lived; when the clock strikes seven thirty, it’s bedtime for the twins. Upstairs, I help them brush their teeth and change into pjs before tucking them into their beds.

  “Will you read us a story, Lila?” Harry asks, peering down from the top bunk.

  “Which one, kiddos?”

  “The one about the crayons.”

  I roll my eyes. “You guys always pick that one.”

  “Because we like it, duh,” Potter says, shooting me an exasperated look.

  “Fine, fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. Crossing to the bookshelf, I pull down the thin white volume and crack it open to the first page. Settling in on the far end of the bottom bunk, I lean back against the wall and clear my throat.

  I haven’t even made it through the first page when Potter curls up on my left side. Approximately ten seconds later, two bare feet make their way down the ladder rungs, and Harry launches himself into the sliver of space to my left. They lean in to see the pictures as I turn the pages, cuddled as close as possible, warmer than two tiny space heaters.

  I keep my voice soft as I read the story about a box of crayons who go on strike from their duties — Red lamenting how he has to work harder than any of the other colors; Green complaining of a constant parade of reptile drawings; Blue reduced to a stub from forever shading in the sky. As I turn the page to Purple — who’s wondering why it’s so darn hard to stay inside the lines — I glance down at the blonde heads snuggled into my sides and see both kids are already asleep, no doubt exhausted from their hours of chasing me around the park like banshees. I’m about to close the book when I feel the weight of someone’s eyes on me.

  Looking up, I spot Luca leaning against the doorjamb. I don’t know exactly how long he’s been watching me read to the kids, but from his expression I’d guess the answer is a while. The room is half-dark, lit only by a small table lamp and a plug-in nightlight, but even with his features cast in shadow I can clearly make out the devastatingly tender look in his eyes.

  This was a mistake, I realize abruptly. Introducing Luca to the twins… playing house with him all day, like we really are some kind of family… it’s stirring dangerous thoughts to life inside my head… and even more perilous feelings to life inside my chest.

  My throat feels tighter than normal as I slowly extract myself from the twins, doing my best not to wake them.

  “Asleep?” Luca whispers, appearing at my side like a ghost. I’ll never get used to the way he moves — in total stealth, a feat that should be damn near impossible for a man of such large proportions.

  Nodding, I turn to the bed and lightly shift Potter’s body, so her head is on the pillow and her limbs are covered by the blankets. I have no idea how I’m going to get Harry back up to his bunk without rousing him.

  “Here, I’ll get him.” Luca swoops in before I can blink, lifts Harry into his arms with such gentleness you’d think the boy were made of glass, and promptly deposits him in his bed. I watch his big hands pull the covers up over the boy, and curse my stupid heart for clenching like a fist inside my chest.

  I wasn’t wrong, earlier.

  He’ll make a great father one day.

  We’re silent as we douse the lights and walk out of their room, the door shutting behind us with a soft click. I can feel Luca looming close on my heels as we descend the stairs and walk back to the kitchen. The puppy is sound asleep on the hardwood floor, limbs splayed in all directions like a boneless starfish.

  “I don’t even have food for him, just remnants of the kibble Duncan left behind in his doggie carrier,” I murmur, glancing at Luca. “I suppose, if I’m keeping him, I’ll have to get some. Plus a bed, and toys, and plastic bags.” I narrow my eyes at the dog. “Lots and lots of plastic bags, pup, because you are a mass producer of poo. I genuinely do not understand know how such a small beast can create such a big output.”

  Luca steps up to my side. “You ever gonna give him a name, or keep calling him pooch and pup forever?”

  “If I name him, I have to commit to keeping him.”

  “Ah. And Delilah James Sinclair never commits to anything.”

  “That is not true. When I find a flattering shade of lipstick, I rarely vary from it. I’ve been wearing the same MAC red since I was sixteen.”

  “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Then what did you mean, pray tell?” I flutter my eyelashes. “No doubt another charming criticism of my every personality trait.”

  He shakes his head. “Not a criticism. Also not a fan of you pulling this Holly Golightly shit, though — her and her no-name slob cat, who she can’t own up to loving or naming, ‘cause she’s so determined to be alone. Hate to break it to you, babe, but that never love a wild thing mentality never made anyone happy, least of all her.”

  “You’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” I exclaim, stunned by the revelation.

  Who the hell got Luca Buchanan to watch a rom-com? The question sends an unfamiliar flare of jealousy through my chest. I ignore it, with effort.

  “Not the point, babe.”

  “Well, it was kind of the point, I mean, the fact that you’ve seen that movie is a vital part of your little anecdote—”

  “Delilah.”

  My mouth snaps closed. I sigh and look back at the sleeping puppy for a moment in silence.

  “Fenway.”

  “Come again?”

  “Fenway.”

  “The neighborhood, the frank, or the ballpark?” he asks, still not understanding.

  “The dog.” I look up at him. “What, is it a bad name? I told you I don’t know anything about dogs! See, this is just stupid. Forget I said anything, clearly I’m out of my depth here and—”

  “Babe.” Luca’s voice is as soft as his eyes.

  My heart pounds. “Yeah?”

  “It’s a good name.”

  “Oh.” An uncomfortably warm sensation shoots through my veins. “Right. Fine. Whatever.”

  He chuckles as I cross the kitchen to sit with my newly-christened pet, as though he finds me vastly entertaining, despite the fact that I wasn’t trying to be funny.

  Rude.

  “If you need someone to take you to the pet store, I’d be happy to drive you. Know your car is… indisposed.”

  “Don’t you have a fight you’re supposed to be training for?”

  “You want a ride or not?”

  “Not. There’s a place right around the corner, I’ll walk over first thing in the morning. Thanks anyway, though.” I glance up at him from the floor. He looks absurdly tall, from down here. “And… thanks for helping me with the kids today. They had way
more fun with you there.”

  “I had fun with them, too. They’re good kids.”

  I nod and stare at my hands as they stroke Fenway’s fur, because I’m way too chickenshit to look at Luca when I say the next part. “I’ve had a lot of bad days, recently, but this one was definitely an improvement. It was almost… fun.” I pause and pull in a breath. “You made it fun.”

  I don’t hear him move, but I know he’s there — crouching beside me, so close I could reach out and touch him with ease. We’re sitting on a cold hardwood floor, but everything in my body feels superheated with Luca invading my space.

  “I had fun too,” he says softly. Just the timbre of his voice is enough to make me tremble.

  The sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket cuts through the tension between us like a gunshot. He glances briefly at the screen, grimaces, and promptly hits a button to send the caller straight to voicemail.

  My brows go up. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s just Colton. I’ll call him back later.”

  “Oh.” I pause. “I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are. Just having a slight difference of opinion, these past few days.”

  “Over me,” I guess, guilt swamping me.

  “Not just you.” Luca’s mouth flattens into a frown. “He wants me in the gym twenty-four-seven. Not a fan of any deviations from his training schedule.”

  “You don’t have to stay here, Luca. The kids are asleep, and Joyce and Ted should be home soon. I don’t want to hold you up.” My eyes flicker over to him. “I’ve already monopolized most of your day. I’d hate to mess up your night as well. I know how important this championship is for you.”

  There’s a heavy beat of silence. We stare at each other, wordlessly communicating a thousand things we’re both unwilling to voice aloud.

  Go, please go, because if you stay another moment I might kiss you again, I don’t say, trapped in the tractor beam of his light blue irises.

  If that was supposed to be a threat, you need to rethink your strategies, Luca doesn’t volley back, mouth twisting in a smirk.

  Shit.

  After a long moment, he settles in on the other side of Fenway — his back to the kitchen island, his legs extended out across the hardwood.

  “I’m good right here, Delilah.”

  My stomach somersaults.

  For a long time, we don’t say anything else. We just sit there, breathing the same air, stroking the puppy between us with hands that are careful not to accidentally brush, for fear a single spark might light an inferno neither of us knows how to contain.

  I force my thoughts from the man beside me and focus on the kitchen, eyes drifting from the pretty mosaic backsplash to the custom cabinetry. The Macombers’ place is as lovely as its inhabitants. It’s strange to think, in a few short days, I won’t live twenty steps away, anymore.

  In truth, I’ll miss being their neighbor almost as much as I’ll miss my apartment itself. Joyce and Ted may be in their early forties, but the twenty-year age gap has never been a limiting factor in our friendship. And that’s really all we were — friends — until one morning a few months ago, when a disheveled-looking Ted appeared on my doorstop with the twins in tow and begged me to watch them because their regular babysitter cancelled at the last minute.

  Please, just this once, it’s an emergency!

  I wanted to say no. I didn’t know a thing about kids, let alone twin five-year-olds with more cumulative energy than a nuclear reactor. It was supposed to be a one time thing, just filling in for a few hours.

  I never expected to bond with the mini monsters.

  I never expected to be this sad about leaving them.

  Luca’s voice interrupts my reverie, which is probably a good thing because my eyes are stinging dangerously.

  “We tuckered this guy out. He’s exhausted.” His amused gaze lifts from Fenway’s sleeping form up to meet mine. I attempt a smile, but I must not quite pull it off because his brows lift when he catches sight of it. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie, mouth twisting. “It’s just really starting to sink in that I’ll be leaving here for good, in a few days. Leaving… everything.” I bite my inner cheek to keep myself in check. “By everything I obviously mean my apartment. Really, how am I ever going to find ceilings that high in a first floor unit ever again? Not to mention rent control! Recessed lighting! Crown moldings! In-unit washer and dryer!”

  “And two kids who clearly adore you, living one door down,” he murmurs, seeing straight through to the truth, as always, no matter how hard I try to mask it.

  “I suppose I’ll miss them, too.” My eyes are stinging again. “Whatever.”

  “You’ll still see them.”

  “It won’t be the same, though.” I hold his stare. “None of it will be the same.”

  He watches me carefully for a few seconds. Then, moving so slowly it makes my insides shake, as if he thinks anything quicker will make me bolt like a deer coming face to face with a hunter… he reaches out and cups one large hand around my cheek.

  I go completely still as soon as his fingertips make contact. For a few frozen seconds, I do nothing at all beneath his featherlight hold. But then… I pull a sharp breath into my lungs, tilt my head, and lean into his touch so my head is resting in his hand.

  It feels like surrender — the same sensation I had weeping into his t-shirt. His eyes flare with heat as they scan my face, so close to his own. Electric volts hum through me, radiating outward from my cheekbone until every square inch of my skin seems to pulse with energy.

  By all accounts, it’s a simple gesture of comfort — his big palm resting on the fragile bones of my face. Nothing erotic. Hell, I was touched more personally by the dental hygienist during my last cleaning. It definitely shouldn’t feel so…

  Intimate.

  Yet, inexplicably, it does. Sitting there with him on the kitchen floor, resting my head in his hands, I’m more affected than I want to admit, even to myself. My eyes drift closed at the sensation of his strong fingers on my skin, and without thinking, I lean toward him, drawn to his fortitude like a moth to flame. I’m so tired, so shaken… and he’s so unflinchingly strong. A rock in the ocean, the kind you cling to in hopes of saving yourself from being swept away by the undertow.

  I’m so close to him, now, I can feel the puppy’s velvety fur brushing up against my arm every time he takes a breath. Still, it somehow doesn’t feel close enough. For a crazy instant, I consider what it would be like if I cast aside all my hangups, leaned across the divide, and crushed my mouth against Luca’s.

  What would it be like?

  Wonderful. It would be freaking wonderful, Lila.

  Or have you already forgotten this afternoon?

  Before I can do something infinitely stupid, like test that theory, I hear the sound of a key turning in the front door. Joyce and Ted are home.

  There is a god.

  Luca’s hand drops away as we both scramble to our feet. He lifts the puppy into his arms like a newborn baby. Fenway barely acknowledges the disturbance, except to let out a low, displeased yap.

  How dare you foolish humans interrupt my doggie slumber?

  The Macombers sneak into their own home like bandits in the night, as though afraid any noise at all will wake their children. With whispered thanks, they hand me a thick wad of cash and walk us to the door. Joyce, who’s had at least four glasses of wine at dinner, shamelessly mouths HE’S SO HOT! at me behind Luca’s back while her husband, Ted, grins at his wife and mouths, SHE’S SO DRUNK!

  I suppress a giggle and shake my head at them as we step over the threshold.

  Hashtag couple goals.

  Once we’re outside, Luca walks me to my door. We linger on my stoop for a moment in silence; if I had to guess, I’d say we’re both more than a little afraid to shatter it.

  “You’ll be needing this,” he mutters finally, passing Fenway into my arms.

  I smile as I take the
puppy from him. “Thanks again, for all you did today.”

  “No need to thank me, babe.”

  “There is, though.” I swallow. “Between getting my phone back from Mr. McGuire, talking to the police on my behalf, and helping with the twins… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  I can think of a few ways, his eyes inform me, so heated I think I might combust.

  I take a hasty step backward, out of his space. “I’ll see you around, Buchanan.”

  His lips twist. “That you will, Delilah.”

  “At Phoebe’s Christmas party,” I say, only half teasing.

  His lips twist. “Before then, babe.”

  “Oh? Is there a Halloween party I’m unaware of?”

  His smirk turns into a smile. “Nope.”

  “Fourth of July?”

  He shakes his head.

  I sigh. “Well, I’m fresh out of holidays.”

  “Has to be a holiday party for us to cross paths, huh?”

  “Based on our history, I’d say yes. The past few days have been… an exception.”

  “Uh huh.” His smile becomes a grin. “So, what’s the plan? You go back to leaving a room whenever I walk into it?”

  “I so don’t do that.” I huff indignantly.

  He stares at me, still grinning, the bastard.

  Okay, I might do that. Occasionally.

  “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, Luca. I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you. Is that what you need to hear?”

  “Don’t need to hear anything, babe. Want to hear your reasoning for it. But you take your time with that explanation. Don’t mind waiting for you to figure it out, even if I already have.”

  “And what exactly have you figured out, oh mighty all-seeing one?”

  He shrugs. “From where I’m standing, the past few days with me you haven’t once knocked over any board games or flailed like a fish out of water or walked into any large appliances. You haven’t been squirrelly at all.”