I love you.
It’s the first time Lee has ever said those words to me. Becky Wilson, my best friend growing up, always believed this was the most important milestone in a relationship—more important than being exclusive or even having sex. And I suppose now she’s right because those three words feel important. They feel huge. Like the axis I’m spinning on has suddenly shifted.
The waitress comes by to check on my progress. She pfts and looks at Colin. “How ’bout you, honey? You hungry?”
“I’d love an orange juice,” he says. “Thanks.”
“That all? Come on, you look like you could eat a goddamn cow and still be hungry.” She appraises his towering frame and smirks.
“All right.” He hands her the menu. “I’ll have bacon and eggs. Bacon crisp, eggs over easy. Wheat toast.”
The waitress grins—at least as close to a grin as this curmudgeon probably gets. “See,” she says, glaring at me, “here’s a man who knows what he wants.”
She makes a note and clops back toward the kitchen. The interruption has eased the tension, or maybe that’s just the alcohol making its way through my liver. I reach for my coffee.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just used to this place.”
“I think she likes you.”
He sips his glass of water. “Nah.”
When he puts it down again, I find myself bracing for a lecture, but there is nothing hard about his expression, nothing remotely judgmental in the way he looks at me. “So,” he says, “Happy New Year.”
Relief sweeps through me. “Happy New Year.”
He loosens his tie, which strikes me as a nervous habit. Well, good. That makes two of us.
“Food’s good here.” He nods at my plate. “Great pancakes.”
“You come here often?”
“Used to. I grew up a few streets over.”
The waitress takes another order behind us, and the conversation stalls. I don’t know what to say to him, or even where to begin. So I sip my coffee, hating myself for having to self-medicate with caffeine. Colin isn’t even tipsy, despite the formal attire and the lateness of the hour. He smells delicious, too, like he just stepped out of the shower.
“Did you go out?” I ask.
“Just to dinner,” he says.
“Dinner with who?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you . . .” I put my mug down to get a decent look at him. Still bald, but with a freshly shaven jaw. Lovely eyes, even bluer than usual in the muted lights. I must be making him uncomfortable because he loosens his tie again and reaches for the orange juice that hasn’t yet arrived.
“Because I what?” he asks.
“Because you look like a million bucks.”
A faint blush creeps up his neck. “Try a couple hundred.”
“The suit?”
He nods. “I only own one. Fortunately my next-door neighbor’s a tailor. Best in the city, you ask me.”
Best in the city, best on the block—doesn’t matter. Colin would look good in a bedsheet. Or is that the booze talking?
“You’re blushing,” he says.
“So are you.”
He smirks. “Well, thanks for the compliment on the suit. My sisters would be pleased.”
“Your sisters?”
“My dinner companions.” The waitress comes by with his orange juice, and he reaches for it like a lifeline. “A very generous neighbor insisted on it, said we deserved a fancy night out.”
“You do, Colin.”
He shrugs, forces a smile. “So, what brings you all the way out here?”
“Gruder had a party.”
At the sound of Gruder’s name, his smile vanishes, and his eyes go dark. “Who tried to hurt you?”
“No one.” My face flushes. “I exaggerated what happened.”
“You said you ‘got away from him.’”
“I don’t need a hero, okay? You’ve already got that box checked.” He sighs as he stares into his orange juice. Guilt swims through me. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.” He looks up. “It’s none of my business.”
I sip my coffee to wash things down. “I didn’t even get his first name. He’s Gruder’s older brother.”
“And he lives in Southie?”
“Colin, I’m serious. Don’t go all vigilante on me. Gruder’s your teammate—”
“Was.”
That word lands in the air, smoldering. “What?”
“I’m not coming back.”
“Ever?”
He turns toward the window, and for a long moment, he just watches the empty street. “I can’t swim anymore.”
“That’s bullshit!” A few old men crane their necks to glare at me, but I’m unmoved. “Get a surgeon who can fix your shoulder.”
The waitress brings his bacon and eggs. Colin thanks her, then proceeds to shower his eggs in salt and pepper. He eats with painful deliberation, studying his food like it holds the secrets to the universe.
“Colin—”
“It’s not that easy, Avery.” He shoves his plate aside. “My rotator cuff was destroyed—nerves, tendons, everything. I can barely lift my arm, much less swim.” He tries to maneuver his right hand out of his lap, grimacing as he fails to reach the table. He’s not wearing a sling, but he probably should be. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he says bitterly.
“Look, my dad knows tons of orthopedists. He can help you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not spending the next year of my life in operating rooms.” He sighs, resuming his usual volume. “I have other priorities.”
“I know you do, but—”
“I should have stopped swimming a long time ago.” He looks me in the eye as he says this, his irises dark as ink. “This is where I need to be.”
I stare at the tabletop, counting the little nicks and scratches that have accumulated over the years. How many difficult conversations have taken place here? How many first dates, how many good-byes? Maybe we aren’t so unique after all.
Colin’s gaze drifts once more to the window. A group of revelers in wool coats and dress shoes amble past, stumbling over chunky piles of shoveled snow. One of them tosses a beer into a bush. We both watch them for a while, afraid to look at anything else—especially each other.
When they disappear around the corner, Colin reaches for his fork. The eggs have gone cold, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The waitress swings by and tops off his orange juice, saying, with a wink, “Free refills on New Year’s.”
“Thanks,” he says with a smile, but it fades as soon as she’s gone.
When he finishes his meal, it suddenly feels very late. I fumble for Lee’s wallet, but of course the pockets are empty because he keeps everything on him. Colin pays the bill before I can cough up an excuse. “I’m a mess.” I look up hopelessly. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back.”
“On me,” he says, even though the implications always feel tremendous when a guy pays for a meal. Colin slides out of the booth and reaches for my coat. Thanks to a full liter of caffeine, I’m nimble enough to get there first. I zip it up and pull on the hood. “Nice coat,” he teases.
“It’s a little big.”
“Lee’s?”
“My dad’s. Long story.”
“I bet.”
His car is a nineties-era Honda, but the paint still shines and the interior smells like fresh lemons, as if he’s got a box of them under the seat. Like the diner, his car has a sense of pride about it, older but well cared for. Colin’s legs barely fit under the wheel, but he’s never had a problem with tight spaces. He releases the clutch like it’s a natural extension of his left foot.
“So,” he says, “where to?”
I crack the window to taste the air, though it isn’t the cold that invigorates me. Even my mind feels clearer. Not just clear but alive. Like the air itself is humming.
“Is your house close to here?” I ask.
He glances over at me as he shifts into second gear. The engine purrs despite the cold, or maybe it’s just because Colin knows how to handle her. “Pretty close.”
“Can we go there?”
He grips the wheel a little harder, the muscles tensing from shoulders to hands. But the look on his face isn’t indignation or even surprise; it’s more like curiosity. “Do you want to?”
I don’t know where the words come from, or why it feels so right to say them. “I want to meet your mom.”