CHAPTER 13

Unmarked essays were piled on my coffee table while I sat on the floor beside my stack of marked ones. Every now and then I’d reach for my cooling mug of coffee and glance over at Marco, who was stretched out on my couch, dozing.

Dark and cold outside, it was warm inside my flat as the fire crackled in my grate. I couldn’t believe it was almost December. It had been a crazy few weeks. A crazy few weeks of hanging around Marco. A lot.

After thinking over Nate’s advice I decided that holding out on Marco longer was the only way I’d know for certain if he was genuinely interested in me and not just in sleeping with me again. My gut told me that wasn’t the type of person he was. Not with me anyway, but that nagging doubt, that memory of him leaving me alone on India Place that fateful night, held me back from believing in him all the way.

Only time would tell.

The weekend after our movie night together, Marco had had plans. However, the following Monday he turned up at my door after work, carrying a bag of groceries and film rentals. He quickly set himself up in my kitchen and I watched in bemusement as he threw together homemade meatballs and spaghetti. I don’t know why I was surprised that he could cook. His uncle owned and ran a restaurant.

We had fun that night, keeping it friendly, although Marco couldn’t help himself – he tried to flirt a little despite my lack of any outward response. He called me on his lunch break that week, he texted me a lot, and tried to tempt me to meet him for drinks on the Friday. It was a busy week, so I told him I had too much work to do. Not to be rebuffed, he asked me what I was doing that weekend and I explained I was going Christmas shopping in Glasgow. I liked to be organized about the whole Christmas presents thing.

To my utter surprise, Marco invited himself along.

That Saturday we met at Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and boarded the train to Glasgow together. For fifty minutes we sat across from each other and barely said a word. Although Marco was definitely more loquacious than he used to be and he wasn’t exactly broody anymore, he was still that guy who was comfortable and happy to sit in silence with me.

He caught me studying him as we passed through Falkirk and he smiled at my scrutiny. “What?”

“You’ve changed, but you haven’t.”

There was recognition, an understanding, in his eyes that told me he knew what I meant. “You too.”

Although I wasn’t willing to admit to my attraction to him, I wanted him to know I still remembered how good our friendship had been and that so far it had been good again. “We always had this, though. Being able to just be quiet and not have it feel awkward. Not needing to feel like we had to fill the silence. I have that with Cole, but… I mean, he’s like a brother, so… but other guys, we’ve never had…” I trailed off, realizing I was perhaps giving him more than I’d meant to.

I looked over at him when he didn’t reply, and tensed at the sudden stillness around him.

He leaned toward me. “I know I asked if there had been anyone special in your life but, honestly, Hannah, I don’t want to hear about other guys.” His jaw hardened and he looked out of the window.

That pissed me off. I was definitely not impressed with his display of alpha man possessiveness. But not wanting to have a fight in public, I stayed quiet, slowly allowing the burn of anger to dissipate. After ten minutes of now awkward silence, I replied quietly, “You and I are just friends.” And if he continued to be a possessive idiot, that’s the way we’d remain.

Marco looked at me sharply. “But you know I want more,” he answered. “So you also must understand why I don’t want to hear shit about other guys you’ve been with. Guys that got all that I’ve wanted since I fucked it all up.”

The weight of our history, of our feelings and confusion, wrapped around me with a sense of longing then, and I felt fearful. Of us. Of our future. Or lack thereof. Without thinking, I whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

“You can handle it,” he said stonily, his tone brooking no argument.

I forced myself to meet his hard gaze. “But can you?”

“As long as you don’t talk about the guys you’ve fucked, or Cole too much, then, yeah, I can handle it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Cole’s my best friend.”

He ducked his head, bringing us closer. “I’m your best friend,” he answered roughly. “You’ve just forgotten. My fault, I know. I can help you remember.”

Honestly, I didn’t know how to reply to that. It made me ache so much for what we had been and for what I was terrified to have again with him.

So I remained quiet. It wasn’t until we were pulling into Glasgow Queen Street that Marco broke the silence, saying casually, “Gabby wants something called a Jo Malone for Christmas. Please tell me you know what that is?”

I stared at him and his proverbial olive branch.

And then I made a decision. I laughed. “It’s a store. Did she say what she wanted from Jo Malone?”

Marco stared at me blankly.

“Okay.” I patted his shoulder as we moved to get off the train. “We’ll go with a general gift box.”

Somehow, despite the hairy moment on the train, we had a great time together that day. After shopping for a bit, we stopped for lunch at a pub. There, I impulsively offered, “You know, if we don’t get everything this weekend, I’d be happy to help you shop next weekend.”

Marco’s gaze softened at my suggestion. However, his quiet answer was a rebuff. “I can’t next weekend.”

I tried not to feel stupid for putting myself out there. I’d never have felt stupid about something like that when we were kids.

His eyebrows drew together at my silence. “It’s complicated, but, uh… I’ll explain it to you soon,” he promised. “When the time is right.”

My stomach flipped unpleasantly and I did my best to ignore the feeling. “That’s cryptic.”

“It’s just a long story. One I intend to tell, like I said, when the time is right.”

Hypocritically, I didn’t like that Marco was keeping something from me, even though I was keeping something from him. To cover that feeling of possessiveness I’d been pissed at him for only hours before, I shrugged casually. “It’s not like we’re… You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I fucking do,” he said abruptly. “Whatever this is” – he gestured between us – “it’s important. And I will tell you when the time is right.”

How did I respond to that? Pulse racing, I tried for honesty again. “I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on, Marco. I’m trying to give you my friendship, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be more than that. I need you to acknowledge that you understand that.”

“I do. More than friendship or not… I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, the ache was back, but this time the burn of it was almost sweet. After a moment of charged silence, I ventured into small talk, asking after his aunt and uncle and the restaurant.

“Good.” He shrugged, going with the subject change. “Like I mentioned before, Gabby kind of softened Gio up a little. Somewhere along the line he decided I wasn’t a waste of space.”

Remembering that night in the gardens, the swelling bruise under his eye, I still couldn’t help but feel a deep anger in my gut toward Gio. “Does that make up for how much of a dick he was to you?”

He sensed my emotion, and his expression grew tender. “No, Hannah. But he’s not that man any longer. He was carrying around his own shit from Nonno. Their relationship wasn’t an easy one and it spilled into ours. Gio apologized for the way he treated me.” He smirked. “He was drunk when he apologized, but it still helped.”

I guessed if Marco was willing to forgive, I should be, too. “I’m glad.”

We had lunch, the air lightening between us. We joked and talked and then wandered back out into the crowds for more shopping. That night Marco finagled his way into my flat. I fell asleep watching a movie and when I stirred it was because Marco was carrying me into my bedroom. He gently eased me into bed and I fell asleep with the touch of his lips on my forehead.

The next morning I woke up to find him asleep on my couch and when I asked him why he had stayed instead of going home to his bed, he said he slept easier knowing I was safe. That morning I made him breakfast. I made him breakfast with a tiny fraction of my resolve much weaker than it had been the day before. I thought when he left that day that he wasn’t coming back, but he did; he returned with materials he’d ordered for me. I canceled Sunday lunch at my mum’s to watch Marco build bookshelves in my sitting room. My resolve weakened even more.

That following week we were both exceptionally busy with work, but Marco found time to call me every other night. As promised, I didn’t see him that weekend, as he had made other plans.

While he was gone, I realized something slightly terrifying.

I missed him.

Missed him deep-in-my-bones-missed-him.

It was a relief to see him at my door that Monday night after his disappearance. He broke his silent vow to give me as much physical space as possible by stepping into my flat and enveloping me in a hug I felt in every inch of my body. He kissed my cheek, reluctantly pulling away from me. I was glad for the thick sweater I wore because the combination of his cologne, his heat, his strong arms around me and his hard chest brushing against my soft one, all mixing in with the fact that I was giddy to see him, made my body physically react to his hug.

Attempting to shrug off my sexual attraction to him, I made dinner for us as if everything was perfectly normal.