Dancing Barefoot by Amber Lea Easton Read Free Book Online

wall. She regretted wanting to get drunk in the first place. All of this was wrong and she didn't know how to make it right.
    “ Why are you here? I thought you no longer gave a damn about me.” Alcohol made her bold. 
    He shrugged, his gaze roaming around the room.
    “How did you find my address? I am not listed, I—”
    “I kept it from some things you left behind in Florence.” He looked at the hardwood floor at his feet. “I brought it with me, took a chance you hadn't moved.”
    Knowing that he had planned on seeing her, had kept her address for all of th ese years, weakened her knees. Confusion spun through her mind like a tornado.
    “How did yo u know I would still be here?” With halting steps, she walked into the kitchen. Dizziness rocked her. She needed food. 
    He followed. “This is what you wanted, am I right? Roots. Security.  Predictability.”
    “You’ve kept this address for five years?” She rubbed the back of her neck.  “Why didn’t—”
    “I needed to see for myself.”
    “See what for yourself?”
    “I needed to know that you lied about everything, including who you really were. Now I’m even more confused. Seeing you like this... it’s as if I walked through a time warp or something. You look the same, you’re painting, you’re up in the middle of the night, music is going...but earlier you...I don’t know what to think.” He combed his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. 
    “This isn’t fair. You act like I deli berately tricked you. I didn’t.” Loaf of bread in hand, she faced him. “What were you going to do with that address? Ambush me after work? Did I spoil your plan?”
    “Yes, actually, you did.” His grin played havoc with her senses.  When he opened his eyes, his gaze locked on hers. “You are always ruining my plans.”
    “ Five years,” she whispered without looking away. “Long time.”
    “Did you mean what you said?” he asked. “About thinking about Italy, about our apartment?”
    “About you, you mean?” She r ipped her gaze from his. Alcohol may have made her brave, but not stupid. She had to be careful about how she answered this question. “Yes, I meant it. I...I wish I...”
    “ Wish what?” He stepped closer. "What did you mean by wanting a do-over?"
    She shrugged off the tingling sensation skittering across her skin. “It doesn’t matter.”
    He leaned his hip against the counter. He muttered something in French, just like he used to do back in the day when he didn’t want her to understand.
    “I still haven’t learned it,” she whispered as she stared inside the refrigerator.  “I always wanted to learn French so I’d understand your secrets. You and Ava used to have the most entertaining fights, screaming French at each other. So dramatic.  And then Simone would get into the act...ugh...I hated her. How is Ava, by the way?  I read a blurb about her in the New York Times. I saw she had a spot in New York's fashion week this past February. How exciting for her. Ava Sinclair Originals has come a long way from that apartment in Florence where we cut patterns while sitting on the floor."
    He reached around her for another beer. His a rm grazed hers. Their gaze met.  
    Silence saturated the room. 
    Longing pulled at her to say more, but all she could do was hold the refrigerator door open and blink like a moron. 
    “ We have all come a long way since that old apartment building in Florence, haven't we? Success all around, ” he said after minutes had passed.
    Finding it difficult to breathe, she forced her self to speak from sheer will. “I thought about calling her after I read the article. I miss her.”
    He sipped his drink and studied her as if she had just landed from another planet. 
    “We were close,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say. “I wasn’t sure she would appreciate hearing from me, though, so...I didn’t.” 
    Their apartment had been the center of the universe that long