My Favorite Souveni- Penelope Ward , Vi Keeland Page 0,96

and then Hazel mentioned she had a pet rabbit, and my mother lit up like I’d never seen her before. Apparently Mom had had a pet rabbit when she was a little girl, something I’d never known. The two of them exchanged half a dozen stories, and my mother told my father she wanted to get a pet rabbit when she got home so she could walk it on a leash, too. All in all, by the time the check came, my mom had really taken a shine to my girl.

“How long are you in town for, sweetheart?” she asked Hazel.

“Just a few days.”

“And then what?”

Hazel and I looked at each other, and our faces fell. Without knowing it, my mother had just asked the magic question. And then what?

“We haven’t figured that out yet, Mrs. Duncan.”

My mom reached across the table and patted Hazel’s hand. “I have a good feeling about you and my son, Hazel, and please, call me Marianne.”

“Thank you, Marianne.”

Chapter 27

* * *

Hazel

I couldn’t believe my final day in Seattle had arrived. The thought of leaving Matteo made me sick, but I needed to go home to Connecticut and face the music—whatever that even meant at this point. I’d been avoiding giving Brady any specifics as to my whereabouts. This obviously couldn’t continue forever.

While spending the past few days together had only solidified my bond with Matteo, neither of us had broached the subject of how the hell we were going to handle Brady or what would happen in general after I returned to Connecticut. We didn’t want to waste this precious time talking about the inevitable conflict looming.

For our last night, Matteo took me to an open mic event at a local coffee place. With its deep, worn-leather couches and gritty air, it was everything I’d ever imagined a Seattle coffeehouse to be. They also had the best, most robust espresso I’d ever tasted.

Matteo said he’d always wanted to perform here but had never had the guts in the years since Zoe’s passing. This was his third performance in the short time I’d known him, and it gave me so much pride to feel like I might have contributed to that. I was so proud of him.

The musicians were given a small area in the corner that was illuminated by white Christmas lights hung on the wall. The darkness of the rest of the room helped keep the focus on the stage.

When Matteo’s turn came, he got up and performed his own version of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. Of course, I clung to every word, analyzing the song choice. It may or may not have been about me, or about love, or just a testament to fate and surrendering to it. That was definitely something we were going to have to do moving forward—trust in fate.

When the song finished, the crowd went wild. I rushed up to the stage and wrapped my arms around him. Despite the loud cheers, it felt like we were the only two people on Earth. Holding Matteo under the white lights of the stage where he’d just killed it was the best way I could’ve imagined winding down this trip.

The mood, though, after we left the coffee shop, seemed to turn melancholy.

It was just after nine, and our plan was to grab a late dinner somewhere out in the city.

“Do you know what kind of food you’re in the mood for?” he asked.

For these last hours together, I’d decided I didn’t want to share him.

“I was thinking about it, and I’d really like to just hang out Chez Duncan tonight. Maybe we can grab a pizza and take it back to your place?”

“Sure.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “We can do that.”

We stopped and picked up a pie, half pepperoni and half cheese, since I preferred mine without toppings.

Back at Matteo’s place, we casually ate on the floor, the vibe still somber. Each of us had only one slice. I wasn’t that hungry, and apparently he wasn’t either.

When my phone rang, I knew right away who it was, even before I looked at it. Once I confirmed I was right, I hit ignore.

“Is that him?” Matteo asked, his tone bitter.

I answered hesitantly. “Yes.”

“Why the fuck does he keep calling you when it’s clear you don’t want to talk to him?”

Of course I had no answer.

One thing I’d noticed during this trip was Matteo’s growing lack of tolerance for Brady. Something had changed. In the beginning, he’d seemed