Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I’m here for it,” I say genuinely, meaning it from the bottom of my soul. Then I rope my arms around his neck, bringing him close to me again, kissing his scar, before I say, “And yes, I was showing you a date with me. Fun and feelings.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t quite get it.”
I shake my head, exonerating him. “I think you did get it. You’re here. Right now. It’s all a process, right? That’s what my brother said about you. That I should be patient because you’re a work in progress.”
Monroe huffs out a laugh. “Sawyer doesn’t mince words, does he? He point-blank asked me Thursday night how long I’d been into you.”
I’m eating up every word. “And what did you tell him?”
“I spit out my beer.”
“That long, huh?”
He laughs, then gazes at the inky sky. Stars twinkle above us, brighter than in the city. “But I’ll tell you,” he says, gaze returning to mine, eyes bright and clear. “It started eight years ago. Then, I left for New York, and our lives changed.”
I nod, understanding perfectly. “We went in different directions. Different lives. Different romances.”
“Yes,” he says, speaking frankly of the years apart. “Then when I returned to San Francisco after my divorce and we started working together on the podcast, I just thought of you as the co-host who drove me a little crazy.”
Goosebumps spread down my bare arms as we tell the story of us. “I was your frenemy?”
“Maybe so. The woman who got under my skin. The woman whose dating life I was a little obsessed with. The woman I couldn’t wait to see every week, but I couldn’t put all those feelings into words,” he says, then shakes his head, amused at himself. “Sawyer was definitely right. I’m a work in progress.” He pauses, then takes my hand, curls his fingers through mine. “You don’t mind?”
It’s asked with such vulnerability that I fall in love with him a little more. My heart flips around in my chest and I’m so glad I can let myself get used to this fluttery feeling around him. “We can be works in progress together.”
“Good. Now speaking of works in progress there’s something I have to show you when we get home.”
“Ohh. Is it reverse cowgirl? Because you forgot about that.”
He squeezes my ass, then spins me around, drags me against him, my back to his chest, his lips on my neck. “Never say something so horrible again. I did not forget that. And just for that I will prove it to you tonight.”
“You better,” I say, rubbing my ass against him.
But after a few seconds, he gently pushes me away. “We should go back inside.”
“We should.”
“We should circulate at the party.”
We don’t make it inside for another twenty minutes.
When we do, I gasp. “Your dad’s dancing with someone,” I say, nodding toward the guest of honor, dancing with an elegant woman about his age, who reminds me of Lady Danbury.
“That’s Jada. She’s a doctor too. Loves golf. Recently retired,” Monroe says, warmth in his voice.
“Do I detect a theme? Like father, like son?”
He shoots me a doubtful look, then pulls me onto the dance floor, where he keeps me close as the music plays, and we sway together at last.
As I rest my cheek against his, I steal a glance at his father. I do detect a theme. Both men, trying to repair their relationship so they can start over.
My heart is full.
35
THE GANG’S ALL HERE
Monroe
It’s about damn time.
Back at the house, I’m finally able to show her what I did earlier today. Been wanting to all night. After I toss my suit jacket onto the living room couch, I take her hand and bring her out to the back deck, the outdoor light on.
This deck feels like our special place. We’ve planned our dates here. Ate our meals here. Let down our guards. I sit in the Adirondack chair and bring her onto my lap.
“This is what I want to show you,” I say.
She twists around, eyes on me as I undo the buttons on my cuffs. Anticipation flickers in her bright greens as she watches my every move. I feel the same way. I hope she likes this. When the cuffs are rolled up, she tilts her head, studying my left arm.
I don’t say a word. Just hold my breath as she searches the red rose, the dahlia, then the calla lily. Her lips tilt, shifting up, up and into…astonishment.
“It’s so tiny,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, heart thudding harder, louder.
She lifts a hand, her finger tracing the air above my new ink. “You got a ladybug.”
“I got a ladybug,” I repeat.
“For me,” she whispers.
“Always.”
A little red ladybug sits in the lily. For her. On me. Juliet twists all the way, cups my cheeks, and holds my face. She doesn’t kiss me yet. She presses her forehead to mine. “You’re such a romantic.”