Not this guy. And if he asks me out again, I’ll turn him down like a big girl this time. Using my words.
Only . . .
He doesn’t look at me. He’s looking elsewhere. He breezes right past me. Like he doesn’t even see me.
He says, “Hello,” and then the next words out of his mouth shock me. “You must be Darla.”
What the what?
I whip around as Mr. Businessman meets Darla in front of the coffee shop next to A New Chapter. Darla takes his hand and shakes it.
“So great to meet you. I’m Hank,” he says. “Vince told me you were pretty, but you’re even prettier in person.”
Who the heck is Vince?
She laughs, a pretty tinkling sound. “And you’re a perfect gentleman, but that’s exactly what my cousin told me.”
Okay, this Vince fellow is Darla’s cousin, and he must have set them up on a blind date.
“He’s a good friend. Plus, I paid him. No, just kidding.” Hank the businessman hooks his thumb first toward the coffee shop then down the street. “I like coffee, but there’s a great ice cream shop around the corner that has birthday cake and blueberry ice cream this month. Any chance you want to go there instead?”
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
I slink against the wall like I can blend into it, but they’re only looking at each other as Hank, the man who wanted to date me, and Darla, the woman who dated Gabe, head to an ice cream shop to eat my favorite flavor.
They’re living their lives. Enjoying themselves together as they get to know each other. This feels like karma, only I’m not sure what to make of it. Is this a sign that I need to live my life? But which version of it?
I shake my head, trying to understand why I feel anything about these two people I hardly know.
Especially jealousy.
I’m a little jealous they’re dating.
That they’ve moved on. That they’re enjoying the next thing in their lives, having ice cream for lunch on a Saturday.
I go for a walk through the town square, calling Finley and telling her about the blind date I just witnessed, since she loves to hear romance tales that might inspire a TV episode.
“Ice cream dates have traditionally been known to lead to happily ever afters,” she remarks in her usual wry and chipper tone.
I try to laugh, but it sounds as empty as I feel. “I would like an ice cream date,” I say, a little sad. A lot sad.
“So go get one.”
But really what I want is the happily part. And the ever. And the after.
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure how to do that.”
She hums, like she’s thinking. “But maybe you do actually know.”
Do I though?
I say goodbye, then wander along the side streets, reflecting, thinking, till I wind up on a block where Perri’s been running traffic duty. I find her talking to a well-built guy with a left arm covered in ink. He’s straddling a motorcycle, his helmet in his hand.
She stares sharply at him. “I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. But do us all a favor and obey the law. Can you do that?”
He winks at her. “Anything for you.”
She points at the pavement. “Hit the road, mister. Before I decide to stop being the nice cop and write you a ticket instead.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around, nice cop.”
“Maybe you’ll be better off if you don’t.”
“A man can dream.” He takes off, the bike rumbling in his wake.
I close the distance to her. “Who’s that?”
“Someone who’s too hot for his own good.”
“Or for your good?”
“Ha. I’m immune to hot, inked men on bikes.”
“Right.” We both know there’s no vaccine for her on that count.
“What’s his name?”
“Derek McBride.”
“Hot name.”
“Hot name for a hot guy, but nothing will come of it.” She tilts her head, looks me over. “You okay?”
I heave a sigh. “I’ve been better.”
She rubs my shoulder briefly. “What’s wrong?”
I draw a breath, and my heart shakes. My voice wobbles. If I speak, I might cry. But I do it anyway, blurting out, “I’m in love with Gabe.”
She smiles sympathetically. “Oh, honey, I know.” She wraps me in a hug, petting my hair. “What are we going to do about it?”
I sniffle. “I don’t know. He doesn’t feel the same way.”
She jerks back, staring at me. “Are you sure? You told us what happened after you had sex, but do you really think he’s not in love with you too?”
I shrug, as a tear slinks down my cheek.
“Arden, you’re a smart girl, and I’d encourage you to review the signs.”
“Which ones?” I choke out. “The one where he said let’s do this again?”
“No. The last year of your life.”
The last year.
I let it flash before me, from the day on the trail, to when I brought treats to the firehouse a week later, to our first game of Words with Friends. I move on to other memories, from how he makes sure we spend time together, to his asking me to meet his pops, to the way he touched me in the elevator the other day. He even invited me to dinner with his parents. My God, he wants me to spend time with his family.
Most of all, I linger on the way he looked at me when I opened the door in burgundy lace.
Like he wanted me desperately.
But it was more than physical, wasn’t it?
I recall the fire in his eyes, how there was so much more than lust. He gazed at me like he wanted . . .
Do I dare to let myself believe this?
But it feels completely true.
He looked at me like he wanted all of me.
Like he wanted me the same way I want him.
I want him in all the ways.
And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t say it. After all, I didn’t speak my truth. I didn’t bare my soul for him and tell him he’s become my everything. Hell, I said, What if it doesn't work out? I didn’t even answer him. Maybe neither one of us said all that needed to be said.
Because our friendship isn’t worth risking for a few more fucks.
It is worth risking for something bigger. For something that might be everything.
My belief that I could keep him in the friends-only lane was foolish. Gabe Harrison infiltrated the romance zone as soon as we started our project, truth be told. Once we picked up Hedwig then talked about our turn-ons in the Garden of Eden, I felt that tug on both body and heart.
The pull only intensified, growing stronger the closer we became. Our sex-ploration made me fall for the man that had been right in front of me all along.
As I replay all the signs I missed, I do what I do best.
I plot. I plan.
I need to find a way to turn this new awareness into a best-laid plan.
43
Gabe
I heat up water for tea. “Remember that woman who came by the other day?”
My pops laughs. “The one you’re in love with?”
Yeah, he’s all here today.
“That’s the one.” I pour the hot water into a mug with a tea bag.
He winks. “She’s a pretty lady. And she has it bad for you too.”
“Does she?”
He nods sagely. “It’s not as if everything gets past me. Sure, some things do. But love? Little glances? I was a sly fox myself once, and I didn’t win Emily over by being obtuse about women.”
Laughing, I ask, “How did you win her over?”
He tuts, shaking his head. “Young people.” He motions for me to come closer.
I leave the mug on his kitchen counter to steep and join him on the couch.
“Closer.”
I scoot over, waiting to receive his wisdom.
He clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Put your heart on the line, young man.”
&nb
sp; “But how? How should I do it?”
He huffs like he can’t quite believe whippersnappers today. “Just tell her you love her. That’s all you can do. If she’s going to toss you to the wind, she’ll toss you, but if you haven’t been clear, be clear. Back in my day, we didn’t futz around the way your generation does. When I knew I loved Emily, it was plain and simple. I spelled it out.”
And that’s when I know what to do.
But holy hell, it takes fucking forever.
44
Arden
“Just wear this. I bought it the other day.” Vanessa thrusts a Happy Days bag at me.
“You are an addict. You caved on the mint-green typewriter dress?”
She shakes her head. “Look inside. It’s for you.”
We’re at my house on Saturday night, getting ready. Because you can’t really prep to tell a man how you feel without your best girls by your side to help.
I peer into the bag, and my eyes pop. “No, you didn’t!”
“Yes, I did.”
“You are too much.” I brandish the simple periwinkle-blue skirt I checked out the other day, the one with cartoonish images of books on the fabric.
It’s short, and it’s me, and it’s not me trying to ape Vanessa’s style. I kick off my capri jeans and slide into the skirt, then find a simple white tank in my bureau and pull it on. I check out my reflection as Perri raises a glass of Chablis.
“Chablis. For when your best friend finally decides she’s going to go after her man.”
“I am most definitely going after my man,” I declare to myself and to my friends.
My man.
That’s what I want Gabe to be.
Excitement flares inside me, chased by nerves.
There are no guarantees. I don’t have a promise. We won’t have a written edict that we’ll remain friends. Nor do I know if his heart is banging as wildly for me as mine is for him.
But I’ll never know the answer until I try.
There’s no substitute for experience.
Some things in life you can’t charade your way through. You need to put your neck out.
If he says no, if I’m wrong about how he feels, then I’ll turn to my backup plan. To let him know he’s stuck with me as a friend. That even if he says see you later to a romance, I’m committed to staying friends with him, just like I was committed to thanking him that day a year ago when I brought him treats to the fire station. The man has seen me at my worst, and we became buddies. If we need to do it again, we’ll do it again.
But God, I hope he picks Plan A.
I turn around, showing them the outfit. “Does it meet your approval?”
Vanessa cheers. “It’s so cute.”
Perri points her glass at me. “You look fantastic.”
“I’m ready to go take a chance.” I toss a glance at Perri. “Speaking of chances, did you tell Vanessa about the guy you busted?”
Vanessa flicks out her tongue salaciously. “She did, and he sounded delish.”
Perri leans back on my bed and laughs. “That man had trouble written all over him.”
“And you like trouble,” Vanessa points out. “You were always the daring one.”
“Girls.” Perri rises from the bed, lifting her glass. “We are all the daring ones. Now it’s Arden’s turn to go be daring.”
I take a deep breath, drawing in their strength, feeling it mingle with my own confidence. I’ve always believed in myself. I’ve never been an insecure girl. But the last week with Gabe has taught me there’s no replacement for speaking my mind.
I head to Pin-Up Lanes to meet him for a friendly night of bowling, picking our regular lane, setting up our bowling names on the scoreboard, and then hoping. Hoping that when I go for a strike, I won’t strike out.
Once Gabe walks in, my breath catches.
It’s not because he’s so damn handsome.
It’s not because of that confident walk or that easy grin.
It’s because tonight marks the first time I’ve looked at him and let myself own my feelings. The first time I’ve watched him come toward me and known in my heart what I feel is love.
45
Arden
When he reaches me, I see he’s clutching his phone like it’s a lifeline.
“Hey, Arden.”
“Hey, Gabe,” I say, my brow knitting over the way he’s attached to the mobile device.
“You look”—he stares at me up and down, like he did at my house—“beautiful.”
I wasn’t seeking confirmation, but I love the compliment nonetheless. “You look more handsome than ever. And there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Okay?” His tone is tentative.
“Do you remember that time I asked for your help with my project, and I made a list?”
He laughs lightly, more sure this time. “You think I’ve forgotten?”
“No, but it was a week ago. Since then, I’ve made another list. Because I’m a plotter.”
He nods, moving closer. “You’re definitely a planner.”
“There are new things I want to try, so I wrote them out.”
“New things?” His voice is laced with curiosity.
“Yes.” Nerves flutter inside me as I take my list from my purse. “Can I read it to you?”
“I’d love to hear it.”
I flip open the paper, clear my throat, and dive into the great unknown, clutching fervently to the wish that he might feel the same. “Things I Want to Try.”
I meet his blue-eyed gaze, seeing possibility in them. Here goes the first one. “One: Being your friend and also your lover.”
His eyebrows lift in excitement.
“Two: Doing it outside.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Three: Spending the night with you.”
The irises dance now with a happiness that matches what’s in my heart. It spurs me on.
“Four: Going on dates with you, and only you.”
Yes, he mouths.
I love that he can’t wait till I’m done to give an answer, but I have more to say so I keep going, the look in his eyes helping me drive it home. “Five: Taking the chance to be with you . . . because I believe you and I are worth it. Do you know why?”
He smiles so wide it’s like it reaches another county. I’m about to give the answer to my own question when he cuts in, holding up his phone screen.
I peer at it, reading the three little words he made on the game board. In an instant, joy radiates through me, stretching into every corner of my body. He’s spelled I LOVE YOU. “You made a Words with Friends for me?”
He nods, proudly.
“How did you do this?”
“Well, I can’t play it, of course, but it took me only, say, 218 games against myself till I came up with one of the letters on the board I needed, and then the rest of the seven letters to play it.”
“You were determined,” I say with wonder as I read his phone again, my eyes filling with tears of happiness, my heart flooding with love, a love I didn’t expect but can’t imagine living without.
Now, as I look back on the last year, and the last week especially, I can see this is where our story was heading. Love was always what was written on our pages. I just had to keep reading the book.
“I was determined, and I am determined, because you’re worth it.” He lets go of the phone and reaches for me, lifting me in his arms. “I love you, Arden East. I love you so damn much.”
He drops a kiss to my lips before I can get a word in edgewise, but I don’t care, because I’m on a hot air balloon soaring to the stratosphere with him—my friend, my lover, and my man.
“I’m so in love with you. That’s what I was going to tell you,” I say when we separate.
He presses another soft kiss to my lips, and this is even better than sex. Tingles radiate all through my bones. I sigh happily, savoring every second, delighting in this true and honest kiss that feels like a promise.
But w
ords matter too, so when we stop, I press my hands to his chest. “I don’t want to lose you, Gabe. I meant everything I said before. You mean so much to me. I hate the thought of you not being in my life.”
He threads a hand through my hair. “Wouldn’t you know? Turns out I hate that thought too. So let’s stay in each other’s lives.”
I smile like a woman in love.
And love feels so . . . empowering.
So does something else. Another choice I make. I clasp his face, loving the freedom to touch him like this. “What do you say we skip bowling, go to my place or yours, and spend the night together?”
“I’d say I’m game for that. I only have one condition.”
“What is it?”
“Tonight, I’m making love to you.”
At my house, he makes good on his promise. He spreads me out on my bed, strips me naked, and worships me with his lips and his tongue. He lavishes my body with kisses, settling between my legs and bringing me to ecstasy. Then he climbs over me, reaching for his wallet.
I stop him, circling my hand around his arm. “I’m on the pill. I want to feel all of you.”
He groans his appreciation for that answer, tossing his wallet behind him. It hits the floor with a thunk, and he wiggles an eyebrow. “Who cares about the damn wallet right now?”
“Definitely not me.”
He spreads my thighs wide, slides inside me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together, drawing him closer.
“Arden,” he groans, “I’ve been falling in love with you for a long time.”
“Keep falling in love with me,” I whisper as he moves luxuriously inside me. “And I’ll keep falling in love with you.”
He reaches for my wrists, raises them above my head, and pins them, driving me wild, making me love missionary in a whole new way because the man I love is taking me and fucking me and loving me.
The next morning when we wake, I wear nothing but an apron as I pluck eggs from the carton, prepping to cook him breakfast.
Before I can turn on the burner, though, he’s found other things to do with my apron. In a flash, I’m on the counter, my wrists tied with the apron strings as he introduces me to new uses for the kitchen, and after that we christen the yard too.
The Lucky in Love Collection Page 18
