by Noelle Adams
I figure he’s likely to be quiet at Sunday supper for a long time, and who could blame him. It’s not just because he’s having dinner with his wife’s (rather intimidating) family. He’s also having dinner with his boss’s boss and his boss’s boss’s boss. He’s not likely to be a chatterbox in those circumstances.
But I have a good time at dinner, and I feel like I really belong with Hunter—which I’ve never felt at Sunday supper before.
After dessert is over and things are wrapping up, Hunter and Trevor are talking about sports, and Melissa and Chelsea are looking at some old photographs in a box that Pop wants us to sort through.
I’m by myself, wiping down the dinner table, when Pop comes in.
He just looks at me, his mustache quivering slightly.
I straighten up. “What’s wrong, Pop?”
“You still set on this whole thing?” he demands.
“What whole thing?”
He nods toward the other room where Hunter and Trevor are chatting. “That fella as your husband.”
I stand up a little straighter. “Yes. I’m still set on it.”
“I thought you’d’ve changed your mind by now.” Pop doesn’t look mean exactly. More baffled and disoriented.
“I haven’t.”
“It’s just a phase, isn’t it? You’ve always been a good girl.”
I frown at him, suddenly tired of defending myself to him. “I can be good and still be married to Hunter. He’s a good man. I love him, and we’re happy.”
This evidently surprises him even more. “So it’s the real thing then?”
“Yes. It’s the real thing.”
He shakes his head. “I thought you girls would have better taste in men, but if you’re happy, you’re happy. Maybe Chelsea will do better.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and it is indeed annoying that he dismisses Hunter that way. But I can hear acceptance in his comments as well. He finally understands that this isn’t a temporary, petty rebellion on my part. He loves me, and—in his own cantankerous way—he wants me to be happy.
I’m smiling to myself when Pop leaves the room and Hunter comes in.
“What’s going on?” he asks, walking over to pull me into a soft hug.
“Nothing. Just stood up to Pop. A little.”
“How does it feel?”
It doesn’t feel exactly like Jane Eyre standing up to Rochester or like Anne Shirley cracking a slate over Gilbert’s head.
But it’s something.
I tell Hunter, “It feels good.”
A FEW WEEKS LATER, Hunter is dragging me into the car way too early in the morning.
We’re obviously going on a trip, since he bossed me into packing a weekend bag before we left the apartment, but he won’t tell me where we’re going.
He just smiles and tells me I’ll have to wait and see.
We drive four hours, heading into Virginia. (I did ask when we crossed the state line, and he said he’d gotten permission from his parole officer to leave the state.) The trip is mostly pleasant, and I’m looking around excitedly when he turns into a long, tree-lined driveway and pulls up in front of a bed-and-breakfast.
“Hunter!” I’m actually clasping my hands together as I realize the weekend trip he’s planned for us.
“You wrote that one time about how you always wondered what it would be like to have a romantic weekend at a bed-and-breakfast,” he says, dropping his eyes and then looking back at me. “I was always gonna do it. As soon as I married you, I wanted to take you somewhere. But I was waiting until I had enough money to take you somewhere really nice. But then...” He shrugs. “This place isn’t one of the really expensive ones, but it looked decent. And I didn’t want you to wait anymore.”
“It’s perfect!” I launch myself over the console in the car so I can hug him.
“You haven’t even walked in the door yet.”
“I know it’s going to be perfect. Thank you so much!”
I’m ridiculously excited as we get our luggage, go inside, talk to the friendly owner, and get shown to our room. It’s on the second floor with a view of the garden. It’s not as luxurious as a more expensive establishment might be, but it’s cute and comfortable and clean, and I love the view and the four-poster bed.
Hunter is pleased that I’m so happy and has the most adorably sheepish smile on his face as we unpack and check out the room and attached bathroom.
When we’ve explored all there is to explore in the room, I go to the window to look out and tell myself I’m an intelligent adult and I probably shouldn’t swoon away in pure giddiness.
I glance back to see Hunter gazing at me—something akin to adoration in his eyes—and decide maybe there can be a few exceptions, even for intelligent adults.
“If you’re going to look at me that way,” I say, trying for a lilt in my voice, “then you better be prepared to follow through.”
“Always.” He joins me at the window, turns me to face him, and then slides his hands down my back.
I think he’s going for my butt, but his fingers slip under the hem of my top and gently rub the small of my back, right on my little phoenix tattoo.
“I thought you had a phoenix too,” I say.
“I don’t.” His face is sober now, but there’s a warm smile in his eyes. “I have an angel.”
Okay. There might be a little more swooning going on.
After a minute, I say, “I’m not much of an angel, if you want to know the truth.”
“I know the truth.” He brushes a soft kiss on my mouth. “And you’ll always be an angel to me.” He clears his throat. “Speaking of...”
“Speaking of what? Angels?”
He’s digging into his pocket. I have no idea why.
“I’m trying to do better,” he says, his hand still stuck in his pocket. “About not waiting until I think I’m good enough or I have enough to offer you or—”
“What are you talking about Hunter? You’re doing great. You took me to this place and—”
“And there’s more,” he says with a frown. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry. Go on.” I’m excited now. It feels like something is about to happen.
“I’m trying to do better.” He finally drags his hand out of his pocket. His fist is closed around something. “It’s not much. I can’t afford much. But this is what I can give you right now. So I’m going to do it.”
“Do what?” I breathe.
He opens his hand to show me a pretty little engagement ring. The diamond isn’t very large, but the cut and the engraving on the band are lovely.
I raise a hand to cover my mouth.
“I got this for you. You should have one.” He’s looking between the ring and my face.
“I really didn’t need—”
“Yes, you did. I want you to have everything. And this is what I can give you right now.” He pauses, checking my expression once more. “If you want it.”
“Of course I want it! It’s beautiful. It’s perfect!”
His shoulders relax, and he lifts my hand with a little smile.
“Oh wait,” I say, yanking off the wedding band. “Now go ahead.”
He chuckles as he slides the engagement ring onto my finger. “Will you have me as you husband for real? For life? No more practicing.”
“Yes. No more practicing.”
He puts my wedding ring back on over the engagement ring, and we both beam down on it proudly.
Then he says, “When I’m in better shape financially, I can change this one out for—”
“No!” I cover my ring protectively. “I want this one. You don’t get to switch it out for a better model.”
“Okay. I just want you to have the best.”
“I have the best. I have you. And you’re the best—for me.”
We end up having an amazing weekend. We do a lot of relaxing, we enjoy the cute shops in the area, and we have a lot of sex. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast is a Jane Austen
fan, so I have some great conversations with her.
And as we’re leaving on Monday morning (ridiculously early so Hunter can be at work by ten), I get an email saying I’ve been accepted into the PhD program in English.
I might be tempted to think that the life I’ve always wanted is finally happening for me.
But the truth is a lot harder and messier and better than that.
I had to be brave enough to go out and get it.
Epilogue
FIVE MONTHS LATER, I’m leaving class on campus.
A class I’m teaching, not one I’m taking.
When I applied to the PhD program, I’d been too late to get a teaching assistantship, but then one of the TAs pulled out over the summer, so the program offered it to me after all.
Today is the second Freshman Composition class session I’ve taught, and it feels like I’ve been through a war.
My class this semester starts at four o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means it’s after five when it gets out. It’s a terrible time of the day for trying to hold college students’ attention, and I prepared for hours for a seventy-five minute class because I’m so nervous about starting teaching.
I made it through the first week, so that’s something.
I’ve reached the parking lot when I notice that someone is leaning against my car.
Hunter.
He’s wearing his suit today because he had a big meeting. His tie is loosened and his collar is undone, but he’s still wearing the jacket. With his dark beard and heavy-lidded eyes, he’s about as sexy as a man can get.
I’m smiling when I reach him. “You didn’t have to come all the way to campus. I would have come picked you up.”
The corners of his mouth tilt up in a familiar, intimate smile. “I know. I wanted to come. How was class today?”
I make a face and let my bag slide down to the pavement as he pulls me into a loose hug.
“That bad?” he asks.
“No.” I’m leaning against him, inhaling the masculine scent of him. It warms. All the way through my body. All the way into my heart. “It was better. I only felt like an idiot up there about half the time.”
“I’m sure the students don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“They might. They’ve got to know how nervous I am.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter if they do.”
“I’d prefer to be completely confident and impressive.”
He brushes a hand down the length of my hair. “I know you would.”
“I thought I’d be good at teaching.”
“You are. You will be.” He pulls back to meet my eyes. “It’s your second time. Give yourself a chance.”
I take a deep breath and straighten up, smiling at him. “I am. I’m giving myself a chance. I don’t have to be perfect. I assume I’ll get better at this.”
“You will. Everyone needs practice at things. Even you.”
I chuckle softly and stretch up to kiss him. “Thank you, Hunter.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How was your meeting?”
“Long and boring.”
“I guess that’s the problem with getting a promotion. More boring meetings.”
He leans down to pick up my bag from the ground and opens the car door to drop it in. “I’m not complaining.”
Three weeks ago, Hunter got a promotion at Pop’s to a position with more responsibility and better pay. He’s been acting very low-key about it, but I know he’s pleased it about the validation. Chip and Melissa do nothing but praise his job performance, and even Pop has nothing to criticize.
He’s doing incredibly well, and everyone knows it.
Even him.
“You ready to go?” Hunter asks.
I’m about to reply when my phone buzzes with a text. I pull it out to check the message.
It’s Chelsea.
I can’t take much more of this. If Pop keeps it up, I’m going to do something DRASTIC!
I read the text with a shake of my head.
“Something wrong?” Hunter asks.
“No. I don’t think so. It’s Chelsea. Pop has been really nagging her—about everything from her wardrobe to her social life—and she’s getting fed up.”
“She needs to get a job so she’s out from under his thumb. Like us.”
With Hunter’s salary and the stipend that comes from my assistantship, Hunter and I are supporting ourselves on our own starting this month.
It’s a strange feeling for me. Scary and freeing both.
I’m ridiculously proud of us.
I really never thought I’d ever get here.
“She’s been looking at jobs, if you can believe it. But she’s Chelsea, and she wants everything about the job to be just right. She could get a job pretty quickly, but it’s not going to be a really... nice job since she doesn’t have any experience or specific qualifications. Melissa wants to give her a job with Pop’s, but Chelsea is so annoyed with Pop right now she wants something entirely different. I don’t know what she’s going to be able to find.”
Another text from Chelsea comes in while I’m talking.
DRASTIC. I mean it. If you and Melissa can do it, so can I!
My eyes widen as I show the text to Hunter.
“Does she mean she can get out from under Pop’s thumb like you and Melissa did, or does she mean do something... drastic like you and Melissa did?” he asks.
“I really don’t know. Knowing Chelsea, there’s no telling.”
I text her back quickly, telling her not to do anything drastic without talking to me and Melissa first. Then I slip my phone in my purse.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“No second thoughts?”
“No second thoughts.”
“No wussing out?” Hunter is giving me that intimate little smile again.
“No wussing out.” Then I add, “Let me see the drawings again.”
Hunter reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a wrinkled sheet of paper. When he unfolds it, he hands me a colored sketch of two figures that are distinct but also seem to match each other.
They’re beautiful and skillful and exactly what I had in mind.
I nod. “Okay. I’m ready to get another tattoo.”
Hunter is getting a phoenix—a real one this time—but I’m getting something else.
He opens the car door for me, but before I can get in, he wraps an arm around me, pulls me against him, and tilts his head down to murmur gruffly into my ear, “You know that if you get an angel tattooed on your shoulder, you’ll be mine forever, right?”
I do know, and I’m not even scared.
“Oh, Hunter, I already am.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you enjoyed this book, the next book in the series will be Packaged Husband about Chelsea. It will come out in January. For the rest of the year, I’ll be releasing a holiday novella series called Holiday Acres. The books won’t be available for preorder until the first book comes out in September, so be sure to look for them then. You can find an excerpt from Stranded on the Beach, the first book in the Holiday Acres series, on the following pages.
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Excerpt from Stranded on the Beach
THE MORNING WAS ALREADY hot and humid—too muggy for this early in the summer—and Phil was sweating a half hour later when he went back to the shop to fill up his travel mug with more coffee.
He stopped for a few minutes to chat with old Carl Henner, who’d moved to town when he retired and hung out at local businesses most of the day.
He was returning to the pier with his coffee when he jerked to a stop.
Rebecca. Standing no more than ten feet away from him. Her back was to him as she snapped a few photos of the bay with her phone. She wore another pair of shorts that made the most of her firm, round ass and tanned legs. Her hair was in a ponytail, tied with an el
astic thing today rather than a scarf.
Every muscle in his body tightened at the sight of her. His heart started to hammer in his chest.
She lowered her phone and turned around, jerking to a stop exactly as he had earlier when her eyes landed on him.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Phil tried to fight a pull in the vicinity of his chest, some kind of compulsion that dragged him toward her.
“I thought you came here in the evenings,” she said at last. Her voice wasn’t loud, but there was an edge of both resentment and defensiveness in it that immediately raised Phil’s hackles.
“You really assume I keep the exact same schedule every day?” He did, but there was no way she could know that.
“I don’t know. Why are you here again?”
He frowned as he stepped closer. “I don’t have to justify my presence to you. I’ve been here a lot longer than you. This is where I live.”
“I’m not expecting you to justify anything to me.” She was angry now too. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes flashing. “I just wondered if you really hung around fishing all day long like an old man.”
“Hanging around fishing is my job. I co-own that store and restaurant.” He nodded back toward the shop, pleased he had something to show for the years they’d been apart.
She blinked, some of her anger fading in her surprise. She’d always been like that. She wasn’t an angry person. It took a lot to rile her up, and even then she was easily diverted by other emotions. “Really?”
“You think I’d stand here and lie to you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know you anymore.”
“Then there’d be no reason for me to lie to you about what I’m doing. You think I have any interest in impressing you?”
He did want to impress her. He could feel the impulse niggling in his head, even as he told himself it didn’t matter at all what she thought of him.
He didn’t want to feel that way though.
He didn’t want to care so much about someone he’d long since left behind.
