Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  Knocking on Wyatt’s door, I hear a grumble come from inside and slowly turn the handle, only to be met with Mark’s lily-white ass standing beside the bed and Wyatt doing god knows what.

  “Shit! Sorry!” I shriek, moving out and closing the door behind me quicker than humanly possible.

  They both crack up laughing behind the wall and I run back to my room and barricade myself in, all while dying of embarrassment.

  It’s then I just happen to look out my window to see the same teenage boy in an equally compromising position on his couch, his hand in a place no neighbor—let alone a thirty-five-year-old woman—should ever see.

  I scream, quickly closing my eyes and rushing over to close the curtains—again. What is it about days I plan to get married starting off on the wrong foot?

  I crawl back into my bed and bury myself under the covers, seriously considering that the universe is trying to tell me something about this plan of mine.

  Then I think back to Cam being on this mattress with me, the way he made it feel like we had never been apart. It was as if our feelings for each other had never switched off, we’d somehow simply pushed pause.

  Did I make a mistake with him? Could there be another way?

  Ten minutes later, my door creaks and I’m joined under the covers by a now fully-dressed Wyatt.

  “Hey, wifey.”

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Hiding.”

  He lifts a brow. “From?”

  “You, Mark, the neighbor, life …”

  He snickers. “You flashed the neighbor again?”

  “Nope. He gave me a glimpse of what life with a teenage son might be like.”

  Wyatt grimaces before he wraps an arm over my waist and snuggles in close. “You can still runaway bride me if you want.”

  I let out a loud sigh and melt into him. “I’ll be okay. I just need to get dressed, then we can call the cab.”

  He pulls back the covers and hops out. Standing by the bed, he holds out his hand and helps me up, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Everything is going to be alright, Sez. I promise you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Well, I will be eventually.”

  “Yes, I think you will be.”

  I lean back and look up at him with a grin. “That’s because I have you.”

  “Forever and always.”

  Chapter 13

  Cameron

  I’ve always been confident. I’ve never once doubted myself or my abilities to achieve what I want.

  When I left the army, I had a goal to get a civilian job, buy a house I could raise a family in, and once I was settled and mentally prepared, find Sarah Mason and wear her down until she admitted she was mine—again.

  But for the first time in a very long time, I’m nervous.

  It’s the same feeling I had when I made the decision to enlist, because with everything that’s important in life, even with the best of intentions, things don’t always go the way you want them to.

  At least this time, I know right down to the bottom of my soul that I’ve done everything in my power to make sure today ends the way I want it to.

  I haven’t stopping thinking about Sarah since I dropped her home on Wednesday night. But if there’s one thing I realized from our time together, it’s that she never gives up. Once she’s decided on something, she will always follow through on it. In her mind, marrying Wyatt today is the only way she is going to be able to help her parents and save their house. What she didn’t count on was my determination to be the only one she ever says ‘I do’ to.

  She was right when she said that I would be at her back if I’d stayed. I may not be able to make up for any of the times I haven’t been there for her in the past, but I’m damn well sure I’m going to be there for her from this point on.

  That’s why fifteen minutes later, I’m outside the lower level of the courthouse when Wyatt and Sarah come into view.

  She looks amazing, wearing the same dress I saw her in on the train five days ago. The same dress I tore her out of before sinking inside her and making her mine.

  Something I hope to do again very soon.

  Her eyes meet mine, and her step falters. Wyatt sees me and grins before leaning down and whispering something in her ear.

  Watching them together, I feel like an idiot for ever being worried about Wyatt. He’s a good guy—he always was—and there’s no way he would’ve married Sarah knowing how she felt about me now that I’m back in her life. And I am definitely back, whether she likes it or not.

  He kisses her cheek, his lips forming the word ‘go’ as he wraps an arm around her back and pushes her forward.

  She stops a few feet in front of me, her brows scrunched adorably, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Cam, what are you—” she says, at the same time as I say, “I’m here to—”

  We both stop and she smiles, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’re the last person I thought I’d see here.”

  “You’re the only person I’d ever be here for, Sez.”

  Her expression dims and she clasps her hands in front of her, looking away from me.

  I reach down and cover her hands with one of mine. “I couldn’t leave things as they were between us.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Sarah. Either back then or now, and I know you might not believe me, but I wasn’t lying when I said I never stopped thinking about you.

  “I know why you felt you had to go through with the ceremony today, but I’m here to stop it. To stop you from doing something we’ll both regret.”

  She opens her mouth, but I keep going before she can argue with me. “Especially when the reasons you were doing it no longer exist.”

  I see the moment my words sink in, her eyes narrowing as she wrenches her hands free and puts them on her hips. “What did you do?”

  “I did everything I had to do to make sure the only man you would ever marry would be me.”

  “Tell me you didn’t. Cam …” Her expression softens.

  “I killed two birds with one stone,” I reply, matter-of-factly.

  “And I suppose I’m supposed to be the stone?” she huffs.

  “No, this is.” I drop down to one knee right there in the middle of the corridor, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the black velvet ring box stowed there.

  “What did you do?” she whispers.

  “First, I put your dad in contact with an old family friend who used to work for my father. He’s started a new company and they’re looking for an accountant. Since I remember he worked in that department at Carsen Capital, I thought they’d work well together. When I called your dad this morning to follow up with him, he was starting next week. I also loaned him the money—with interest at his insistence—to cover the property taxes and clear the house title.” Now the dam breaks, and tears slowly fall down her cheeks. I reach out with my spare hand and lace my fingers with hers.

  “That’s one bird,” she says quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

  “The other was something I’d planned to do years ago. The same time that I bought this ring.” She gasps as I flick my thumb up and open the ring box to reveal the small diamond engagement ring I spent all my savings on when I was twenty, just one month before I enlisted.

  “I’ve had this ring for more than sixteen years, knowing it has one rightful home, and that’s at the base of your wedding finger. Today, I asked for your father’s blessing to propose to you. I’m not saying we’re doing it today, or even tomorrow. But I promise you …” I pull the white gold ring out of the box and with shaking hands, glide it down her outstretched finger.

  When I open my mouth again, my voice is gruff. “I will marry you one day soon but it will be big, it will be right, and it will be the dream wedding you always talked about.”

  “Cam,” she sobs, raising her hand to her mouth.

  I stand up straight and step into her, cupping her jaw in my hands. “Will you marry me, Sez?”
>
  My eyes sting with tears of my own as she lifts on her toes and brushes her lips against mine. She nods her answer.

  And standing outside the Marriage and Civil Union Court at City Hall, I kiss my fiancée, the only woman I’ve ever loved, as if my life depends on it.

  When we finally pull apart, she turns to Wyatt and shows him her hand as he checks out the ring.

  “I’ve just got one question,” he says to the both of us.

  I tuck Sarah into my side and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “What’s that?”

  “Is Beans On Me really shut down? Because I would kill for a coffee right now.”

  “Wyatt!” Sarah groans, shaking her head and looking up at me. “I’m sorry. Please don’t change your mind because you’ve got a lifetime of him now.”

  “Not a chance,” I say with a laugh. “As long as it means that I’ve got a lifetime with you, I’ll put up with almost anything.”

  THE END

  About the Author

  BJ Harvey is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Bliss Series. She also regards herself as a smut peddler, suspense conjurer and a funny romance thinker upper. An avid music fan, you will always find her singing everything and anything and loving every minute of it. She’s a wife, a mom to two beautiful girls, and hails from what she considers as the best country in the world—New Zealand.

  www.bjharveyauthor.com

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  Raine Miller

  Copyright © 2017 by:

  Raine Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  170523.155629

  DEDICATION

  For

  Jana

  I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs.

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, As You Like It, (1599)

  Chapter 1

  Reese

  A red shirt with the Netflix logo taped in place, and a fake bag of ice.

  How very clever.

  I wish I could’ve thought of such a brilliantly simple idea before I decided to put on what I’m wearing right now.

  To be clear, that would be wearing, while riding the DC Metro to my selected destination for the evening on the busy Saturday of the Halloween weekend.

  I tried not to pout over how much more I would’ve enjoyed a nice, safe dose of Netflix & Chill with Horatio curled up in my lap instead of going out, but I promised my friends from work I would come. So, I’m on my way to a Halloween party. Make that a “costume required” Halloween party.

  Bleh.

  I guess I sort of blend in, considering Netflix & Chill and I aren’t the only ones wearing a costume on the subway tonight.

  There’s a guy rocking a lavender unicorn suit, complete with sparkly rainbow tail and twisty horn, who just gave me and my dress the sideways-eye. Heyyyy, like you’re in a position to judge me, Fluffy. His buddy, Suicide Squad Joker sporting painfully green hair, leans in and snickers at something Fluffy just whispered in his ear, most likely about me and my dress. Yeah, and you’re no Jared Leto, you ass. Good luck with that green hair in about a week from now.

  Sometimes I hate people.

  A drop of sweat rolls down my back as the train car starts to feel chokingly claustrophobic.

  Slow breath, Reese.

  Like my choice of costume tonight was something that wouldn’t attract at least a passing response.

  Riiiiight.

  I’m an idiot. And while I won’t argue the validity of that point, I am also a magnet for unwanted attention regardless of whatever I do or don’t do. This is reality when your last name is Pinkarver, and you can trace your lineage—in a solid direct line mind you—to a beloved POTUS. My great-great-grandfather served his term nearly a century ago, but the name Pinkarver is still considered political royalty in this town. Right alongside Kennedy and Roosevelt. Others in my family have served in Congress, the Senate, and as governor of two different states of the union. All of this information is written down for posterity, my name in textbooks used in fifth grade Social Studies, all the way up to U.S. HISTORY 101 at college campuses everywhere.

  Legitimate stuff.

  Unlike me.

  My day started off for shit, and it hasn’t gotten any better as the sun made its path across the sky. I’d pretty much written it off for any improvement at this point.

  My big toe throbbed behind the heels I was wearing, still protesting the unfortunate smashing of it into the nightstand earlier this morning. The headache I’d battled for most of the day was giving me every indication that it wasn’t quite finished with me yet. At least I knew the why behind the headache—caffeine withdrawals. Zeke’s Brew House got shut down for health code violations (plural) and I’d been running too late to go somewhere else.

  I’ll be finding a new place to get my coffee from now on.

  The weird message from my mother last night wasn’t helping, either. Something about my inheritance coming due with my twenty-fifth birthday, which was just two months from now. I didn’t know anything about an inheritance for when I turned twenty-five. She’d never mentioned it before, so I was a little lost on the topic. My mom currently lives in Japan with her third husband who serves as the U.S. Ambassador to Sapporo, so the time difference usually has us playing phone tag for a bit before we can connect.

  Yeah, make that very weird. My whole family situation is weird, though. It’s been weird from the very beginning.

  My grandfather, Theodore Pinkarver, had already raised three daughters before his only son was born to wife number two. Theodore Junior—my very beloved and “perfect” father. Grandfather had an obsession with his son that did not extend to his daughters, who were already living their own independent lives by the time my dad arrived on the scene. It was just as well, because my grandparents put their efforts into raising their precious son to be the prince who would inherit the Pinkarver kingdom some beautiful day off into a bright and wonderful future.

  It didn’t work out that way though.

  My father’s life was nothing even close to my grandparent’s vision for him.

  He ended up impregnating my mother when he was nineteen and she was just seventeen. My mother wasn’t considered quality marriageable material for Theodore Pinkarver’s only son, so the two of them were separated by my grandparents, and the scandal buried. My grandfather had the means and the connections to make it all happen with very little fuss.

  Then, my very young parents went along with the business of growing up and living out their separate lives. My mom had a baby to raise and husbands (plural) to find. My dad was just getting started on the wild lifestyle he enjoyed so thoroughly.

  And so, my grandfather swept the whole business—including me—under the carpet stacked in the closet with the rest of the Pinkarver skeletons. Money was provided to my mother for our support, and nobody knew I even existed.

  All neat and tidy.

  Until ten years later, when my father managed to kill himself one dark and stormy December night. A freak accident involving an icy tributary of the Potomac, and what was probably far too many drinks before he ever made the decision to get behind the wheel.

  His death was definitely the game changer for my grandfather, mostly because it was at this point my existence was finally revealed to the world. Reese Pinkarver, only child of Theodore Pinkarver Jr., sole grandchild of Theodore and Rosalind Pinkarver, was alive and well at St. Mary’s School for Girls down in South Carolina.

  My grandparents tried to build a framework of bright and happy onto my presence, but it was pretty hard to shiny-up the fact, I had been born illegitimate. The only descendant of the prestigious Pinkarver clan was the “love-child” of two kids who never saw each other again after th
e pregnancy was confirmed—and kept secret from the world for more than a decade.

  Putting a nice spin on that sad story wasn’t so easy.

  My grandfather couldn’t rely on his daughters for replacements because they were past child-bearing age by the time my father died anyway, whether they were married and willing or not. One of my aunts is a dedicated heart surgeon, another a senator of Maryland, and the third is living the bohemian-artist life in Greenwich Village. She’s my favorite, in a fun Auntie Mame kind of way. Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death! Yep. ‘Emotionally starved’ is a clever way to sum up the Pinkarver family in a nutshell. What we lacked in births, we made up in extra dysfunction.

  Recently my own life felt like I was right on track with the rest of my family with the dysfunction—ergo the reason I am wearing a freaking wedding dress on the subway right now.

  I figured I could get away with it for a costume…especially if I slutted up the whole look with makeup, messy hair, and a homemade sign that read RUNAWAY pinned to the skirt.

  And yes, I’ve heard it before—sometimes my good judgement is questionable. My bad judgement? Not so much.

  The thing is, the dress I’m wearing…is not a costume. Not at all.

  It’s my real wedding dress.

  Well, it was my real wedding dress.

  It’s been hanging in the back of my closet for months, staring at me every time I go in there to choose clothes. Never to be worn. And a designer wedding dress isn’t something one can just drop off at the local Salvation Army without notice either. Undoubtedly someone would find my sad story just sordid enough to leak.

  It still surprised me the news of my breakup with Tim had passed with barely a ripple in the press. We’d met at work in one of the reading rooms at the Smithsonian Institute Archives where I helped him locate some zoological records from the Roosevelt Expedition of 1913 to what was then “Amazonia.” He kept coming back to SIA asking for me, specifically, to help him find documentation on some obscure expedition from a century ago.