She hadn’t slept last night. Too many ghosts, even though she was three hallways and one flight away from Dexter’s old bedroom with all the sports posters on the walls, and his hockey jersey that she’d worn. The jersey that was now secretly tucked in her bag. He’d never notice it was gone. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to her.
“I can’t,” Jules said, speaking around the lump in her throat that was trying to choke her. “You tell her good-bye for me, and your dad, too.” She almost couldn’t breathe now. “Everyone.”
Roxy frowned sympathetically and gave her a tight hug. Jules closed her eyes and hugged her back. She’d been the closest thing to a sister Jules had ever had—which wasn’t saying much. Attachments weren’t really her thing.
Now she was attached to the whole Elliott family.
“You’ll come back to town though, right? When the house sells, at least?”
“Yeah.” Jules nodded, needing to get out of there, pronto. “I’ll leave his car at long-term parking and mail him the key.” She was trying to sound detached, even though she heard the misery in her voice.
“I wish you weren’t—”
“I gotta go,” Jules cut in. “My flight’s soon.” She slid in the car and fired up the ignition, trying not to see Roxy waving good-bye as she drove away.
Another very bad, unhealthy idea, but since Jules was on a roll, why not?
There was plenty of time before her flight, but she hadn’t planned on making one last stop. It was a beautiful day, and the second she turned onto the narrow road, she slowed way down, taking in the view of the lake. Grinding the gear into park, she sat in the car in the middle of the road and just stared at it for a moment.
The flood of memories swimming in her head was almost overwhelming. Memories of Grams and all the wonderful times they’d spent together. The memories trying to drown her were of Dexter…
Him sitting on the deck because he knew she didn’t like him on the phone in the house. His bed-head hair from sleeping on that old velvet couch he probably hated. Watching him play host when she couldn’t use her foot. Being her crutch that night, physically and on another level she hadn’t known existed. The look in his eyes right before he kissed her the first time…the same look she’d seen on him over and over, because every kiss was like their first.
Even though it hurt, she had to smile when she thought of all the good he’d brought into her life. She’d had a huger blast with him in six days than she ever dreamed was possible. But now that was marked as “experience,” memories to chase the rest of her life.
From the spot where she sat, when she leaned forward, she could see the front corner of the cottage. Should she stop in one last time, or firmly cut her losses?
Her attention was pulled when a figure walked around the corner of the house. And was that the tail end of a work truck in the driveway? She started the motor and drove forward. What the heck? She’d specifically told skeevy Quent to not send any Realtors to the cottage until Monday.
After angrily shutting off the car, she held up the bottom of her long dress and charged to the back of the house, only to skid to a stop.
Pairs of sawhorses covered the deck, at least the far section of what was left of it. And lumber, Sheetrock, tools. Someone was building on to the back, in the exact space she’d envisioned her art studio would be.
Someone who was hammering. Then not hammering. Then cussing up a storm.
“Hello?”
The string of profanity stopped, and Dexter came into view, covered in sawdust, with chunks of Sheetrock chalk in his dark hair, holding a hammer. “Hi.”
She stared like she was seeing a ghost, afraid to move in case he vanished into thin air. Again. “You left.”
“I came back.”
The words didn’t compute, and she stayed where she was, fisting the bottom of her dress. Seeing him made her want to cry—and then scream bloody murder, because she was so done with sadness, and dark clouds, and falling for a man who crushed her.
“If you’re here because you want your check back, I tore it up. I don’t want your money.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, trying like mad to not let him see she was broken.
“Yes, I should. This is exactly where I should be. And you know it.”
The part of her brain used for comprehending and deliberating was too drained for double-talk. “I don’t know anything. I thought I did, but…”
“Jules, I’m sorry.” He placed the hammer on a stack of two-by-fours. “I said terrible things to you. Terrible lies I didn’t even believe. For one, Angela’s not who you think.”
“It’s fine,” she said, firming her stance, feeling the stabilizing earth beneath her feet. “If you’re here to clear your conscience, you’re good to go.” She placed her palms together and gave a little nod. “Namaste.”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, and the exasperation in his eyes put her on high alert. “Do not pretend you don’t care.”
The nerve of him. She crossed her arms and huffed. If he only knew how much she cared. “You better leave—”
“I made a mistake,” he said, right over her words. “Not the mistake of marrying you. That might be the smartest thing I’ve ever done. The mistake was not realizing what I had with you.”
She blinked. Was this more double-talk, or was he actually…?
Suddenly, her heart started beating hard, so afraid to hope, but more afraid not to. “What?” It was the only sound she could get out.
“You”—he pointed at her—“are more important to me than any meeting. I’ll always work a lot, it’s how I’m built, but never again will there be a choice. Because you’ll always come first. I knew that all along, I just forgot for a while. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”
Her speeding heart was in her throat as she looked into his eyes….those eyes she knew were telling the truth.
“We’re not strangers, Jules,” he added. “And we weren’t some Vegas accident. You bring me to life and you make me crazy. I love how I feel when I’m with you. When I’m not with you, I…” He put a hand over his heart. “It’s unbearable. Please forgive me. Please don’t make me live like that.”
He reached for her, but she stepped away.
“I’m mad at you.”
Nothing moved on him except his eyes, squinting and refocusing, trying to understand. After a moment, he lowered his outstretched hand. “Okay.” He stepped back, looked down, and brushed the sawdust from his palms. “I get it. I’ll leave.”
“I’m mad at you,” she repeated. “But it might pass if you give me a minute.”
The taken-aback expression on his face was sincere. And heart-melting. What took its place was a tiny smile twitching the corner of his mouth. “How much longer?”
She pushed her hair off her shoulders, trying not to smile back. “Couple more seconds.”
“Jules, I can’t wait that long.” He moved forward. “I miss you. I miss my wife.”
So what if he was quoting Jerry Maguire, Jules charged full steam ahead, never doubting Dexter would catch her. “I missed you, too,” she said, clasping her hands behind his back. “I couldn’t breathe.”
“Neither could I,” he said, arms squeezing her tight, then he bent to kiss her. The touch of his lips was soft at first, allowing her to remember that place they fit together, intertwined, that happy nirvana carved out for only them.
“I love you,” he whispered over her mouth, and Jules had to grip him tight to not fall. “I love your smile, your voice—the noisier the better.”
“Dex.” With a heart so surprised, so full of love it could burst, she laughed and tried to shove him, but his strong arms around her wouldn’t budge.
“I love how you think and give,” he added, swaying them like they were dancing to Count Basie. “How you light up a room and bring energy and color everywhere you go. You know how badly I need that.” He cupped her cheek, his th
umb running a trail over her skin. “I love your self-portrait hanging on the wall. How you painted your hair as a rainbow of sunlight, your eyes and heart, the way they blend together in an ocean.”
On the brink of tears again, she lifted onto her toes so she could touch his face. “I’m a visual artist—I don’t have the words to follow your speech.”
“I don’t want a speech.” He kissed the palm of her hand. “I just want—”
“I love you,” she blurted. Then smiled, knowing she was blushing. “How was that?”
Every trace of anxiety and worry on his face disappeared as he kissed her again. “Perfect.”
Her heart pounded even harder as she squeezed him, wanting to scale him like a koala bear, but Dexter bumped into a sawhorse. “By the way, what exactly are you doing out here?”
“This?” He curled a strand of her hair around one finger. “The more I thought about it, the more I saw your point about adding on. You deserve a beautiful place.”
“You said it’ll ruin the resale value.”
“Like you said a million times, doesn’t matter if you’re never selling.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Especially since we’re living here.”
When her mouth fell open in delight, Dexter laughed and held her even closer. “I hope you don’t mind, but when I was sketching the plans of where your art studio would go, it didn’t flow right until I added another room next to it. My office. I’ve already chosen the paintings of yours I want to hang in there.”
“Your office? Wait.” She clutched the front of his shirt. “Dex, your meeting with the investors is today. Two hours ago. Call them—call them now.”
“No.” His voice was firm, as was his focus on her. “The second I decided you were more important than anything, I acted; it wasn’t even a choice.” He smiled. “Though I’m lucky my team is forgiving, and very lucky that the head investor is a hopeless romantic. He texted an hour ago when he found out why I canceled. He offered to fly to Hershey in three weeks.”
“Wow, that is lucky.”
“This could be big, Jules.” He lowered his chin and broke eye contact. “You know better than anyone how badly I need an artist like you to make it work. Will you help me?”
With a heart about to burst, she stroked his perfect hair, that didn’t look so perfect now. “Of course.”
“You’ll recall how my current boss gave me the next two weeks off?” He winked. “After that, my home office will be a satellite for a while, but if it bothers you, I’ll rent a place in town.”
“Don’t you dare. That’s why we have a deck.” She looked around. Half of the outside wall of the house was gone, partially covered with the frame of the addition. The other half was protected with a hanging tarp. “You did all this since yesterday?”
“Luke and Dad wanted to help, but I wouldn’t let them.”
“Now we’ll do it together. You must’ve been working all night—Dex.” She gripped his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be using a hammer or a saw, no electric tools at all! Baby, you’re sleep deprived.”
“Not that sleep deprived.” He kissed her so hard, Jules saw stars…skyrockets and meteors and rainbow rings around Saturn. When his hands slid to her hips, she felt skyrockets, too.
“I think it’s time we go inside,” she whispered, losing her breath. “We have a skipped honeymoon to make up for.” The next second, her breath was completely snatched away when Dexter scooped her up and pushed through the hanging tarp.
“Need any apples or Hershey’s bars for fuel?” he asked.
“I’m good,” she said, kissing her big, beautiful husband’s neck.
“Hey.” He stopped walking and peered at her left hand resting on his chest. “Where’s your ring?”
“Oh, um, buried under a bolder by the lake.”
“Babe, no.” His eyebrows furrowed in mock disappointment and his bottom lip jutted out in a sexy pout. “Hated me that much?”
That bottom lip was just too tempting. “Loved you that much,” she corrected, trapping his lip between her teeth, nibbling until he moaned.
“I have a confession to make, Mrs. Elliott.” His voice was hoarse and impatient as they crossed the threshold of their bedroom. “I threw the Vegas bet on purpose.”
She released her lips from his neck to gaze at him, partially thrilled at hearing her married name, and partially in shock at what followed it. “No, you didn’t. I remember what happened now. You won the bet. That’s the whole reason we had to get… Ohhh.”
“Crazy, huh? It all came back in a rush.” Wearing a smoldering grin, he sat on the bed, keeping Jules curled to his chest. “Makes sense, though. It was the only way to keep you with me.” He ran a hand down her leg, over her bare feet, his nose touching hers. “And it worked like a charm.”
Epilogue
A hundred missed calls later
With a sketch pad under her arm, Jules tiptoed out of the bedroom. Enough moonlight shone through the windows to see the pile of dishes, take-out cartons and other evidence of nearly two weeks’ worth of neglected housekeeping.
More than enough moonlight showed the State of Nevada wedding license displayed on the fridge. A happy thrill ran through Jules, remembering how Dex had made such a fuss about hanging it where he could see it every day.
So I’ll never forget the night you took pity on me and changed my life.
She nearly tripped over the heap of towels from their early-morning swim. Had that been today or yesterday? Time was one dreamy, delicious blur. Dex’s cell sat on the counter. Dead for days. No charger in sight. Halfway buried under her paintbrushes and his DIY book on how to add a room.
Every once in a while, she’d catch a nervous eye twitch or a reflexive glance at where his watch should be. Whenever she suggested he check his phone or email, he’d explain to her in slow, sexy detail why, exactly, he was a better man because of her.
She was better because of him, too. He stabilized her better than yoga, made sense, was a stunning example of how to bravely face an unknown future. Which is always easier—he was quick to point out—when the leap of faith is made with someone you love like hell.
The other day, while she’d soaked in a bath, one by one, he’d brought in her paintings, sat on the side of the tub, and asked what they meant, shared what he found interesting, learned about her art.
How could she love him more?
Holding back the tarp with one hand, she stepped onto the deck. The easel was bathed in moonlight, still angled from when she’d painted last. First, she consulted the pages she’d already filled with sketches of his profile, his steady gaze, even the nude study she’d done from memory. That was a goody, and for her eyes only.
Then she picked up a brush.
This far from the city, the stars filled the sky, reflecting off the lake, distracting her with memories of the day he’d come back. That first time he’d said “I love you.” The countless times since then. Her skin warmed, stomach flipped at the thought of her legs intertwined with his, fingers interlocked, wedding rings clinking against each other.
The hours and days ran together. They’d fight it, but real-life responsibilities would return soon. She heard the bedsprings squeak, heard him beckon her by name, sending a lovely shiver of anticipation through her body.
Real-life responsibilities? Sure, whatever. Just not too soon, please. Their twelve solid days of honeymooning beat every other couple in the family.
Not that they had a bet going or anything…
Did you love this Bliss? Check out more of our fun and flirty titles here!
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Ophelia London was born and raised among the redwood trees in beautiful northern California. Once she was fully educated, she decided to settle in Florida, but her car broke down in Texas and she’s lived in Dallas ever since. A cupcake and elliptical aficionado (obviously those things are connected), she spends her time watching arthouse movies and impossibly trashy TV, while living v
icariously through the characters she writes. Ophelia is the author of the Sugar City series, including WIFE FOR THE WEEKEND and KISSING HER CRUSH; AIMEE & THE HEARTTHROB; DEFINITELY, MAYBE IN LOVE; the Abby Road series; and the Perfect Kisses series. Visit her at ophelialondon.com. But don’t call when The Vampire Diaries (or Dawson’s Creek) is on.
Discover the Sugar City series…
Love Bites
Kissing Her Crush
Also by Ophelia London
Playing at Love
Speaking of Love
Falling for Her Soldier
Making Waves
New Adult from Ophelia London
Abby Road
Crossing Abby Road
Definitely, Maybe in Love
Someday Maybe
Young Adult from Ophelia London
Aimee and the Heartthrob
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