by Tessa Bailey
There he was. Her fake ex-boyfriend. His sinfully good-looking face filled the screen with an expression more somber than usual. At least more somber than he’d been during their phony relationship. Or was that just wishful thinking that he’d been happy? No. No, it wasn’t. But now a strain played around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, even as he responded to questions from the cohost welcoming him.
“I speak on behalf of the Bombers organization when I say we missed seeing your face on television and we’re looking forward to seeing a lot more of it.”
“Thank you,” Travis said, clearing the rasp from his voice. “Honored to be here.”
“I understand you brought someone along with you today.”
“Yes, I did.” The camera panned out to reveal a dozen awestruck faces of teenage boys in uniforms, one of whom Georgie recognized as the kid who’d delivered their chicken parm. “Doing the play-by-play for the Bombers isn’t my only job. This is the Port Jefferson High School baseball team, and I’m going to be working with them in the off-season. I didn’t think they’d mind watching the game from the booth today.”
Resounding agreements went up from the students, making the cohost laugh. “Something tells me you’re right.” He shifted in his seat, visibly changing gears with a jocular smile. “Now, there wasn’t always a time Travis Ford would have been considered mentor material for the younger generation.” Travis gave him a wry smile but didn’t respond. “What changed?”
Travis flicked an intense look at the camera. “I met Georgie Castle.”
A gasp went up in the living room, hands reaching out to steady her from all directions.
“I’ve met her twice in my life. This time, I was smart enough to fall in love with her.” He took out his earpiece and swiped a hand through his hair. “She taught me more about myself than I ever learned with a bat in my hands. She’s the reason I’m sitting here right now.” With a deep breath, he looked into the camera. Right at her. “I didn’t think anyone could love a broken-down has-been like me. That’s why I didn’t believe you actually loved me. I do now. You made me believe I’m worthy of it. And if I can be worthy of you, I’d consider that my life’s greatest accomplishment.” He paused. “I’m in love with you, baby girl. I want you for my wife. You think I’ll stop at building you a mantel? I’ll work every day to build my girl the life she deserves. If you give me the chance. Marry me, Georgie.”
Georgie pitched forward, the wind leaving her. Dizzy, she caught herself on the television stand. Around her, the Just Us League was going absolutely mad, draining cocktails before they could be fully poured and repeating Travis’s words in total swoon mode. Was this really happening? She pinched her forearm and yelped in pain, her hands flying to her mouth. Oh my God. Travis loved her. And not the Travis Ford who’d stared down at her from a glossy ceiling poster. The man behind the uniform. The most incredible man on the planet. Tears filled her vision and she turned in circles, about to burst from the pressure of love filling her rib cage. “What do I do now?”
“Do you love him back?”
“Of course I do!”
Bethany stepped forward. “It’s only the third inning.” With a knowing smirk, she tossed Georgie her purse. “Bye, bitch.”
Georgie choked on a sob and spun for the door, only to be brought up short by Stephen. He stood at the edge of the crowd. Based on his relieved—and regretful—expression, he’d heard Travis’s declaration of love on live television. “I’ve been wrong a lot lately,” her brother said, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”
Travis sat at the front of the bus, bent at the waist, head in his hands. Behind him, the Port Jeff baseball team repeated Bombers chants, high off their VIP status at the game. They tried to make him join in, but he was frozen in time. For all the time he’d spent planning his proposal to Georgie, like an idiot he hadn’t taken into account how long he’d be required to wait for an answer.
Had Bethany followed through on her end of the bargain and gotten Georgie to watch his debut in the booth? If so, why hadn’t Georgie called him? Granted, it would be more poignant to accept his proposal in person. Then again, maybe she hadn’t wanted to reject him on the air. Basically his fate hung in the balance as the bus he’d rented trundled down the Northern State Parkway. And when it slowed to a stop, blocked by bumper-to-bumper traffic, Travis couldn’t take it anymore. He extricated his cell phone from his pocket, preparing to dial Georgie’s number.
Her name and a picture of her in his Hurricanes jersey popped up on the screen.
Wait. She was calling him?
“Georgie?” Travis answered, standing up at his seat, the low tin roof keeping him stooped over. “Say something, baby girl. Please. I miss your voice.”
“I miss yours, too,” she whispered, sending relief cascading through his middle. “I thought I could make it to the stadium in time, but there’s all this traffic—”
His laugh didn’t hold a trace of humor. “I’m on my way to Port Jeff. Can you turn around?” He fell back into the seat, covering his eyes with a hand. “I need you to be there when I get off this bus. If I have to go another hour without seeing you, I’m going to die.” He braced himself. “Did you watch the game? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Travis, I—”
A horn honked on the parkway, drowning out what she said. But the beep came from two places. The road . . . and the other end of the line. “Georgie. Where are you?”
“On the Northern State Parkway. Near the Brush Hollow Road exit.”
An incredulous sound fell from his mouth. He turned in the seat and scanned the westbound lanes on the other side of the divider. Neither side of the expressway was moving, not an unusual occurrence this close to Manhattan. It took Travis a few frantic seconds of searching, but he finally caught sight of a vehicle he never thought he’d be happy to see.
Stephen’s fucking minivan.
“Don’t move, baby girl. I’m coming to you.” He hung up and pocketed the phone, despite Georgie’s exclamation on the other end. Yeah, fine. It was pretty insane to get out of the bus in the middle of the expressway. And probably illegal. Ask Travis if he cared. When he said he’d die without seeing Georgie, his heart had backed him up. It ached like a son of a bitch as he hopped the divider and ran for the minivan, need and determination building with every step.
She didn’t see Travis coming until he was a few steps away, her eyes flying wide on the other side of the passenger window. Her door flew open, her feet hit the pavement, and she threw herself into his arms, sending him stumbling back a step onto the shoulder.
“You’re insane,” she breathed into his neck. “You’re insane and I love you.”
The ground moved under his feet. “Present tense, right? Love not loved.”
“Loved and love. Both.” She looked him in the eye. “I’ve loved and love you in every single way.”
Thanking the man upstairs with a whispered prayer, Travis eased back just enough to take her face in his hands. “I said those things to my father because he poisons everything he touches. He can poison anything he wants, except you. I couldn’t stand your name in his mouth. I couldn’t let him focus on you for a second, so I said something awful I didn’t mean. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know. I understand.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to lift her off the ground. “I’m sorry you had to face him alone.”
“I’m strongest when you’re around, but I’m going to get better at using that strength, even when you’re not standing beside me.” He laid the first of many kisses on her lips, almost drowning in the perfection of her taste. “If I ever start to lose strength again, I’ll just think of how it felt to lose the girl who loved me, even when I couldn’t love myself.
“And if you say yes to marrying me . . .” He had to stop for a breath. “If you say yes, Georgie, we’re going to live the next five, six decades out together. We’re going to fight and make up a
thousand times. And we’re going to have babies. I want to have babies with you, more than anything, because you make me believe I can. Be a father. Be a good husband to you.” He dropped his face into the base of her neck and was reassured by the chaotic rhythm of her pulse. “Say yes,” he whispered. “Please, baby girl. Be my wife.”
Moisture filled her eyes. “Yes, Travis Ford. There isn’t a single other person on this planet I could imagine those things with. I’ll marry you,” she breathed. “At least long enough for you to finish my fireplace—”
His laugh booming across the expressway, Travis wrapped her in a hug and swept her off the ground. “You said yes. Thank God.” He staggered a little. “I thought I was fucked.”
Around them, horns started to honk. One at a time, until it became a cacophony of noise. Clapping and whistling reached them through rolled-down windows. His relief and joy turned everything to a blur, though, and he promptly forgot about their surroundings, despite the loud ruckus taking place. He drew her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles and palm, before sliding on the ring he’d been keeping in his shirt pocket, as even louder cheers and beeps erupted around them. Travis leaned in to breathe with an open mouth against her neck, his hands riding dangerously low on the small of her back. “You just wait until I get you home, baby girl.” He drew her up onto her toes, grazing her neck with the barest hint of teeth. “I’m going to put you against a wall and—”
“All right. I think we get the idea,” said a dry male voice.
Travis turned his head to find Stephen at the wheel of the minivan, the other man clearly battling a smile. “Fine, I’ll be your best man. You don’t have to beg.”
Travis swallowed and brushed the hair back from Georgie’s face. “Thanks, man.” He looked at Stephen. “I’ll make sure she knows every single day that she’s the air I breathe. That’s a promise.”
Suspiciously teary-eyed, Georgie’s brother gave a brisk nod and rolled up the window.
Leaving Travis and Georgie kissing on the shoulder, long after the traffic cleared.
Acknowledgments
Every year at Christmastime, Port Jefferson, Long Island, turns into a Charles Dickens village. For two days, locals dress up like chimney sweeps and carolers, greeting visitors with their cockney accents. There’s apple cider, ice-skating, and old-fashioned puppet shows. Basically, it’s magical. I took my family one year, and I’ve been charmed by the small waterside town of Port Jefferson ever since. I’m so excited to set a series in this glorious little place, and I hope I did it justice.
Thank you, as always, to my family for lifting me up when I’m down and loving me through deadline weeks. Thank you to my editor, Nicole Fischer—for helping me turn our broken-down ex–baseball phenom from swoony to OH YEAH SWOONY. Thank you to my agent, Laura Bradford, for always looking out for my best interests and helping bring this series to life. Thank you to Dansby Swanson for inspiring Travis Ford and Melissa Benoist for being my mental Georgie. As always, thank you most of all to readers who continue to invest their time in my stories—I love you all.
An Excerpt from Love Her or Lose Her
Don’t miss Rosie and Dominic’s story!
Love Her or Lose Her
Coming soon!
Read on for a sneak peek . . .
Chapter One
Rosie Vega: a department-store shopper’s worst nightmare.
Really, that’s what her name tag should have said, instead of cosmetics consultant. In order to fulfill that title, someone would be required to consult her first, right? Problem was, no one ever asked to be spritzed with perfume. And really, that’s all it was. Just a little spritz. Why wouldn’t customers just let her make them smell good? Was it really so much to ask?
Rosie hobbled over to the Clinique counter in her high heels, scoping for her supervisor, Zelda, before performing a casual lean against the glass, groaning as the pressure on her toes and ankles lessened. One might surmise that Rosie was in the military instead of working as a glorified perfume girl at the mall. If Rosie was caught leaning, she wouldn’t be docked pay or anything so serious. She would just get the shittier-smelling perfume to demonstrate tomorrow. Yes. The Zelda worked her evil in backhanded ways.
She leaned over the counter and checked the clock on the register. Nine twenty-nine. A little over half an hour to go and Rosie was exhausted from standing on her feet since three o’clock. The only customers left in Haskel’s were buying last-minute birthday presents or shopping for impromptu job interview clothes. There were no pleasure cruisers at the mall this late, but she was required to stay until the very end. On the off chance someone wanted to smell like begonias and sandalwood right before bed.
A squeal rent the air and two children holding giant mall pretzels came tearing through her aisle, their mother sprinting after them with no fewer than three bags on each arm. Rosie managed to lunge out of their way, but one kid’s legs got tangled in the other and they went sprawling, both pretzels turning end over end like tumbleweeds into a Dior display.
“Kill me now,” the mother wailed at the ceiling, turning bloodshot eyes on Rosie. “Help us. Please.”
Feedback screeched over the department store PA system. “Janitorial services to cosmetics.” Both kids burst into noisy tears, neither one of them making a move to get off the floor. The PA system sent a ripple of static into the atmosphere forcing everyone to plug their ears, which Rosie could only accomplish with one finger since she was still holding the perfume bottle. “Bring a broom,” the man on the speaker finished sleepily.
Rosie chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then set down her fragrance, thus committing a cardinal sin in the eyes of her supervisor. Don’t dawdle, always have a bottle. Those words were on a plaque in the employee break room in size-seventy-two font. Desperate times called for desperate measures, however, and with her hands free, Rosie could stoop down to help the children to their feet, while their mother lamented the fact that she no longer smoked.
A teenager appeared on the scene dragging a broom behind him, music blaring in his earbuds, and Rosie ushered the kids over to their mother, waving off her gratitude, knowing she needed to find her bottle before—
“No perfume, I see,” Zelda drawled, rising from behind the glass counter like a vampire at sundown. “How are we to entice the customer?” She pretended to search the immediate area. “Perhaps our commission will appear out of thin air.”
Smile in place, Rosie picked her bottle back up and gave it a shake. “Armed and prepared, Zelda.”
“Oh! There it is.” Zelda sauntered off to go terrorize someone else. But not before calling to Rosie over her shoulder. “You’re sampling the Le Squirt Bon Bon tomorrow.”
Rosie ground her molars together and threw a thumbs-up at her supervisor. “Can’t wait!” No one had ever sold a bottle of Le Squirt. It smelled like someone woke up with a hangover, stumbled into their kitchen without brushing their teeth and housed a cupcake, then breathed into a bottle and put it on shelves.
She was debating the wisdom of paying the janitor to hide every bottle of Le Squirt—an inside job!—when the sound of footfalls coming in Rosie’s direction forced her spine straight, as if on command. She pushed off the glass and held her perfume bottle at the ready, a smile spreading her mouth and punishing her sore cheeks. A man turned the corner and her smile eased somewhat, her hands lowering. Even if he were to buy the scent as a gift for his wife, the dude definitely wouldn’t want to go home reeking of women’s perfume.
Rosie assumed the man would pass on by, but he stopped at the counter across the aisle, peering into the glass case for a moment. Then he straightened and sent her a warm grin.
“Hi.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and Rosie performed her usual customer checklist. Nice watch. Tailored suit. Potential for an upsell if she could convince an obvious businessman that the three-scent gift box was a must have for his lady. “Shouldn’t they have sent you home by now?”
Was he talking to her
? Weird. On the cosmetics department floor, most people passed by Rosie like she was an inanimate object. A minor annoyance they had to successfully avoid for three point seven seconds, unless they needed directions or help wrangling their kids. She had the urge to glance over her shoulder to make sure the man wasn’t addressing someone behind her. Maybe Zelda had doubled back to make sure she was spray-ready.
“Um.” Rosie tried not to be obvious about shifting in her heels, transferring the ache between feet. “No rest for the weary, I guess. The mall closes at ten, so . . .”
Speaking to a man felt strange. Foreign. She hadn’t even talked to her husband, Dominic, about anything of real importance for years. And God help her, someone giving enough of a damn to ask why she was terrorizing people with a perfume bottle at nine-thirty did feel important. Someone asking about her, noticing her, felt important.
For a split second in time, Rosie let herself notice the man back. In a purely objective way. He was cute. Had some dad bod going on, but she wasn’t judging. With both hands in his pockets, she couldn’t scope for a wedding ring. Some intuition told her he was divorced, though. Maybe even recently. There was something about how he’d approached as if intending to go straight for the exit that told Rosie he was only pretending to be interested in the jewelry case now. His tense shoulders and stilted small talk suggested he’d actually stopped to speak to her and wasn’t overly comfortable doing it.
“Have you been working here long?”
This man was interested in her. In the space it took Rosie to have that realization, she realized her own wedding ring was hidden behind the perfume bottle. Without being obvious, she curled the bottle into her chest and let the gold band wink at him across the aisle. The light in his eyes dimmed almost immediately.
