Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“What a fuck.”
“It gets better,” I say, laughing angrily. “He told me he didn’t want to have kids about a year into our marriage—knowing I did. But we were already married, and I thought maybe he’d come around. He did.” I shake my head. “He went on a mission trip and came home with a pregnant mistress.”
“Holy shit.” Tate’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. That’s why I divorced him. Now, my second husband was the opposite. He was obsessed with me, I think. I know that sounds amazing.”
My stomach tightens, and I almost don’t finish the story. But with every sentence I say, a bit more of the heaviness I carry around is lifted from my chest.
Tate stills. “What happened with him?”
I force a swallow. “Two things were the nails in his coffin. First, his daughter was coming over for dinner, and I had forgotten to put the meat out to thaw the night before. So that morning, I ran to the grocery to buy a pot roast.” My stomach churns. “He happened to have swung by the house while I was gone and was furious that I’d gone to the store alone. I don’t think he believed me. I think he thought I was with someone else, maybe.”
Tate’s fork hits the pan with a clink.
“She came over that night, and I had to create a lie to explain why my back was stiff and bruised.”
I barely get the words out before Tate pulls me into his chest. He holds me so tightly that I can scarcely breathe. And when I realize that no one has ever held me like this in my entire life before now, tears slip down my cheeks.
“Where is he now?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Far away from here. His daughter’s husband took care of it, and I never got the chance to really thank him.” I press a kiss to his sternum before lifting and wiping my cheeks with the sheet. “What about you? Have you been married? Engaged?”
He looks at me warily, as if he hasn’t gotten past my admission. I shake my head, silently telling him that I need to move this conversation along. And because he somehow understands me already, he acquiesces even though I know he doesn’t want to.
He clears his throat. “I have not been married or engaged.”
“That surprises me.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I can imagine lines of women throwing themselves at you.”
“Well, they do. That’s true.”
I snort-laugh.
He grins, and the light slowly filters back in his eyes. “My parents fought my whole life. Well, they didn’t really fight in front of us. It was just obvious, to me at least, they didn’t like each other.”
“That’s sad.”
“I’ve always known that I wanted to have a family, have a home. I’ve wanted a beautiful wife and a house that smells like pie.”
That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together.
“I’ve always said that I’m going to do it once—find the right girl and sweep her off her feet,” he says, monitoring my reaction.
I don’t give him one—not one that he can use.
“Yeah, well, I thought that too, and I married two of the wrong ones,” I say. “It doesn’t always work out like that.”
“Guess I’m a better judge of character than you.”
“Fuck off,” I say, laughing.
“Hey, when you know, you know.” He shrugs. “That’s what my brothers have told me, and I didn’t think Gannon would ever be happy.”
I scooch around so I’m facing him. He appears to prefer this position. His hands slide right into my lap. I prefer this position, too.
“Was Gannon who you were talking about in Nashville? The one you called a prick? The asshole boss?”
Tate snickers. “Yup.”
“That’s mean!”
“He is a prick sometimes,” he says. “But he married my best friend, which is great for him and terrible for me because I lost her in the deal. But they’re happy, and I still call Carys whenever I want to—”
“Wait.” My jaw drops. No. This is not … no. “What’s her name?”
“Carys,” he says slowly.
Oh God. I close my eyes. “What’s her last name, Tate?”
“Johnso … holy fuck.”
Holy fuck is right.
He shoots up in bed.
Cringing, I open my eyes and brace myself.
My features display shock, in that my ex-stepdaughter is my … whatever Tate is to me at this point’s best friend. Tate’s features also display shock in a much more entertaining way.
This is not going to be good.
“You’re the hot stepmommy,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
“What are you talking about?”
He climbs out of bed, laughing hysterically. “Why didn’t I put this together before now? It all makes sense.” He faces me as if he just solved world hunger. “The Legends! That’s why that was so familiar to me.”
“How did you know that?”
“Carys might’ve stalked you—don’t judge her, though. Never tell her that I told you that.”