Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
But what if he’s not fragile? What if he’s nothing like Teddy? What if he’s every bit as strong and steady and ready to match every part of you as he seems?
Before I can remind the inner voice that men are rarely as strong or steady as they seem, it adds, And if your peace is that easily stolen, was it ever really yours in the first place?
Well, fuck.
Touché, inner voice. Tou-fucking-ché…
The sun breaks over the roofline of the house next door, spilling gold across the garden like a promise.
I turn my face toward it, eyes closed, letting the warmth sink into my skin as I gather my courage.
Yes, I’ve been through hard times, through pain that forced me to transform in ways I didn’t always want to. I never wanted to be forty, single, never married, childless, with zero romantic prospects in sight.
But on the day Teddy’s wedding invitation arrived, I was all those things.
And yes, I was angry and more than a little bitter, but learning my ex was marrying my former assistant didn’t break me. It didn’t even get close. My peace held, keeping me steady through the storm and the rage, helping me put one foot in front of the other until I cooked up a devious “fake dating” scheme to help close that chapter on my own terms.
And now…
Now, I don’t care about Teddy, I realize. Or Madison. Or their stupid wedding.
I don’t care about revenge or what people are saying or if my friends secretly pity me for being used up and left behind.
I wasn’t used up. I wasn’t left behind.
I was right where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to do. I was holding myself accountable and growing up and learning my lessons, and now I’ve met a man who’s been doing the same. And yes, he’s younger than I am, but maybe sometimes age is just a number.
Maybe it’s okay to jump into the deep end and trust that, for once, a man is truly ready to jump with me.
“Good morning,” a soft voice rumbles from behind me. “Is it okay if I grab a cup of this coffee?”
I turn to see Nix in the open doorway, grinning as he squints into the sun. His hair is sticking up on one side and flat on the other. His T-shirt is wrinkled and stained from the green pepper jelly that slipped out of his grilled cheese.
He looks messy.
And precious.
And…mine.
“Of course it is,” I say, starting toward him, a warm, giddy-but-grounded feeling swelling in my chest. “But first, I need to kiss you.”
“Morning breath,” he says, lifting a hand in warning as I climb the porch steps.
“Don’t care,” I say, pushing up on tiptoe as I wrap my arms around his neck.
I press my lips to his, confessing everything with a kiss. I tell him how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go. I tell him how much I admire him and enjoy him, and respect him. And how happy I would be to share part of my life with him, even if forever doesn’t end up being in the cards.
I tell him that I’m falling in love, and that I hope he is, too, but that no matter what happens, I’m going to be okay. Because I’m strong. Maybe not as strong as he is, but strong enough to give him what he’s been looking for.
Strong enough to be the woman a strong man needs.
By the time the kiss is over, he’s cradling me close, one arm gentle around my waist, one hand cupping my ribs as if he can feel all the emotion swirling behind them.
As I pull back, he gazes down at me, his eyes full of wonder.
“So, you’re my girl. For real,” he whispers.
It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway.
The smile that splits his face in response is pure sunshine and every bit as warm on my skin. “Good. When I woke up, and you were gone, I thought…”
I cock my head, waiting a beat before I finish his sentence for him. “You thought I’d decided to run away and make silly excuses again?”
He exhales a laugh. “Something like that.”
I shake my head. “Nope. No more running or silly excuses. But if things get serious, there are things we’ll need to talk about eventually.”
“Like the fact that you can’t have children?” he asks, proving once again that he isn’t afraid to face potential problems head-on. “I meant what I said when we talked about what we’d tell our friends that day. I don’t care about having biological children.”
I sigh, a part of me wishing we could put this talk off for a while and just enjoy the happy glow. But that’s not what people like us do.
“I’m not sure about adoption, either, though, honestly,” I confess. “I’m already forty. Even if I were ready to start the adoption process now, which I’m not, that all takes time. And I have serious concerns that I won’t have it in me to parent a newborn in my mid-forties.”