Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Holding up the urn, he replies, “I have no idea. He left me Mrs. Clark. I don’t even know her first name.”
“Anne.”
We look at Drew standing with his hands in his pockets. The weather turned with the new month. Gil eyes the urn and appears satisfied by the grin. “Anne Clark.”
I ask, “How did you know that?”
“He told me the story about their wedding.”
“Oh really? Was it romantic?”
His arm goes across my shoulders, and he brings me closer to his side. “The most romantic.”
Drew guides me by my lower back toward the elevator. “If you want to nap before tonight’s adventures, we need to get upstairs.”
As soon as the doors close, I say, “I’m getting in bed, but I have no intention of napping. Would you like to join me?”
His smirk never ceases to weaken my knees. His arms come around me, and he runs the tip of his nose behind my ear. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We kiss, our lips caressing like the familiar lovers we’ve become. Drew’s been quiet most of the day. Not sure what’s going on with him, but I know he’s had some stress at work and, since I left, a few frustrations with the new reception assistant.
Sitting in a lawyer’s office for hours isn’t exactly entertainment either, but it took five months for Mr. Clark’s wishes, jotted down on a scrap of napkin left on his coffee table, to work its way through the courts and be deemed legal. Today is a good day, though. Not only is Rascal officially mine but in a surprise plot twist, Mr. Clark also left his apartment to me. His son hadn’t been happy about that, but in the end, he realized that he hadn’t been present in his father’s life since his mom died, something he now regretted. More so because he realized that he’d missed out on those years of knowing his dad. He’d neglected to keep collecting memories worth sharing. Funny how death can teach us things.
We’ve yet to decide what to do with Mr. Clark’s apartment, but we’re considering keeping it for CWM staff who have to travel to New York for business. So that, when possible, they can bring their family with them rather than leave them behind. Andrew’s certainly working harder at ensuring a better work-life balance for CWM staff and himself. No wonder I love the man so much.
Living with him the past five months has given me a new perspective. My apartment, which I put on the market this week, might have reminded me of my grandparents, especially my grandma Marion, but I have the memories and our traditions and can take them anywhere.
Spoiler alert: We’re taking them to a three-story brownstone right next door to Nick and Natalie. When the property came on the market, we didn’t hesitate. It’s a complete gut job, but despite my part-time research job at the Jacobs’ Garden, I’ve started planning the landscaping out back. It’s going to be magical.
The “boys” have also started surfing together on Saturday mornings. Well, when it’s warm enough. Sure, The Rockaways, Lido, and Montauk have nothing on Southern Californian beaches, but it’s more about time spent and memories made than the peaks and surf.
Just after midnight, a shower where we got down and dirty before we got clean, and a full Italian feast that I made to tide us over, we leave for our next adventure.
I push forward to see out the tinted window. “Something’s going on at the library.” Even under my coat, goose bumps cover my arms. I turn back to look at my guy. Again, so quiet today. “Drew, look how beautiful it is.”
Sliding his hand under my hair, he caresses my neck. “You look more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”
I can’t help but remind myself of what I’m wearing. It’s not something I wear a lot, but the little red dress has come out a few times. “I could have sworn you’d seen me in this dress before.”
“It’s not the dress, babe. It’s you.” Forget the flickering candles covering the steps, the orchestra playing La bohème. All of that pales in comparison to the love I have for this man.
“Thank you.” I move into his arms, savoring the last few seconds of having him all to myself before the car comes to a stop.
He asks, “Are you ready?”
“Never more.” He might be nervous, but I’m excited.
Holding hands, we walk along the sidewalk and then stop to see what’s going on. I ask, “Do you think they’ll let us borrow a step or two?”
“Pretty sure they will.” He used to be grumpy. Now he’s always so cocky.
Why does that do such naughty things to my body?
He just walks up the center of the steps where an aisle was created with candles on either side. “Drew?” I whisper-yell, worried we might be crashing someone’s wedding.