Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Leighton nods a few times, her expression thoughtful. “The world isn’t fair, Maeve. People don’t always get what they deserve. But, don’t you forget—Maeve Hartley got the Sea Dogs mural gig before she became Mrs. Callahan.”
“Love you,” I say, then I smile thoughtfully. “And I’ve only known you for a few months. How did that happen?”
“I’m easy to love,” she says.
“You are. You’re like a dog.”
“High praise.” She throws her arms around me and then takes off to join her friends.
Feeling contemplative, I look at my phone again and the picture I just posted. I don’t deserve all this attention, but I’m getting it anyway. Including from Eleanor, who’s already liked the new snap.
Well, at least the kiss is real.
The other real thing? The way my heart scampers a few minutes later after Leighton meets her friends and two familiar men come down the aisle toward me. The tall, strapping one with the roguish good looks and burly charm is John, and the lankier, wiry one is Carlos.
When they reach me, I’m up on my feet since it’s so good to see them. “It’s been too long,” I say, meaning it.
“I know, girl. I know,” Carlos says then wraps me in a hug.
“Especially now that you’re family,” John says, giving me a hug too.
Yes, they’re in on the deal. But there’s no “wink and a nod” in family at all. They say it like they mean it, and my throat hitches. That’s an inconvenient reaction—this surplus of feelings.
Letting go of John, I try to tamp down the emotion, giving them both a smile as the three of us sit. “And family goes to hockey together,” I say. Wow, that did not help me feel any less.
“Of course they do. Our first date was a hockey game,” Carlos says, looking at his husband with affection.
“Shut up,” I say, my jaw dropping.
John nods, big and proud. “What can I say? I was confident. I wanted to impress him, so I shelled out for tickets.”
“It was a minor league game,” Carlos points out, laughing.
“But you were still impressed,” John insists, his gaze drifting down to his husband’s gold band.
“Fine, fine. You got me there.” Carlos gestures to the ice, where Asher’s lobbing easy shots on goal as the warm-up winds down. His tone shifts from teasing to genuine as he adds, “And hockey was somehow meant to be for us when we decided to have a family.”
“The universe had a plan when the adoption agency found us a son,” John says, heartfelt too, and…dammit.
My throat constricts. All this talk of meant to be is making my eyes a little watery too. No, not a little. A lot.
I swallow, trying to stave off this waterfall. The last time I felt this way was when their son slid a ruby ring on my finger, and said it was meant to be.
The way I’ve felt about our friendship for so many years.
The way I always want to feel about it.
But the dreams of romance are getting harder to ignore when Asher’s always a step ahead of me, cooking for me, caring for me, looking out for me. Most of all, lifting me up, supporting me, and knowing what I need maybe before I know it myself.
“Your son’s amazing,” I blurt out to the two men who raised him.
They smile warmly and say in unison, “We know.”
Carlos squeezes my shoulder, shifting gears. “How was dinner the other week? I trust the cilantro made the meal?”
“Of course it did,” I say, impressed but not surprised with Carlos’s finesse with herbs—he works in finance, with a focus on restaurants and the food-service industry.
“Oh!” John says excitedly to Carlos. “You should give him a recipe with rosemary next time. Your rosemary is to die for.”
Carlos’s deep brown eyes light up. “I detect no lies in that statement. I’ll drop some off tomorrow.”
“With some vitamins,” John adds with a laugh.
Carlos laughs again, a warm, loving sound that tells me they aren’t making fun of Asher. “Yes, since we already have plenty.” Carlos turns to me, explaining, “He sent us some vitamins the other week, even though we told him we’re all set.”
And Asher sent me neck exercises late last night and set an alarm on my phone to make sure I did them. But I don’t add that, though the neck stretches were, admittedly, helpful. Still, I don’t know what to make of Asher’s concerns. Especially since John looks great, and I have no idea why Asher’s worried about osteoporosis, except well, he’s kind of a worrier, and I suppose you can’t tell anyway if someone has it just by looking.
But I file away the fact that they already have the vitamins Asher was so determined to get them. I don’t say anything though, since it’s not my place to ask. Except, it already seems I have the answer to one question—does Asher worry a lot about your health?