“I love you, Brick. Always. Forever. Fiercely,” she promised as their bodies trembled against each other.
He’d never tire of hearing that.
“I love you, Remington.”
When she walked down the aisle to him, it was with his pink handprint on her ass.
Brick got a little teary-eyed when she made her promises to him in front of their family and friends and broke protocol by kissing her as soon as she’d said her vows. His father and Gilbert Ford blew their noses noisily from the front row.
“You look happy, husband,” Remi said that night as they danced under the stars to “Harvest Moon.”
Other couples shared the dance floor with them, Kyle and Kimber, Remi’s parents, Carlos and Camille, Audrey and Spencer. But he saw only Remi.
“I’m surprised they let you come back here,” Brick teased. “Last time you were at a wedding here, didn’t you get arrested?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that,” she said breezily. “I think for this to be a real full-circle moment, you’re probably going to have to use your handcuffs tonight.”
Her smile was so beguiling he picked her up in his arms and twirled her around. This woman. His wife.
“I’m afraid to blink,” he confessed.
“Why?” she laughed.
“I’m afraid I’ll blink, and the whole day will vanish like the dreams I used to have of you.”
“We have a lot of time to make up for,” she said, her voice breathy.
“Let’s start now,” he suggested, closing his mouth over hers.
Fifteen years earlier…
“You don’t look like a William,” the tiny redhead mused as she peered up at him. Sixteen and pretty as the little island they now officially called home.
“What’s he look like? Do I look like a Spencer?” His brother demanded, hopping from foot to foot on the boardwalk.
Those green eyes flicked back to his brother, and she grinned. “You’re definitely a Spencer.”
Will felt something warm and good when she returned her gaze to him. It was foreign to him. Most people looked at him and saw a carbon copy of his father. William Eugene Callan III most likely had the same destiny as William Eugene Callan II.
Cocking her head, she studied him leisurely as the popsicle stained her lips red. “Brick.”
“Brick?”
Her lips spread in a wide, sunny smile.
“As in masonry?” he asked.
“As in durable. Strong. Stoic.”
“Our dad’s in jail,” Spencer announced.
“Spence.” Will sighed. How in the hell was he supposed to make a fresh start if his brother was just going to tell everyone all about their past?
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it’s a nice jail.”
He blinked. This girl was something all right.
“Will—I mean, Brick says we shouldn’t talk about it because people will think we’re tainted or something,” Spencer said, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.
“Well, that’s just silly,” she announced. “How boring would it be if we all just went around pretending to be perfect? It’s things like your dad being in jail or me seeing music that make us interesting. Interesting is way more fun than perfect.”
Spencer looked confused, like he had an inkling he was in the presence of a sage philosopher and had no idea what she was talking about.
“How do you see music?” Will asked, more surprised than she was that he’d asked.
“It’s called synesthesia and it’s neurological. It means my brain makes extra connections to certain things. So to me, the letter S is yellow, and when I hear music, I see colors moving around like a light show at the same time.”
“So, your brain is like broken?” Spencer asked, frowning.
“Spence.” Will cuffed his brother on the back of the head in exasperation. Great. Five seconds with a pretty girl and his idiot brother had called her brain-damaged.
“It’s okay, Brick,” Remi said, waving the offense away. “It’s not so much broken as it’s like adding whipped cream to a hot fudge sundae. That sundae is pretty great by itself, but add the whipped cream, and now things are getting really good.”
His brother managed to wrangle an invitation to Remi’s house for his own popsicle. “You coming, Brick?” she asked, waving to his grandmother on the front porch.
“Maybe some other time,” he said. He watched them go, watched the way the sun hit that red hair and made it look like fire.
“I see you’ve met some of the locals,” his grandmother said, handing him the watering can so he could reach the hanging pots of ferns.
“Remington Honeysuckle Ford. She looks like trouble to me.”
“Oh, just get to know her. You’ll love her, Brick,” his grandmother predicted.
Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.
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Author’s Note to the Reader
Dear Reader,
Brick and Remi had two different starts. In 2019, Mr. Lucy and I traveled to Michigan to visit my cousin and his family. While there, they took us on a day trip to Mackinac Island, a charming tourist destination with horses, Victorian homes, and more fudge shops than a candy-lover could enjoy in one day.
“I want to murder someone here!” I announced to Mr. Lucy on the sidewalk. In hindsight, I probably should have either waited to tell him that or at least announced to the strangers around us that I was an author.
A year later, Brick and Remi exploded onto the page while I was busy writing another book. They appeared, nameless and bickering, with a whole lot of sparks threatening to ignite. And then I remembered my murderous Mackinac Island desires. I was so excited about the characters and the idea I sent it off to my admins, Joyce and Tammy. Over the course of two hours we laughed and joked our way through names (“Something manly like Brick but not as porn starry.” HA! Brick stuck.), scene ideas, and conflicts.
150,000 words later, Brick and Remi are all yours. I hope you loved them as much as I do. And if you have the opportunity to visit Mackinac Island, I highly recommend it!
As always, if you loved Forever Never I’d be eternally grateful if you’d leave a review and tell 57 of your closest friends! Thank you for reading AND for having great taste!
Xoxo,
Lucy
About the Author
Lucy Score is a Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author. She grew up in a literary family who insisted that the dinner table was for reading and earned a degree in journalism. She writes full-time from the Pennsylvania home she and Mr. Lucy share with their obnoxious cat, Cleo. When not spending hours crafting heartbreaker heroes and kick-ass heroines, Lucy can be found on the couch, in the kitchen, or at the gym. She hopes to someday write from a sailboat, or oceanfront condo, or tropical island with reliable Wi-Fi.