“What?”
Boomer looks to Bowie. “Here, hold this.”
I rub a hand over my mouth. “Otto is a him. Not a this.”
After passing off my son, Boomer moves in front of me, pushing the pizza out of the way so he can sit on the coffee table.
“Hey man,” he starts, using yet another weird voice. This one overly soothing and gentle. “So, what’s going on with you and Fun Wrecker?”
I’ve given up trying to get him to stop calling her that. He holds up a staying hand before I answer.
“I mean, aside from…” He makes a graphic gesture with his index finger and—
“Jesus, Boomer.”
“Settle, settle. All I’m saying is that things seem to be going good since you started…” Again with the gesture, and I slap his hand away.
“They are good.” Really good. Good like I didn’t think it could be for me.
Good like I don’t want to lose.
Fuck, I don’t want to lose her.
Boomer snaps his fingers in front of my face, then again, even though I’m already looking at him.
“Yeah, see, that’s what I’m talking about right there. Axe, man, you went from looking like you had a breakaway with an open net in double overtime of the last playoff game of your career before you retire— still playing for the Slayers, of course —to looking like Bowie just took a dump in your cookie-dipping milk.”
Piper mutters, “Bro, you are so extra,” then pulls a face, looking back to me. “But yeah. He’s kind of right. You seem a little like a pressure keg ready to blow. You and Nora talk much about what’s going to happen in March?”
I sink back into the sheet-covered couch, my eyes locked on my son. “Truth? Not much. I guess I’m thinking I’m going to have plenty of time to dwell on her leaving once she’s gone. And I don’t really want to waste time thinking about it now.”
Maybe neither of us do, because for a woman who’s leaving for her dream job in five weeks, she’s not really saying a lot about it, either.
Piper pushes her straight blond hair back from her face. “She’s still going then, huh?”
“Still going.” And then I tell her what I’ve been telling myself every damn time I think about asking Nora to stay. “It’s France. This is the opportunity she’s been waiting for her whole life.”
She’s going to have all the life she deserves. With all the options. It’s what I want for her. But damn if it isn’t getting harder and harder to swallow that pill.
Chapter 19
Nora
I’ve never given Valentine’s Day much thought before this year. Sure, I noticed when the aisles of every store turned red, and I made Valentines for all my siblings. Helped them make theirs for school. But as far as the romantic aspects and expectations of the holiday? I didn’t have time to date, so not surprisingly, they didn’t really make my radar.
This year is different.
This year, I have a man in my life, making me laugh and smile and feel like I’m the sexiest, most beautiful woman alive. This year, my heart is close to bursting with emotions I’ve never experienced before.
It’s been three days since I’ve been able to wrap my arms around Axel, and I’m dying for him to come home.
I struggled with what to do for the holiday but ended up making a berry tart in the shape of a heart and taking Natalie Vassar’s advice on a few underthings she swore would drive him wild.
Those will have to wait until tonight when Otto, who’s currently strapped to my chest in his little front-loader, as Axel calls it, goes down for the night.
There’s a knock at the door, and when I check the peephole, I step back with a gasp. Then quickly swing it open, my hand going to my mouth in delight.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Axel says from behind an enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.
“You shouldn’t have.” My heart is stumbling around in my chest, swooning over this man romancing me. Or maybe it’s just Otto kicking away, making excited gurgling noises like he does whenever his daddy comes home.
“Couldn’t help it. Since you never had a boyfriend on the big day, I saw an opportunity.” He sets the vase down in the center of the dining room table near my laptop and schoolwork, turns to me, and grins. “I plan to set the bar so high, no fucking Frenchman is going to have a chance to compete.”
And before I can clarify that I’ve never actually had a boyfriend at all or that he’s already set the bar so high I’m not sure anyone, French or not, would have a chance to meet it, he’s ducking back into the hall. When he returns, he’s got an enormous heart-shaped box of chocolates wrapped in gold foil with a wide red bow and three other boxes of varying sizes. Nice ones. The kind where they tie dried flowers and little metal pins into the bows.
His smile is kid-on-Christmas-morning wide. Only the way he looks isn’t about getting something for himself; it’s because he’s so excited about the gifts he has for me, and my heart can barely take it.
“Gimme our little guy and sit down so you can open your stuff.”
I do what he says, unbuttoning the carrier and easing Otto out before sitting. My hands are shaking, and I look back to this crazy man beside me. “It’s too much—”
“It’s not. The chocolate is from Otto. He wanted to get you an even bigger box because you deserve all the sweetness and his love knows no bounds, but this was the best they had.”
I know Otto wasn’t involved in this over-the-top selection, but still, I reach over and squeeze his little leg. “Love you too.”
I open the chocolates, marveling at the assortment. Then, after sharing one shaped like a seashell with Axel, who leans in and kisses a bit of caramel off my lip, I set the box aside.
“The blue one next. Open that.”
He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and it’s contagious. I’ve never gotten so many gifts. With my family, there wasn’t money for this kind of extravagance. But like every kid, I dreamed that maybe one day…
I carefully open the box and lose my breath at the sight of the gown within. It’s red and silky, beautiful, sophisticated, and the label is one I never thought I’d wear in my life. I blink, touching the fabric reverently. “What’s this for?”
“I wanted to surprise you. There’s a benefit for the Wagner Foundation tonight. The guys always fight over who gets to go. It’s a black-tie thing. Great band, food, and bar. I usually give up my tickets to one of the married guys. But this year, I called in a few favors. I want to take you out. Do something big.”
“You want to take me on a date?” My heart is racing, my smile stretching wide. I can’t believe he did this for me.
“I’m taking you on ‘The Date.’ Brace yourself.”
“That good, huh?” Wait. “Is this why you bought Otto that tuxedo onesie?”
“Umm, no. I got that because it was too cute not to. Otto’s classy as all get-out. But tonight, Otto’s on his own, and you’re all mine. I’ve got a sitter lined up and everything.”
“A sitter?” I didn’t see anyone on the calendar from the agency.