THE NEXT FEW DAYS
Also known as the start of a new countdown.
49
Dean
When I walk into The Magpie before we open the next night, a whoop and a holler greet me.
“Lover boy!” Maeve rushes out from behind the bar and over to me, jumping into my arms.
I grip her before we topple over. “Lovely to see you too.”
“Tell me everything, you dog,” she says when I set her down.
I arch a brow. “Everything?”
She rolls her eyes. “Great sex, blah, blah, perfect chemistry, blah, blah, happily ever after, blah, blah.”
“Sounds about right,” I say, laughing as I walk inside and grab a stool at the bar.
She hops up next to me, rests her chin in her hand, and bats her eyes. “So, when is the wedding? Can I be your best woman? And how bloody fucking happy are you?”
“Next year. Obviously. And more than I ever thought possible.”
She sets her hand on her heart and sighs. “I want to say I told you so, but I’m too excited for you to gloat.”
“Gloat a little. You deserve to.”
She squares her shoulders, preens, then pokes me in the chest. “Remember that night when I said I’d laugh so hard when love smacked you in the face and knocked you on the arse?”
I stare at the ceiling like I’m deep in thought. “What do you know? I recall it perfectly.”
“I was right,” she says, shimmying her shoulders.
“You were,” I say, and once we’ve done the requisite recap, I take a breath and broach the subject we need to discuss. “So, I’m leaving soon.”
“I know,” she says, a little heavily.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” she says, wiping her hand across her cheek as her eyes shine with tears. She purses her lips and looks away. “A lot,” she adds, her voice breaking as tears slide down her cheeks.
I reach for her, drawing her into an embrace.
She cries quietly for a minute, then she pulls back, flaps her hand in front of her face, and composes her expression. “I’m all good. No more tears.”
“We need to talk about this place and what this means. Especially since the loan is nearly paid off.”
“Right. How do we work this out? I mean, I’ll buy you out, of course.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“What?” Then she blinks, an alternative occurring to her. “Oh, you want to be a silent partner from the US? I’m sure we can sort that out.”
I take her hand. “Listen, I talked to Fitz about this. And I hope this isn’t presumptuous. But we really want to do this for you. Because here’s the thing—everything is changing for me, and he wants to make it easy for both of us, for me and for you. So, think about it if you need to”—I take a beat—“but I want to give you my half.”
Her jaw falls open. “What?” She looks like a cartoon character hit with a box of shock. “G-give it to me?” she asks, stumbling on the words.
“Yes.”
“Ah, um, how?”
“Well, I can’t run it anymore. And I bought my flat at a steal, and it’s gone up in value, so when I sell it, I’ll have enough for a lease on a new bar in New York. And I want you to have this place.”
“But New York isn’t cheap.”
“Nor is London, as we both know.” I scrub a hand across my jaw. Money matters can be touchy to discuss, but Maeve and I talk about everything, including finances. “Look, I’m going to be blunt here. My fiancé does well for himself. And I don’t intend to dig my heels in and be pigheaded about things. That would be pointless. He takes care of the people he loves.” It’s such a privilege to be one of those people—to be his person. “When I’m in New York, the bar I open will be mine, and I’ll be responsible for it. But I won’t have to worry about rent or a mortgage, or things like that. So, yeah. I—” I stop, because I didn’t make this decision alone. I made it with Fitz this morning before he returned to New York. “He and I—we—we want to do this for you.”
Hearts seem to flutter above her head. “He wants you to have everything you want.”
“He really does.”
Maeve reaches for my arm and squeezes it. “Because you’re what he wants most.”
All I can do is smile, because that is the whole truth.
On Sunday evening, after six hours and fifty minutes in first class, I see Fitz waiting for me on the other side of security. The second I reach him, he wraps his arms around me, and we do that PDA thing we do.
We get in the town car he ordered, and as the driver whisks us into the city, Fitz peppers me with questions about the flight and The Magpie and my flat.
All stuff we talked about on the phone, but he likes to know where it stands and how the details are coming together. He wants to be a part of this change, to be with me as I unwind my life in England for a new one here.
Once we cross into Manhattan, he sweeps his arm out, indicating the city outside the windows. “So, this is the Big Apple, something New Yorkers never call it. What do you think?”
Laughing, I look around, soaking in the sights. “I’m taking it all in for the first time. I haven’t formed an opinion yet.”
He nudges me with his elbow. “C’mon. What are your pros and cons?”
I tap my chin. “I hear it doesn’t rain as much.”
“Definite pro.”
“Also, rumor on the street is New York has great pizza.”
“Yet another benefit.”
“And my accent will stand out and make all my new customers swoon. So, big tips coming my way.”
Fitz runs his hand over the back of my neck. “Told you you’d like it here.”
“I guess the only thing left is to see how nice the view is from your place.”
“The view is epic.”
And he’s not exaggerating. He lives on the twenty-fifth floor of a gorgeous building overlooking Gramercy Park. The city unfurls below us.
Later that night, after we reconnect in our favorite way, I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking in the flickering lights, the skyscrapers, all the people walking on the streets below. “You have a great view.”
Fitz moves behind me, shaking his head and circling his arms around my waist. “No. We do,” he says, then he kisses my neck, brushing his beard against me in a distracting way.
I say nothing because it still feels so surreal, this mingling of everything. Also, because . . . that beard.
He cups my jaw and turns my face toward him, his eyes intense. “It’s ours, Dean. You know that, right? Everything I have is yours.”
I roll my eyes, not because I doubt him, but because I don’t know what to say. His generosity is wonderful and staggering at times.
“I mean it,” he says insistently. “And you better get used to it. Because I am going to shower my husband with everything.”
He moves in for a kiss. I kiss him back, and when the kiss ends, I stare out the window again, savoring the view of my new city.
Soon, I’ll sell my flat.
I’ll pack up my things.
I’ll say goodbye to my friends and my family.
I’ll fly here for good.
I turn back to Fitz, feeling even more certainty about this choice. “I like it here.”
He pumps a fist. “You’ll love it soon enough.”
“I have no doubt,” I say, my lips curving up in a grin. “It’s our home.”
His eyes gleam. “It is. It’s ours. Yours and mine.”
The next morning, I get him a ring, and then I kiss him on Fifth Avenue with crowds of New Yorkers rushing past us, the city around us, and our life ahead of us.
NEXT YEAR
Also known as . . . and we live happily ever after.
50
Fitz
Best month of my life.
It’s February, my team is kicking ass, I’m having a killer season, and my fiancé is about to open hi
s new bar here in New York.
Of course, the month before was damn good too, because . . . Dean.
I could say the same for the one before that.
Hell, every day has been epic since he arrived in town.
Today is another epic day.
After an afternoon workout, I stop by the spot he leased ten blocks from where we live and survey the watering hole.
“It’s so London,” I say, taking in the dark wood, the pool tables, the trivia games, and the TV screens that will surely have his version of football playing.
“Not too shabby?” Dean asks as he pours me a stout, just like he did the night we met.
“It’s awesome,” I say, grabbing a stool at the bar and taking a drink.
Everything about the place feels so very Dean, from the standards playing over the speakers to the name of the place—The Pub.
“It was my dad’s idea,” Dean had said when he decided on the name. “A few days after you left the first time, I was feeling particularly shitty, and he took me to a place just like this. Looked around, said it felt like home. I decided that was what I wanted here in New York.”
And that’s what he made happen.
This weekend, it opens, and I can’t wait to be here with him when it does.
“Does it make you miss London?” I ask him, only the slightest bit nervous that he’ll say yes. That he’ll long for what he left behind.
Dean shakes his head. “No. I have everything I want here.”
There he goes, making me fall harder for him every damn day. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Works for me.”
I point at the TV screen hanging in the corner. “You’re going to carry hockey, though, when I play, right?”
“Maybe,” my guy says with an easy shrug, setting his elbows on the counter, giving me those do bad things to me eyes. “Depends on whether you make it worth my while.”
“I always do,” I say, then I tell him to come around to this side because I need a picture of us.
Dean joins me for a selfie and gives me a sexy grin as I snap a shot of us in his bar.
“And will you use that on your next road trip?” he asks when I show him the image.
My eyes travel up and down his body. “Not if you video chat with me like I want you to.”
“Insatiable,” he scoffs, then slides a hand along my thigh before he returns to the bar.
“Just like you,” I toss out.
“Absolutely, Fitzgerald. Absolutely.”
I shoot him a curious look. “You’re calling me by my full last name now?”
Dean tilts his head as if he just realized what he said. “Huh. I guess I hear it all the time during your games. Maybe I’ll call you Fitzgerald in front of everyone else and Fitz in the bedroom.”
“You do that, babe. Want to know why?”
“Tell me why.”
“Because Fitzgerald sounds hot AF in your accent, and Fitz sounds like sex on your lips.”
Dean taps his chin. “So basically, I turn you on no matter which variation of your name I use?”
I laugh. “Sounds about right.”
“Works for me, then . . . Fitzgerald.”
A little later, we leave together, headed to meet some of our friends in New York for a little get-together.
Our friends.
Because that’s another thing I love about my man. He’s so damn charming that he gets along with everyone.
We head to a restaurant on the Upper East Side.
Logan spots us first and calls us over to the bar, where he has his arm wrapped around his new woman, Bryn, a take-no-prisoners brunette who keeps my bud on his toes.
“Laser tag. What are your thoughts on that? I’m looking for a summer league,” he says, then nods at Dean. “You want to play laser tag with us?”
Dean strokes his chin. “Let me think on that. Wait. I have an answer. Thanks, but no thanks.”
I shrug. “He’s a sports snob. What can I say?”
“You can say you’ll play,” Logan says, clapping my shoulder then chanting, “Do it. Do it. Do it.”
“You know I’m always down for it.”
Bryn squeezes Logan’s arm. “But look, sweetie, if you can’t get it together for laser tag, you can just join the hula-hooping class that Amelia and I are taking.”
Logan shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and I’m sure he’s thrilled that his new woman loves doing sports with his daughter.
Summer comes in next with her hubs, Oliver. Dean and Oliver catch up on all things British, sliding quickly into talk of London and what’s going on there, while Summer and I chat about how her new fitness center is doing.
Soon, Leo joins the crew, and after quick hellos, he claps Dean on the back. “Check this out,” Leo says, then grabs his phone and shows Dean a picture. “This table is from the dark ages of the fifties. I picked it up last weekend at a garage sale.”
“That one needs a fuck-ton of work,” Dean says, studying the shot.
“I know, right?” Leo says, sounding ridiculously excited. “I’m thinking power sanders, protective goggles, the whole nine yards. You down with that?”
“Power sanders get me very excited, so yeah. Count me in. Your warehouse space?” Dean asks, and I try to contain my grin as they chat, but it’s hard as hell, since I love that these two bonded over the whole furniture restoration thing, and now they’re good buds.
“This weekend. Saturday. Be there early,” Leo says.
Dean shudders. “I can’t wake early. It’s against my nature. But noon sounds great.”
Leo laughs. “I’ll see you at noon.”
When the hostess pops over to tell us the table is ready, the whole crew heads away from the bar.
I grab Dean’s hand, holding him back for a second. “I told you that you and Leo would get along.”
“You were right,” he says.
“I’m glad,” I tell him. “I’m glad you like it here.”
Dean slides a hand along my back. “Ah, but that is where you’re wrong. I don’t like it here.”
I freeze. “What?”
He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “I love it here.”
That makes me hella happy.
He has his own friends, his own business, and his own life.
But my favorite part of his life is that he shares it with me.
51
Dean
That suit.
My fiancé looks fantastic in his suit a few weeks later.
It is dark gray, hugs his muscular frame, and makes me want to strip him down to nothing.
But I behave. I already had him in nothing, giving him his good luck charm before the game, and getting my own too. Pregame rituals are so important to follow.
Now, I help Fitz button his shirt, then I grab a purple tie for him from the closet. I fasten it around his neck, adjusting the length then knotting it. “Later, if you’re particularly good at that whole ice-defending thing you do, maybe you’ll get another reward.”
His blue eyes spark with dirty wishes. “Maybe? You’d never deny me, babe.”
“True.” I smack his ass. “Get to the arena. Playoffs start soon, and you need to continue hitting homers till then. I’ll see you there tonight.”
Fitz laughs as I walk him to the door. Before he leaves, though, he grabs the waistband of my jeans, bringing me against him. “You coming to my games never gets old.”
“I know,” I say with a smile. “But you need to go, or you’ll be late for kickoff.”
He rolls his eyes. “I fucking love you. That is all.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
A little later, I stop by The Pub, checking to make sure my employees have everything under control for tonight, then I meet up with Leo to head to the arena.
“I have a new book for you. It’s all about a Ponzi scheme on Wall Street. Totally brilliant,” I say, and as we walk across town, I give him my synopsis of the tale of greed and excess I j
ust finished, since we have similar taste in books.
“I’ll check it out,” he says, but he sounds a little distracted.
He’s that way at the game too.
Normally, he’s all rah-rah, go, team, go, but when the good guys score, he doesn’t even cheer.
I sit back down, take a drink of my beer, and arch a brow. “What’s the story? You’re a little out of sorts.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “It’s Lulu.”
I blink, surprised to hear that name said that way. “Lulu? Your best friend’s wife?”
“Yes.” He says it heavily.
“Oh,” I say it heavily too, since I have a feeling this conversation is about to become more intense than the game. “Is there something going on with you and her?”
Leo shakes his head adamantly, like he can’t stop shaking it. “No, just no. No, no, no.”
“So, what is it?”
He takes a drink of his beer, sets it down, and sighs. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that you’re not madly in love with your best friend’s wife? That you haven’t been for years?”
The logic there kind of falls apart for me, but now’s not the time to break it down. “You’ve been in love with Lulu since she married Tripp several years ago?”
“Since before she married him,” he admits. “And there is nothing I can do about it.”
“Well, yeah. Since she’s married and all.”
“I know. I know,” he says.
Then he keeps talking. He doesn’t shut up. He tells me about the day he met Lulu. He tells me about how Tripp fell for her too. He tells me about Tripp’s battles with alcohol, and how he and Lulu are trying to help him get to rehab, and it’s all really fucking intense, since he’s crazy for her too.
“But there’s nothing I can do.”
I nod, wishing I could dig into a secret box of bartender advice and give him the perfect solution for being in love with his best friend’s wife.
A Guy Walks Into My Bar Page 29