by Elise Faber
“The perfect ending.” He brushed a hand down her hair. “I’m sorry. You deserved that perfect, storybook ending. You deserved to have your family be there and—”
“He’s not my family,” Bec said. “I’ve made my own.”
Luke nodded, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “The girls are awesome.”
“You, too, you know that, right? You’re my family, too.”
His lips curved. “I think you mean, I’ve weaseled my way back into your life, and I’m not leaving.”
Her own smile teased the corners of her mouth. “More like a fungus, growing under the surface until one day it pops up and”—she clicked her tongue—“fucking mushrooms everywhere.”
Luke laughed, hugged her tight. “As long as I’m a fungus without a cure, then I’ll take it.”
“As if you’d be any other kind.” She chuckled. “Look at us, so romantic, talking of fungi and weasels after an emotional scene at my father’s deathbed. If this isn’t in a rom-com, it definitely should be.”
“I can get behind that.”
“Ew.”
He squeezed her again. “Sorry, poor word choice.” Then he bent and whispered in her ear. “But I thought you liked it when I got behind you.”
She giggled.
Luke joined her for a few moments before sobering. “I am sorry, though. Sorry he couldn’t be what you needed.”
“Me, too,” Bec said. “But what I’m realizing is that sometimes the people you need the most just don't have it in them to fulfill that role, and you either have to move on or find it in yourself.”
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “That’s really . . .”
“Deep?” She smirked.
He frowned. “I was going to say incredible.”
“Damn, and take away my chance to insert another innuendo into this conversation?”
“Apparently.” His lips twitched, and he tugged her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here. If we’re playing hooky from work, we may as well do it right.”
“Now that I can get behind.”
And somehow, despite the last hellish half hour, Bec managed to walk out of the hospital with a smile on her face.
She knew the wounds under the surface wouldn’t heal as easily, but for the first time in a long time, she was okay with that. No scrambling for armor or running or pushing people away.
She could just be.
And live.
She wanted to do that, too.
Later that night, she filled in her friends, via video chat this time, since she and Luke were cuddled up in bed.
“I’m not going to lie,” she said, after they’d all commiserated about asshole parents. “Aside from the dad stuff, it felt really good to not be at work today.”
“And the sex,” Abby said with a cackle. “I’m guessing the sex felt really good, too.”
Luke laughed, and she smacked him.
“You,” Bec said into her laptop, “are as bad as I am.” A beat. “And I like it.”
They all laughed.
“But seriously,” she told them. “You guys mean the world to me.”
“So many feelings,” Heather said. “Hot damn.”
Abby sniffed. “I’m sending you a virtual hug.”
“We love you, Becky,” CeCe said.
Rachel smiled. “I second that statement.”
“We’re family.” From Sera and, yeah, that was exactly right.
“Thank you,” she told them. “For everything.”
“Thank you for letting us drink more wine,” Abby joked. “We’re using you for the free booze.”
They all laughed, and then CeCe cleared her throat. “Um, actually, I’m not going to be able to partake in your free alcohol for a while.” She paused, a smile growing on her face. “For seven more months, actually.”
Five voices, including Bec’s, rang out in excitement. Shrill excitement if Luke’s wince was any indication.
“Oh, my God,” Abby said. “You’re going to be such a great mom!”
“I don’t do the diaper thing,” Heather said. “Don’t forget that, m’kay?”
“Congrats, CeCe. I’m so happy for you guys,” Rachel added.
Bec smiled. “I’m looking forward to you bossing McGregor around.”
CeCe laughed. “Are you kidding? The man’s already been hovering like a busy little bee. He’d be jumping through flame-covered hoops at the smallest sign of any bossing on my part.”
“You need to take merciless advantage,” Abby advised sagely.
They all giggled.
“You guys are terrible, but I love you anyway.” CeCe grinned. “And I’m only taking a little advantage. Colin’s been bringing me copious amounts of croissants since it seems to be the only thing I can keep down.”
CeCe talked for a few more minutes, regaling them with humorous renditions of Colin’s protectiveness before she yawned and they all bullied her off the phone with orders of a mid-afternoon nap. Abby’s son, Carter, popped his face into the screen a second later, demanding a hug and consoling after a nightmare, and so she hung up. Then Sebastian came home, so Rachel signed off, and Heather was kissed off the line by Clay, who, quite literally, kissed her to distraction before pushing the button to disconnect.
“And then there were two,” Sera joked ominously.
“You okay?” Bec asked.
“I’m great, actually,” Sera said. “I got a new client today. He’s some sort of tech genius who’s looking for a new place. Wants something private and on the coast.” A shrug and even through the phone line, Bec couldn’t shake the feeling that her friend was sad. “Which means, expensive. Of course, it also means a better commission for me, so . . .”
“Win-win.”
“Yup. Exactly.” Sera smiled, but it was off.
Definitely sad.
“Salads tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “Can’t. I’ll squeeze myself into your calendar next week.”
“Okay,” Bec replied. “Get some sleep, okay? You look tired.”
“Always so sweet to me.” Sera reached a finger for the screen.
“Your turn’s coming,” Bec said, taking a stab at what was bothering her friend. It had to be hard to see everyone else happy and paired off. Even if Sera weren't jealous, exactly, it still had to sting that she was alone when her friends weren’t. “If I could find Luke, your Prince Charming has to be just around the corner—”
“Yeah.” But her tone betrayed her.
Sera didn’t believe Bec.
“Hey—”
“Night.” Sera disconnected.
“Damn,” Bec said. “I hate that she’s lonely.”
“She has you guys,” Luke reminded her, closing the laptop, and setting it onto the nightstand. “And she’s special. Someone will recognize that someday.”
“They have to see through the superficial surface layers first.”
“They will.” He tugged her down, kissed the top of her head.
“How do you know?”
“I saw through you, didn’t I?”
Twenty-Three
Luke, six months later
It had taken six long months to finally get his Becky out for Date Ten.
Right after her single day of hooky, she’d taken on a huge case, and any extraneous date nights had gone by the wayside.
But, unlike the past, Luke hadn’t been jealous of her career. He’d missed her like crazy, of course, but he’d dealt with her long days at the office by pulling some long days of his own. His renewable energy cells had been rolled out, and as expected with new technology, there had been plenty of problems to deal with.
There had been many nights of dueling laptops on the coffee table after he’d officially moved into Becky’s place and after they’d communicated and figured out that she could do some of her casework at home.
Maybe it wasn’t traditional couple time, but Luke just liked being with her.
And he especially liked the times tha
t their laptops got tossed to the side and Becky straddled him on the couch.
Yeah.
Those were great times.
But now her case had wrapped up . . . or rather, the opposing lawyers had accepted her proposal and settled, and so she was taking two whole days off.
They were driving up to Tahoe to hit the slopes the following day, but tonight?
Tonight was Date Ten.
Or maybe Date Ten Thousand, but semantics didn’t matter.
He’d wanted to do this for Becky forever.
He just hoped his instincts were right and she’d be into it.
“How fancy is this restaurant?” she asked, striding into the room.
And fuck him six ways to Sunday, but she was wearing the dress.
The. Dress.
The fucking red dress from prom and it was . . . everything.
She’d slipped on one of those short sweaters that just covered her shoulders and partway down her back, but the rest of it—skintight red silk, breasts spilling up and over the deep V, slit up to her thigh.
Fuck it all. He wanted to forget Date Ten.
“Uh-uh, mister,” Becky said, bending to slip on a pair of sky-high black heels and nearly making his eyes bug out of his head. Her breasts. Her legs. Her ass. “I somehow managed to squeeze into this dress. You’re not getting it off me that quickly.”
Luke made a garbled sound.
Maybe agreement? Maybe disappointment?
But he did manage to get his head out of his ass long enough to pull the black velvet box from his suit pocket.
Becky stopped several feet away, glanced at the case—too large for a ring—then down at herself.
“You are not Pretty Woman-ing me.”
Luke closed the space between them. “So what if I am?”
“How did you even know that was my favorite movie? I don’t think we’ve ever—”
“Oh, we’ve discussed movies. You’ve just never confessed your fondness for Richard Gere.”
“It’s Julia Roberts,” Becky said. “Her smile is incredible.”
“You’re incredible.”
One hand came to her hip. “Okay, Mr. Incredible. Nice try. Tell me how you found out.”
“I know everything about you.” But he felt his lips curving, knew the cat would soon be out of the bag.
Becky glared. “Sera! She gave up the goods. How dare—”
He opened the box. It held a necklace and earrings. Not diamond ones like from the movie, but opals because his Becky loved opals.
Probably because they were unique and changeable and looked like they were filled with fire.
“Oh.” She reached a finger as though to touch the necklace then glanced up with a glare. “Nice try.”
He pretended to make the lid chomp her fingers. “Gotta do it right.” Then he set the box aside and carefully slipped the necklace out. He fastened it around her neck before handing her the earrings. “Want to do those?”
She nodded, and he trailed her into the bathroom as she used the mirror to swap out the earrings she was wearing for the new ones.
“So,” he said, nerves making his hands shake. “I’m not saying I lied, because we are eating at a very fancy restaurant. It’s just that after the eating part we’re going to the symphony. Or a version of it.” His words came a little faster as he hurried to explain. God, he’d been building this up in his head for so long, thinking that she would love it. But what if she didn’t? What if she actually hated it? “I know it’s not exactly like the movie, but you told me a long time ago that you always wanted to watch a movie that had a live orchestra playing the score. And they’re doing Pretty Woman tonight, and I thought—”
She stepped into his arms, squeezed him tight. “I fucking love you.”
Luke released a relieved breath.
“But I told you about wanting to see a movie like that a long time ago.” She stepped back, met his stare. “Like ten years ago.”
He grinned. “So maybe Sera gave up the goods a long time ago. Like ten years ago,” he said, mimicking her voice.
His Becky huffed and started to say something—okay, he had to face facts, it would be sass—and so Luke kissed her. He was probably smearing the sexy as shit red lipstick she wore, but he found he didn’t give a damn about her lipstick when her mouth was on his, when their tongues tangled, when those gorgeous breasts were flush against him.
“You sure you don’t want me to peel this dress off you?” he asked when they broke away, chests heaving.
“Nice try,” she said and reached a hand up to wipe the lipstick from his mouth. “This dress is staying on.” She grabbed a tissue, blotted her lips, then reapplied the color before brushing by him and strutting out of the bathroom. “At least until after the movie.”
Yeah, he thought, watching her luscious backside sway as she strode for the front door, he could live with that.
“Stop ogling my ass, Pearson,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
Yeah, he could live with that, too.
Fire tempered with sweet and plenty of sass.
Luke knew he wouldn’t want to live any other way.
Epilogue
Sera
Sera was going to lose her mind.
Or throw a fucking tantrum.
And see? There it was. A curse word.
Seraphina Delgado did not curse. It wasn’t seemly or ladylike, and . . . she was a thirty-something-year-old woman who still saw her mother’s disapproving face in her mind when she dared to utter a curse word.
Well, know what?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck.
There. Ha.
Mental diatribe somewhat satisfied, Sera turned to the source of her wannabe tantrum.
Tate Conner.
Tech genius. Real estate client—
Or, rather, former real estate client because he was a giant pain in her as—tush.
Congrats, Mom, she thought. I sound like a four-year-old.
But Tate Conner had become a former client because he was such a pain. He didn’t like anything, he never showed up for appointments. In fact, she’d lost count of how many times he’d forgotten about a scheduled showing after number twelve.
So yeah, she’d kissed away any hope of a giant commission and had told Tate they wouldn’t be working together.
That had been four months ago.
And now he was here in her office, looking all . . . Tate-like.
Super helpful description, she knew, but it just wasn’t fair. Weren’t these tech guys supposed to be nerdy and unattractive? Because Tate Conner definitely didn’t fit in with that description.
He was tall and lean, but strong. En route to one of the appointments he’d actually made, Sera had gotten a flat tire. She’d managed to get her car to the house then had called Triple-A and Tate had shown up as the man had struggled with her lug nut—poor phrasing, but not the point. Anyway, he’d approached the tow truck driver, had tweaked the angle of the wrench, and the nut had popped right off.
Again, more poor phrasing, but—
Sera mentally shook herself.
He’d claimed it was all about leverage, but she’d seen the way his muscles had rippled under his T-shirt. He was strong, and it was more of a natural strength rather than a result of spending loads of time in the gym.
And the worst part? Besides the whole strong and as tall as her—hard to do considering she was over six feet—Tate was also pretty.
Really pretty.
A chiseled jawline, a straight nose, lips that were totally kissable, and a pair of dimples that made the rare appearance. He also had the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen and sandy blond hair that was more at home on a surfer than an executive.
That hair had been her undoing.
And as she always did, Sera had fallen in love.
Fallen fast. Fallen hard.
For a man who had absolutely zero interest in her.
Her friends—none of whom ever dreamed ab
out finding their happy endings and several of whom had been decidedly against them, she felt required to point out—were all married or paired off. Abby had babies. CeCe was due any day, and—
Sera was alone, pining after a man who’d created the latest social media craze.
Yup. Her life was ah-maz-ing.
Tate cleared his throat, and Sera realized she’d been staring at him dumbfounded for a good couple of minutes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Conner.” She stood, forced herself to shake his hand. “I was wool-gathering.”
Sparks. The moment their skin touched, she felt actual sparks.
Just like every other time before.
And just like every other time before, she was the only one affected.
He smiled—eliciting more sparks, because her body was a stupid jerk—and said, “I’ve been known to do that from time to time.”
Sera indicated for him to sit in the chair in front of her desk as she sank into her own chair. He continued to stand, but she started talking anyway, desperate to get this conversation over with. “How can I help you today?” she asked. “I do hope”—Do hope? What was she, British? Ugh—“I-uh . . . I hope you were able to find a house. The agents I passed along are very good at finding unique properties, and I even gave them a few locations to start with . . . ” She bit her lip, attempting to stop the ramble.
“No.”
Just no.
Um. Okay.
He lifted a hand, rubbed the back of his neck. The movement made his shirt lift, exposing several inches of flat stomach and tan skin and, oh God, a trail of blond hair leading south. Her mouth watered, desperate to trace that path with her tongue—
Sera sucked in a breath, popped to her feet.
“Ah. I’m sorry.” She picked up a random file, pretending to know what was in it. “I’m actually really busy, so this will have to continue another time.”
Like never.
She rounded her desk, forced a smile. “Mr. Conner,” she said when he didn’t move. “I’ll have my assistant schedule something soon.”
“Seraphina.”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips—soft, a little raspy, and deep enough to conjure up all sorts of unhelpful fantasies in her mind.