by DL White
So we're not at the Ritz in expensive clothes and uncomfortably high heels, makeup stacked on and hair teased and pulled and twisted, rubbing elbows with Dennis Archer, the first Black president of the American Bar Association. We're in jeans, casual shirts, comfortable shoes.
And we are having a ball.
Preston tracks me out to the patio, in the warmth of the fire and the view of the lake at night. A glass of wine appears in my eye line, and I smile as I wrap my fingers around the bulbous globe.
"It's about that time," he whispers, snaking an arm around my waist and dropping a kiss on my neck. Then another behind my ear.
"Is it?" I check my watch, noting the time. 11:50.
“I wanted to get a minute with you before everyone comes out here and crowds us."
I sip, humming appreciatively at the dark cherry, raspberry and pepper tones of Bitch Grenache, a red wine that he introduced to my palate and has become a fast favorite.
"Says the man who invited everyone here." I lean back against him, take in a breath, and sigh. "You did a good job tonight, baby."
"Fixing my fuck up?"
"No. Well, yes, but no.” I balance myself again and turn in his arms, winding my free arm around his neck. I rise onto my toes and press my lips against his. "Putting this party together in record time. Getting everyone here and making it comfortable so we could all be together tonight. You did a good job."
"Thanks." His head dips in a brief moment of shyness. "I wish that we could have talked, instead of fighting.”
"I know you mean me. You did no such thing."
"I was a dick about it.” He finally agrees with me. “If you could hear the amount of shit we give Keith on the daily about being whipped? Today's comment was nothing, I promise.”
I nod my head toward the house. “I hear you. But allow me to redirect?”
Preston’s eyes roll in that way they do when I make lawyer jokes. “Our house is full of people who have rooted for us and want nothing but for us to be happy together. They put up with our shit for a long time, Preston."
“And forced us together to stop us from bickering. Which didn’t work. We just have sex now.”
“We should have just done that all along. Would have solved so many problems.”
Preston hums, then sips more wine before he adds, “So, you’re trying to say that I have to be nice to our friends?"
"You are who you are. But you don't have to skewer them."
The patio is louder, now that people are pouring out of the house in anticipation of the midnight celebration.
"You guys ready for us, or are you makin’ out?”
Nate rounds the fire pit, hand in hand with Morgan. From around the other side comes Jackie and Matthew, then Keith and Brandess, and lastly Troy and Jade.
"Thanks, Preston and Angie, for hosting us all.” Jackie curls up against Matthew, her smile lighting up the patio. “It’s the first time we’re all together since the wedding!”
Nate, intently watching his wristwatch, raises a finger in the air. "Hold that kiss!”
Preston's fingers drum against me, his arm tight around my waist. “Happy New Year, Evangeline. I love you.”
“Happy New Year, Preston. I love you.”
Preston squeezes me in his arms, holding me tight up against him. “I love hearing that. Let’s get married this year. Get a head start on those plans we made. We’re twenty years behind schedule.”
I nod and lean in, yearning to kiss him.
At the stroke of midnight, the only sounds in the air are the waters of Lake Conway and the crackle of embers. The ten of us are lip to lip, entering the New Year in the embrace of those we love.
Finally.
Epilogue
It's chilly, and I haven't seen this time of day in almost a month, but I'm so excited about today that as soon as I realize it is morning, I jump out of bed and head for the shower.
I quickly scrub down, rinse off and hop out so Preston can get in. We've already agreed that joint showers don't save us time because Preston plays grab ass, and I spend half the shower time fighting him off. At least on workdays, we take separate showers.
I pass Preston on his way into the bathroom. He doesn't seem awake yet, but he lifts his palm as he brushes by me. I slap him a high five. "Morning," he grumbles before the door slams shut.
Preston had laughed at me, the evening before. I was in and out of the closet with dresses and shoes, skirts and blouses, planning my first week of outfits like it was the first day of school, the corporate attorney edition. For my first day, I’d set out a svelte black Donna Karan knee length dress and waist length blazer with Louboutin heels that were an engagement gift from Morgan, and glittering gems for my ears and neckline that went with the sparkling rock that Preston gave me.
Preston emerges from the bathroom, the scent of body wash emanating from him.
“Can we have bacon?” He asks, untying his headscarf.
“Are you pregnant?” I joke, but I pack the Tumi leather attaché case that my parents gifted me, and head downstairs.
The toaster spits out two golden brown slices. I place one on each plate that already has eggs and bacon. Expensive shoes on tile announce his arrival.
"Smells good down here."
I’m not ready for the sight of him.
Solid, strong, square shoulders in a dark blue suit, crisp white dress shirt, blue, tan and white striped tie, and navy blue crocodile leather shoes. His fresh cut has his hair silky, curls popping. The beard is gone, but his goatee remains, edged to perfection.
Preston is breathtaking and, standing in the light of sunrise, his eyes twinkle as he smiles at me. He already knows how good he looks, but he asks anyway.
“What do you think?” He struts past me, then turns and walks back before striking a buttoning my sleeves pose. “Do I look like a Managing Partner?”
I giggle at his catwalk and try not to blush. I'm reminded of that day in junior high when I realized Preston was cute. I reach for him, straightening his tie, then brushing nonexistent lint from his jacket.
Then I kiss him. “You’re fine as hell, Counselor.”
He smiles. “I know it. Lookin’ fine as hell, your damn self.”
He pulls out a chair at the spot I've set for him and tucks his tie into the inside pocket of his jacket. He checks his watch while simultaneously shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
"We should hit the road in a few. I can’t be late."
Preston is done with breakfast in minutes and loading his plate and coffee cup into the dishwasher. Right behind him, I do the same, then rush upstairs to brush my teeth. When I’m finally ready, Preston stands at the door with nothing but keys in his hand.
"You don't have anything to drag to work?"
"Nah. I'm not a girl."
He smirks as he pulls the door shut behind me. The car is already running, sitting in the driveway. I dump my bags in the backseat and slide in beside him. The car reeks of Varvatos Vintage.
“Wearing enough cologne, you think?"
“Want ‘em to smell me coming.”
He reaches for the seat belt, but before pulling it across his chest, he leans onto the armrest. I close the space between us and give him a long kiss.
"You good?” He asks, as he snaps himself in and puts the car in reverse.
I nod, but my heart is beating out of my chest and I'm about to break a sweat. I'll never admit that to Preston.
"You seem nervous," he muses, stealing sidelong glances at me. "It's going to be okay."
"I know. I'm... it's good to be nervous. Don't want to be too cocky." I swing my head from my view of the Orlando landscape racing by to him in the driver's seat. "You're not nervous?”
"Why would I be? I'm the boss."
His throaty chuckle and smarmy grin make me smile. And I calm down a little. He reaches across the seat and grabs my hand, pulling it to his lips. We ride that way for a while, and I realize that I'm not shaking anymore.
> "I'm excited," he admits. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Thinking about this, planning this. Long, late night phone calls and video conferences with my uncle. It took six months to find the building. I fought for a lot of things and against others, putting everything together. Now I get to watch it happen."
"You should be proud of yourself. You did a good thing."
"We'll see," he says, nodding slightly. I have an inkling that he might be a little bit nervous.
The drive to the office is a half hour on a good day. On a Monday morning, it takes us about forty-five minutes to swing into the parking lot. Preston stops in front of a prominent space marked Preston Reid, Managing Partner.
“Oh, good God," I murmur, releasing my seat belt.
"Don't laugh too hard.” Preston points to the spot next to his.
Evangeline Blake, Senior Associate. Holy shit.
Troy lumbers up the sidewalk from the side parking lot, briefcase under his arm while he tightens his tie. His tan slacks and brown shoes look new, but I recognize the dark blue jacket as one of the few pieces he bought when he started taking court cases.
"Morning," he calls, then frowns. “First, the smedium jersey. Now a weird tie pocket?”
Preston glances down, pulls his tie out of his inner pocket, and straightens it while glaring at me. "Thanks for having my back, baby."
Preston pulls open the heavy glass door already etched with Reid Law Group in bold white letters.
Walking into our new offices is magical. It still smells like fresh paint and plastic sheeting and milled wood and new carpet. The floors are shiny, and the high ceilings echo the faint sounds of a machine beginning to chug.
"Good morning, Mr. Reid."
The receptionist stands as we approach her desk, petite and dressed to the nines in a smart pink suit and a sleek chin length bob. To one side of her desk is guest seating and administrative offices. To the other side are associate offices, the stairs leading to the second floor, and the hallway to the back of the building.
"Good morning, Paulette.” Preston stops to lean against the desk. “How’s everything so far?"
"On schedule,” she answers, with a smile and tilt to her head that I read as ‘of course’. “I dropped into Buttermilk Bakery and got us a few dozen bagels, some croissants and muffins. The coffee is brewed, and your copy of the Orlando Sentinel is on your desk. Do you need anything?"
“I’m perfect. Have you met my fiancee, Evangeline? She gets grumpy if you call her that. That’s why I call her that.”
Preston winks at me. As a senior associate, remaining professional is important to me, but I have to suppress a squeak at being introduced as his fiancee.
Life is so, so crazy. I am in love with it.
I step forward to shake Paulette’s hand. “You can call me Angie.”
She laughs, shaking mine. “I’m sure I’ll get to know everyone around here in no time.”
“Lets get to work!” Preston pushes off of the desk and walks to the stairs. Troy is already headed to his office. The phone warbles; Paulette resumes her seat as she answers the call.
"Good morning. Reid Law Group."
“I love the sound of that," says Preston, as we climb the stairs together.
I love it too. It’s the sound of my future.
Acknowledgments
This part stresses me out, because I know I will forget someone, but let’s start with my family who have always loved and supported me and my dreams. Ma, Daddy, Big Mike, all of the nephews, the niece, the cousins, second cousins, third cousins — you are all my heart and I thank you for your support.
Writing is a solitary occupation, but I absolutely don’t do this alone. If I published what I write without any help, it would be trash. So, I have to give shouts out to the priceless help I received from Doris, Karen and Nikki who not only read this novel but provided extensive editing notes, websites, suggestions and opinions. If you think this novel is good, it’s because of them! Thank you! *air kisses*
I’d also like to acknowledge those that have been such a constant support of positive thoughts, conversation, leading by example and level headedness. Shelly Ellis, who I lean on so much more than I should: you’re an absolute gift of a writer friend. Thank you! My author brunch fam, my Improperly Coiffured Trollops, my PDubs, my Twitter Brunch Crew, my SisterFriends… I’m forgetting a friend group, but all of you all, at every point of this author life, have been a help and support to me, so thanks ever so much.
Lastly, I can’t thank my readers enough! Nothing makes me feel good, as a writer, like people who enjoy my books and not only tell me that, but they tell others. Word of mouth sells books. Keep talking. From the top, bottom, side to side of my heart, thank you!
About the Author
Atlanta based women's fiction and romance author DL White began seriously pursuing a writing career in 2011. She harbors a love for coffee and brunch, especially on a patio, but her real obsession is water— lakes, rivers, oceans, waterfalls! On the weekend, you'll probably find her near water and if she's lucky, on an ocean beach.
When not writing books, she devours them. She blogs reviews and thoughts on writing and books at BooksbyDLWhite.com. Grab a book by DL White and #Putitinyourface.
Also by DL White
Select titles available in ebook, paperback, and audio
FULL LENGTH NOVELS
Brunch at Ruby’s
Dinner at Sam’s
Beach Thing
Leslie’s Curl & Dye
The Guy Next Door
SHORTS
Unexpected, A Holiday Short
Second Time Around, A Potter Lake Holiday Novella
The Kwanzaa Brunch, A Holiday Novella
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