The Magnolia Chronicles

by Kate Canterbary

  Goddammit, I was getting married.

  Fifteen months ago, I swore I'd never love again.

  Nine months ago, I broke that vow.

  Six months ago, I put a ring on Magnolia's finger.

  Three months from now, I was making a new vow. One I intended to keep the rest of my days.

  I couldn't fucking wait to marry her on the beach in New Bedford.

  "Yeah, let's do this," Ben said, interrupting my thoughts. "I can't deal with the ambiguity anymore. I gotta lock Killer down."

  I winced. "Do you have to call her that?"

  He shrugged. "It works for her."

  I could grant him that much but it didn't make Grace Kilmeade's nickname any more palatable and I worked with guys who went by Booch, Mad Dog, and Mole Sauce. "Whatever, dude," I said. "What's the plan? You said you have a hookup. Is this legal or should I text my attorney in advance?"

  "You're such an asshole," he muttered. He rubbed his hands on his thighs as if he was working out some nervous energy. I smirked. Even though I'd been there and done that, I smirked. "What if she says no? That's a possibility, isn't it? I'm sure Gigi said no to you at least four or five times."

  I dropped some cash on the table and stood, pulling on my coat. "In on the first shot."

  That was always the way with Magnolia. She was the first woman I'd approached on the dating app, the first woman I'd shared my brokenhearted story with, the first woman I loved all the way through and back again, the first I'd asked to marry me, the first I knew better than I knew myself.

  Ben led the way through the tavern, stopping outside on the sidewalk. "She's young," he said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "Haven't you seen the stories about her generation? None of them want to get married."

  Magnolia and I had joined in on too many group dates with Ben and Grace over the past few months for me to doubt that she bested him on the maturity scale. "Millennials don't like home ownership, American cheese, or movie theaters either." I gestured toward him. "If we're to believe any of that applies to Grace, we should probably skip this activity altogether because they don't care for diamonds either."

  "You're not helping," he replied.

  "All right." I shrugged against the howling wind. "She's not that young. Have you talked about getting married? The future, where things are going, all of that?"

  He pierced me with a sharp glare. "Yes, Dr. Phil, we have."

  Seriously. Salt to the marrow with this one.

  "Then what are you worried about?" I asked. "You've got five, maybe six years on her. Right?"

  "Closer to nine," he replied.

  I hadn't expected that but kept the surprise off my face. "So what? She's clearly made up for it in maturity. Has her age complicated things yet?"

  "No," he grumbled.

  "Then why is it a problem now?" I asked. "Despite the fact she enjoys your company, I'd say she's wise beyond her years."

  "Truth," he murmured, rubbing his hands together. This late March cold snap was dreadful. "I don't want to do this only to get shot down." He hit me with a pointed glare. "I'm not interested in repeating that experience."

  I blinked at him. We both knew that wasn't how it shook out with Magnolia but he was always on the hunt for sympathy. "I'm not following you to an underground gem dealer unless you're sure about this. Get there or buy me a beer because it's too damn cold to stand out here much longer."

  He stared down the street for a long moment then turned an impatient glare in my direction. "Why the fuck did I bring you along for this?"

  I lifted my shoulders, let them fall. "Beats the shit out of me. Don't you have other friends? I can't be the only person you'd call to chaperone a shopping excursion."

  That was the kick in the ass Ben needed because he said, "Okay, then. Let's do this. Let's buy an engagement ring." He coughed and sucked in a breath as if he was choking. "Jesus Roosevelt Christ, I'm asking Killer to marry me. I'm—I'm gonna marry this woman."

  I clapped him on the back. "It's great when it hits you, huh? It's like a near-drowning."

  He continued coughing and sputtering. "When did this happen? How did this happen?"

  "By my count, you have Lauren Walsh to thank."

  He hit me with an unimpressed glare. "Can't believe we got roped into moving people we didn't even know. What kind of bullshit was that?"

  That earned him another smack on the back. "It worked out for the best. You met Grace, right?"

  He gestured down the street and we started in that direction. "Correction. I did not meet her. I was caught in her motherfuckin' force field."

  I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, a smile forcing its way across my lips. "Yeah. It's exactly like that."

  I followed Ben to a building on the far fringe of Boston's Theater District. After being buzzed in, we climbed two sets of stairs and waited on a narrow landing. I pulled my phone from my pocket and shot off a text to Magnolia.

  * * *

  Rob: This is not what I'd expected but it's 100% on-brand for Brock so I probably should've expected everything.

  Magnolia: Sounds about right.

  Magnolia: Promise me you won't let him make any excessively odd choices. Odd is fine but not excessively odd. Grace does have a tiny mustache tattoo on her ring finger so…

  Rob: I believe that's the entire reasoning behind my invitation to this event.

  Magnolia: He invited you because you're his friend and he trusts your opinions.

  Magnolia: He likes you. Even if he doesn't act like it.

  Magnolia: But also, you have done this a few times.

  Rob: You are so rude to me.

  * * *

  "Hey." Ben slapped the doorframe, snatching my attention away from the screen. He tipped his head toward the open door. "He's ready for us."

  A man wearing a black apron covered in dusty handprints introduced himself as Syleski as he ushered us into the office. He pointed at the chairs in front of his desk, asking, "Rings, yes? That's what you want?"

  Ben glanced to me, an oh fuck what am I doing? look on his face. I pulled out a chair, pushed him into it. "Yes," I answered. "He's looking for an engagement ring."

  "Nothing traditional," Ben added. "It has to be different. Really unique."

  I nodded but said to Syleski, "Not too different."

  The jeweler ducked into the back section of the office while I shucked my winter coat, hung it over the chair. "Loosen up, Brock. You're going to survive."

  He snapped off a response but I ignored him in favor of my phone.

  * * *

  Rob: He's not drunk enough for this.

  Rob: Neither am I.

  Magnolia: You can drink later. With me.

  Magnolia: I want to see this ring and I don't think Ben has visited since before we finished work on the kitchen.

  Rob: I am not bringing him home after this. I have other plans for our evening, love.

  Magnolia: Are we talking plans or Plans?

  Rob: Plans.

  Magnolia: Maybe you should send me a dick pic so I know what to expect from these Plans.

  Rob: You’re going to remind me of that on our wedding day, aren’t you?

  Magnolia: Anything is possible.

  * * *

  Syleski returned with a velvet-covered tray and launched into a rapid explanation of each cut, style, material. The options seemed endless. At one point, I was certain Ben went cross-eyed.

  "This is modern but also elegant," Syleski said, holding up a slight platinum band with a round diamond winking from the center. "Unique, yes?"

  Ben shook his head. "No. That's not right for her." He glanced at me, his eyes wide and hair sticking in every direction after running his hands through it every forty seconds. "I need something as dark as her heart."

  The jeweler's brows pitched up. "What he's saying," I jumped in, "is he'd like to see some colored gemstones."

  "Do you have black diamonds?" Ben asked.

  I swallowed a groan as Syleski
answered, "A few, yes." He glanced at me for approval. I shrugged. "You want to see them?"

  I glanced between Ben and the jeweler. "How about some black and some colored gemstones? More options."

  When Syleski stepped away, Ben shifted to face me. "Am I fucking this up?"

  "No, not at all. It's fine. These things take time. Lots of back and forth." I studied my phone for a second. "When are you planning to ask Grace? Do you have an idea how you want to do it?"

  He huffed out a sigh and dropped every random proposal plan in the world on me. I smiled and nodded because it was evident he needed to work these options out, but my mind wandered back to the autumn morning Magnolia and I had closed on our new home.

  We hadn't gone looking to buy a house together, but it seemed the house went looking for us. The brownstone sat adjacent to Hayes Park in the South End, not far from my apartment. We'd passed it while walking Gronk on several occasions, each time admiring the stained-glass windows, the dedicated parking, the neighboring rose garden. It wasn't until Magnolia's friend Riley mentioned he was considering it as a restoration project and wanted her input on the landscape design that we'd realized it was available.

  And we wanted it. There was no shortage of work needed but we were up for those challenges. That, and her friends jumped at the idea of helping us fix up the house. Those were friends worth having.

  Within two weeks, we'd made an offer, plunked down the cash, and had ourselves a home.

  And when we'd pulled up in front of the house we'd bought together on that October morning, I asked Magnolia to get the keys from the front pocket of my laptop bag. She didn't see that pocket, instead reaching into the one where I kept an extra set of earbuds, some paperclips, and the engagement ring I'd been carrying around for more than a month. She pulled out a small manila envelope, one identical to the envelope containing the keys, and dropped a diamond into my palm.

  She blinked furiously. "That's not a key."

  "Nope," I replied.

  "That's not a key," she repeated. "It's something very different from a key and I'm not sure whether this is a fun setup where I was supposed to find the thing that isn't a key or I went in the wrong pocket and this is a really big mistake."

  I licked my lips. "Which do you want it to be?"

  She kept blinking, her lips parted and her gaze fixed on the ring. "I think I know what you want it to be because you wouldn't have this thing that is not a key otherwise." She pushed her hair behind her ears, took a sip of her iced coffee, glanced at the brownstone. "And I think I know what I want it to be too but there's this little part of me"—she held up two fingers, barely an inch apart—"that doesn't believe you really want it. Doesn't want you to want me. That part is wrong and I know that but I have to mentally climb over those rocks first."

  "What do you see when you climb over them?"

  She hesitated, tapping a finger against her lips. "This wasn't how I imagined it would go."

  "What did you imagine, love?"

  She pursed her lips to fight off a smile. I loved it when she did that, as if schooling her mouth could hide her smiles when they blossomed in her eyes more than anywhere else. "I imagined I'd ask you." She tipped her chin toward my palm. "I thought I'd beat you to it."

  I barked out a laugh, closed my fingers around the ring. "That's not how this is going to work, Magnolia."

  She reared back. "Excuse you?"

  "No, my love. I'm sorry but you don't get to propose to me."

  Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, lips parted. I loved the look of outrage on her face. It was adorable. "And why not?" she asked.

  "Because I've waited," I replied. "I've waited since—since the very start. Then I waited all summer and into autumn. I've wanted to do this so many times and I've waited. I wanted it to be right for you, for me, for us."

  She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. "How much longer did you intend to wait?"

  I slumped back against my seat, rubbed my forehead. "Not long. Your mother told me I wouldn't be welcome in her home if I didn't hurry up."

  "Oh my god," she whispered, bringing her fingertips to her temples. "My mother."

  I reached for her hand. "Do you remember how I researched magnolias when you first told me your name, MizMaggie? I was sure I'd seen one but I didn't know off the top of my head what a magnolia looked like and I had to see for myself. I found photos but I also learned magnolias are nothing like other flowers. They blossomed before bees appeared on earth. They waited a long time for the world to understand them and that time made them tougher. More independent. So much stronger." I pushed the ring past her knuckle. "You don't have to wait any longer, Magnolia."

  She blinked down at her hand. "We've both waited."

  "Hey. Russo, hey."

  "Yeah?" I asked Ben, shaking off the memory of that morning. "What's up?"

  He held out a slim platinum band with a rough-cut blue stone seated at the center. "What about this one? It's a sapphire. It's kind of pretty and small, but it's also gnarly. Maybe a little scary. Just like Killer. Right?"

  I peered at the ring. Not unlike Grace, it was delicate but undeniably gnarly. "For once, we agree."

  Thank you for reading! I hope you loved Magnolia’s journey.

  Wondering about Ben, Ash, and Linden? Join my newsletter for updates.

  * * *

  If newsletters aren’t your thing, follow me on BookBub for preorder and new release alerts.

  * * *

  Visit my private reader group, Kate Canterbary’s Tales, for exclusive giveaways, sneak previews of upcoming releases, and book talk.

  Want more from Magnolia’s best friend Andy Asani? The Space Between is available now! Turn the page for an excerpt.

  * * *

  A brilliant, alpha architect. A smart, sultry apprentice. What could possibly go wrong?

  * * *

  Patrick

  That hair.

  That fucking hair.

  It was everywhere, always, and I wanted to tangle my fingers in those dark curls and pull.

  And that would be fine if she wasn't my apprentice.

  * * *

  Andy

  An incredibly hot architect with the most expressive hazel eyes I ever encountered and entirely too much talent in and out of the bedroom wasn't part of my original plan.

  With Patrick Walsh leaving love notes in the form of bite marks all over my body, it seems my plan was undergoing some renovations.

  * * *

  If you’re ready for more of Riley Walsh, Preservation is now available!

  Two lonely hearts.

  Just once, Alex Emmerling would like to be someone's first choice.

  She's strong-willed and spunky, but she's left picking up the pieces from her ex's lies and manipulations, and daydreaming about taking a scalpel to his scrotum.

  Flying under the radar is what Riley Walsh does best.

  He's laid-back and loyal, but he wants the most off-limits woman in his world, and nothing will ever make that a reality.

  * * *

  An arrangement of mutual benefit.

  Two months, four dates.

  Five, if things go well.

  Five at the most.

  But possibly six.

  Definitely no more than six dates.

  Only the appearance of a romantic relationship is required, and they expect nothing more from their time together. There will be none of those benefits involved.

  * * *

  One wild weekend.

  After waking up in bed together—very naked and even more hungover—the terms and conditions of their arrangement no longer apply. Now they're faced with something riskier than exposing their fake relationship: letting go of the past and zipping up the future.

  * * *

  Some things have to fall apart before they can be put back together.

  * * *

  Preservation is available now. Turn the page for an excerpt!

  * * *

  Wondering about
Sam Walsh? Check out his story in Necessary Restorations.

  They liked to call me names. Manwhore. Slut. Player. But I make wrong look so right...

  * * *

  He's a flawed perfectionist...

  I can read women better than any blueprint. I understand their thoughts and feelings, their secret desires and insecurities, and I know how to get rid of them once I get off.

  But all bets are off when Tiel Desai slams into my life. She redefines what it means to be friends, and she makes it sound like the filthiest thing I've ever heard.

  I can't read the gorgeous conservatory-trained violinist, but she's the only one keeping me from shattering by small degrees, and I can't let her go.

  * * *

  She's wildly independent...

  My past—and New Jersey—are far behind me, and now my life is blissfully full of music: playing, teaching, and lecturing, and scouring Boston's underground scene with an annoyingly beautiful, troubled, tattooed architect.

  I'm defenseless against his rooftop kisses, our nearly naked dance parties, the snuggletimes that turn into sexytimes, and his deep, demanding voice.

  I have Sam Walsh stuck in my head like a song on repeat, and I'm happy pretending history won't catch up with me.

  * * *

  The one thing they have in common is a rock-solid disregard for the rules.

  They find more in each other than they ever realized they were missing, but they might have to fall apart before they can come together.