by Tawna Fenske
“The one who had you learn every bone in the human body?” I ask. “Same teacher?”
She grins and nods with surprise. “Good memory, as always,” she says. “He took us on a field trip to southeast Oregon where they have these big mines just brimming with copper-bearing labradorite feldspar.”
“Copper-bearing labradorite feldspar?” I know a lot about rock, but that’s a new one on me.
“Also known as Oregon sunstone,” she says. “It’s the state gem.”
“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any.”
She grins and rests a hand on the purse. “Sunstone comes in all kinds of colors, from fiery red to peach and sometimes even green for the rare ones. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it until you reminded me.”
I peer through the opening of the purse, my interest even more piqued. “You have some to show me?”
She nods and pushes the bag toward me. “Take a look. They’re not the rarest kind, but I think the colors are the prettiest. You can definitely see how they got their name. I had to stop by my parents’ place to dig them out of the garage, but they’re all yours if you want them.”
Her cheeks color a bit then, and she lifts one freckled shoulder in a shy shrug. “They might not be the right thing at all. You don’t have to use them if they’re not what you had in mind for the sun on your fireplace, but—”
“Oh my God, they’re perfect.”
I stare at the Ziploc bag I’ve just pulled from the purse, hardly believing my eyes. The stones tumble over each other like bubbles of sunshine, all reds and golds and pinks and oranges. They seem to glow from inside, and I shift them away from the candlelight. But no, they really do have a light all their own. An energy that hums in my hands.
“Where did you—how did you—”
“Like I said, I took this field trip in fifth grade—”
“Wait.” I stare at her, piecing it all together. “You’re giving me your childhood memento?”
She smiles a little shyly and picks up her water glass. All the ice has melted, but she sips it anyway, cheeks glowing with pleasure. “I want you to have them,” she says. “I trust you to make something beautiful out of them.”
I set the bag of rocks down and slide a hand over hers. “Thank you, Lexi.”
She shrugs, and my eyes light on that perfect, freckled shoulder. “It’s no problem. They’ve just been gathering dust at my parents’ house.”
“I don’t just mean for the rocks. I mean everything. This date, your thoughtfulness—mostly just for trusting me.”
She beams, and I know she understands what I’m saying. That it’s not just her trust in my ability to make something beautiful with the sunstone. It’s her trust in general that makes me feel like a damn superhero.
“You’re an easy guy to trust,” she says. “With sunstones or packrats or anything else.”
“I almost wish Bartholomew could be here,” I say. “For our first official date.”
Lexi grins, then glances around and leans across the table. “I’m not saying he is, and I’m not saying he isn’t,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t you think a packrat would fit really nicely in one of the pockets of this sweater?”
She grins at me, eyes twinkling like the sunstone, and I’m honestly not sure if she’s joking or serious.
One thing I am sure about, though. “Out of all the people in the world, I’m glad I got stuck with you on an elevator.”
Lexi grins as I squeeze her hand. The candlelight casts a warm glow on her shoulders, and I resist the urge to lean forward and kiss that constellation of freckles. There’s plenty of time for that later. There’s plenty of time for all of it.
She rests her hand on mine, and her eyes spark with something other than candlelight. “I’m glad I got stuck with you, too.”
EPILOGUE
Lexi
Clutching the bowl of popcorn to my chest, I pad sock-footed out to the living room where Noah waits for me on the couch.
Our couch, I think, smiling a little to myself as I slide onto the caramel-colored leather beside him. Noah turns and smiles at me, and my guts turn into a puddle of warm goo.
Not bad for a year together.
“Hey, sexy,” he says, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Did you put truffle salt on it this time?”
“Of course,” I assure him as I tuck my stockinged feet under one of his massive thighs and reach into the bowl for a handful of buttery goodness. “It’s Burt’s favorite, right?”
At the sound of his name, Burt pops his head out of the pouch pocket on the front of Noah’s hoodie. Stan does likewise from the other side, his whiskers twitching at the scent of his favorite treat. The whole thing makes Noah look a bit like a kangaroo. It’s not every six-foot-five stonemason who can be sexy with two whiskered rodents protruding from his stomach, but Noah is rockin’ the look.
“Here you go,” he says, offering each packrat a piece of popcorn. Both boys snatch their prizes, then duck back into his pocket like a pair of bank robbers hiding their plunder.
“So freakin’ cute,” I say, which is the same thing I’ve said at least a hundred times a day since Shelly first asked if I wanted two orphaned packrats she’d rescued from an abandoned barn in Prineville. She knew how heartbroken I was to return Bartholomew after my last round of pet sitting, and these brothers have filled the packrat-shaped hole in my heart.
“Bartholomew says hello, by the way,” I tell them. “We’re having another playdate next Wednesday.”
Noah grins and grabs a handful of popcorn. “If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be planning packrat playdates, I would have called you insane.”
“I’m insane in the best ways,” I inform him, leaning up to kiss his temple.
But you hardly ever hear voices in your head these days, Watson points out.
Harlow beams and nods. And when you do, they mostly have nice things to say.
Noah puts an arm around me and flicks the remote. It’s almost time for the season finale of Rock of Ages on the History channel, and we’re watching together for the one-year anniversary of our elevator date. I snuggle closer, thinking how lucky I am. How lucky we are that our elevator incident turned out like this instead of with one of us forced to eat the other in an act of cannibalistic self-preservation.
Not that I’m thinking in terms of worst-case scenarios anymore. Much.
Beside me, Noah shifts in his seat. “Huh. I wonder what that is?”
“The commercial for Doritos?”
“No, that.”
He points, and I follow the direction of his gaze to the fireplace. The magnificent, glorious fireplace with the sun and the moon and the mountains and sky. It’s been complete for months now, and I still catch myself staring at it several times a day.
“Where?” I ask. “Is there a stone out of place or something?”
“Maybe.” Noah frowns and squints at a spot just above the mantel. “You see that weird-looking one right there?”
I look at where he’s pointing, but I don’t see anything. “Where?”
“To the left. Next to that big river rock shaped like a comma. You see it?”
I shake my head, but he’s got me curious now. I slide off the sofa, careful not to disturb the packrats. They pop their heads out of the edges of the hoodie, curious as always.
“I still don’t see where you’re looking,” I say as I move closer to the fireplace.
“Up a little. There! See it?”
I stand on tiptoe, catching a glint of something gold. I frown, not recalling any gold-flecked stonework in the mosaic. Did I miss something?
As my fingers close around it and I draw the object do
wn to eye level, I give a startled gasp. “Noah!”
I turn to find him down on one knee behind me with a dimpled grin, packrats poking out of his pocket. “Lexi Allison,” he begins, “when you stepped onto that elevator a year ago, I had no idea how profoundly you’d change my life. You are my sun and my moon and my stars and every precious stone in the universe. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Tears cloud my eyes as I nod and stare at the ring. It’s a big purple amethyst ringed with bright emeralds, and it looks exactly like I always imagined it would. “Yes,” I choke out. “Absolutely.”
Noah gets to his feet then and helps me slide the ring into place. It’s a perfect fit—not too big, not too snug. Just right.
The packrats wriggle in his pockets, looking for something shiny or edible. Noah angles my hand toward them to show the ring. “No touching,” he tells them. “It might be sparkly and pretty, but that’s not for you.”
“It’s all mine,” I tell them, then grin up at Noah. “And so are you.”
“Now and forever.” He grins back, then taps the breast pocket of my shirt. Well, his shirt. I’m wearing one of Noah’s old dress shirts with nothing underneath. He told me months ago how much he loves the look, so I commandeered half the collared shirts in his closet. It’s become my stay-at-home date-night uniform.
Noah’s hand grazes my breast pocket again, and I shiver with pleasure. “I wanted them to be part of this, too,” he murmurs.
I glance down at his hand and quirk one eyebrow. “My boobs?”
“No, the boys—Burt and Stan. I got a little something for them, too.”
Mystified, I watch as he slips his fingers into the shirt pocket and pulls out two small objects. Rings—shiny plastic replicas of the one on my own finger. They’re twinkly and gaudy, and the packrats wriggle with delight when Noah holds them out.
“For you,” I tell them. “Something sparkly all your own.”
They reach out with tiny paws, each grasping one like the world’s greatest treasure. They duck back into the pocket, happy as clams as I look up at Noah again.
“So it looks like we’re a family.”
He smiles and leans down close enough for his lips to brush mine. “We already were.”
To Kevney, Nate, Valerie, Hank, Lisa, Steve, Jason, Georganna, and the rest of the Visit Bend team for being the reason I reply, “Hell no!” when asked if I plan to quit the day job and write full-time. You make it possible for me to have the best of both worlds, and I can’t thank you enough for all your support, kindness, and pained laughter at my inappropriate office humor.
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to the entire Montlake team for bringing this story to life in such an awesome way. Krista Stroever, you always make my writing a zillion times better, and I’m so grateful to have you in my corner. Thanks also to Chris Werner, Anh Schleup, Jessica Poore, Colleen Lindsay, Marlene Kelly, Elise Taubenheim, Oisin O’Malley, Kris Beecroft, Lauren Foley, Kjersti Egerdahl, Laurène Boglio, Hannah Buehler, Jill Kramer, and everyone else who had a hand in getting this quirky little novella into the hands of readers.
High five to Michelle Wolfson for surviving more than a decade as my agent and for being such a fabulous business partner, advocate, and friend. When are we taking that ten-year anniversary cruise?
Thank you to Linda Grimes and Kait Nolan for your eagle eyes, clever input, and speedy turnarounds. Bonus butt pats to Kait for Harlow and Watson!
Big hugs to McKay Fenske for police station details, and to the Friends of the Oregon Badlands Wilderness for introducing me to packrats.
Thank you to Meah Cukrov for being the best author assistant on the planet (and a darn fine pet sitter to boot!). If I had a packrat, I trust you’d never lose him. I’m also super thankful to my street team, Fenske’s Frisky Posse, for being the best cheering section a girl could ask for.
Great big gobs of gratitude go to my family, Dixie and David Fenske; Carlie and Aaron “Russ” Fenske; and to Cedar and Violet. I love you guys!
And thank you to Craig for being mine. Mine!
About the Author
Author photo © 2013 Craig Zagurski
When Tawna Fenske finished her English-lit degree at twenty-two, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award–nominated, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, stepkids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, stand-up paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
About the ILLUSTRATOR
Illustrator photo © 2017 Pete Davies
Laurène Boglio is a French art director, illustrator, and graphic designer who lives and works in London.
Most recently, she led the creative helm of celebrated illustrated film magazine Little White Lies, and she has worked independently across a diverse range of media, for an eclectic mix of clients—from the Guardian to Taylor Swift.
Studying in Paris and Strasbourg, Boglio has expertly tuned a unique and distinctive artistic style to incorporate her own smart (yet playful) humor. This trait resonates throughout her breadth of work and is most prominent when brought to life by her fun-infused GIF animations.
With a passion for illustrating people, landscapes, and typography, she utilizes a range of techniques, always producing art with her truly original and compelling aesthetic.
Through her work, Boglio strives not only to create the finest visuals and storytelling but also to challenge her viewers’ perspectives. She says, “Dare to be creative. Be inspired by others. Find your own way of expression.”
Cast and
crew credits
Cast
Noah: Wayne Barthule
Lexi: Miranda Troutt
Crew
Director / Producer: Mitch Shepherd
Producer: Meghan de Andrade
Producer: Landon Beal
Assistant Director: Justin Sund
Director of Photography: Ty Migota
Assistant Camera: Ryan Zemke
Gaffer: Vince Klimek
Grip: Shaun Bowlby
Swing: Steve Colgrove
Prop Master: Brett Thomson
Wardrobe: Rosie Bowker
Hair and Makeup: Erin Beal
Production Assistant: Rio Barber
Production Assistant: Katherine Hill
Animator: Andrew Swenson
Praise for
Tawna Fenske
Studmuffin Santa
“Sexy, sweet, and satisfying, with exactly the right amount of holiday charm.”
—Lauren Layne, New York Times bestselling author
This Time Around
“Fenske’s newest second-chance love story set in Portland, Ore., [is] a special blend of comedy and suspense—readers will gladly join [Allie and Jack] on their journey to self-improvement.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This novel’s primary strengths are twofold: first, the reader can’t help but root for Allie, who is realistically flawed and anxious about her own failings . . . Second, the writing is deft and charming, with both characters’ narrative voices wry and self-effac
ing . . . This is a lovely second-chance romance (with a single-dad hero!) that will appeal to fans of Mary Kay Andrews, Jennifer Crusie and Victoria Dahl.”
—RT Book Reviews (4 stars)
Now That It’s You
“A funny, poignant reminder that the baggage our exes leave can’t stop love from moving us forward.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“This is a heartwarming story with well-developed, artistic characters.”
—Publishers Weekly
Let It Breathe
“This charming romp from Fenske evokes the best of romantic comedy, with its witty characters and wacky but realistic situations.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
About that Fling
“Fenske’s take on what happens when a one-night stand goes horribly, painfully awry is hilariously heartwarming and overflowing with genuine emotion . . . There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand in this laugh-out-loud story with an ending that requires a few tissues.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
The Fix Up
“Extremely charming and undeniably sexy . . . I loved every minute.”
—Rachel Van Dyken, #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“Sexy banter in the boardroom, romantic movies with a sexy alpha geek, and humor that will leave a smile on your face until the very last page.”
—Kelly Elliott, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
Making Waves
Nominated for Contemporary Romance of the Year, 2011 Reviewers’ Choice Awards, RT Book Reviews