“He was going to drop Haven off at school and head over. He should be here in a couple of hours.”
“How’s everyone doing?” Our nurse comes in, beaming from ear to ear. She’s definitely a morning person who loves her job, and I can’t complain about that.
“Doing well,” I say. “Doing very well.”
Beckett reaches gingerly for the top of his sister’s head, petting her with soft, slow strokes. Royal and I exchange looks and my eyes water. It’s moments like these that I wish I had my camera ready. Instead, I’ll have to capture this and store the memory in my heart for a nostalgic rainy day.
Or a day when they’re tearing each other’s hair out and driving Royal and me crazy.
We’ll always have this moment.
“I’m going to love her forever,” Beckett says, placing his chubby cheek against her forehead. He stares up at me with Royal’s dark blue eyes, and I blink away the wetness that clouds my vision of my sweet angels.
Tomorrow morning, Campbell and I will get to go home. Royal will pick us up, and I’m sure he’ll drive ten miles per hour under the speed limit the entire way, with his hands at ten and two.
And when we get inside, we’ll introduce Campbell to our yellow lab, which Beckett named Marfa last year. He was trying to say Martha, like his favorite cartoon dog, but he couldn’t pronounce the ‘th,’ and it was too cute to fix.
After she meets her four-legged friend, we’ll show her to her yellow room. Royal insisted on a neutral nursery, just like he did with Beckett. We never knew what we were having either time, which killed the planner part of me, but I did it for him, because life rarely offers opportunities for good surprises.
“Mama, I’m hungry.” Beckett rubs his tummy and gives me sad eyes.
“I’ll take him to the food court. Come on, buddy.” Royal helps him off the bed and takes his little hand. “We’ll be back soon. Let’s let the girls get their beauty rest.”
My husband brings his hand to his mouth and blows me a kiss. Beckett copies. I blow one back to the boys I love more than anything in this whole wide world, and then I glance down at my daughter one more time.
I can’t decide who she looks like yet. Sometimes she looks like me, sometimes like Royal. And at the same time, she looks nothing like her brother. Genetics are funny that way.
Campbell is already fast asleep again. I adjust her swaddling and place her back in the bassinette, and I just watch.
I could watch her for hours.
All day, every day.
She’s the sweetest.
And me? I’m the luckiest.
Life may not always be a fairytale, but it doesn’t mean we can’t make our own happily-ever-after.
THE END
Page ahead for a preview of Delilah’s book – BACHELOR – Coming late March 2016!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you, thank you to everyone who made this book possible! To my readers, bloggers, ARC reviewers, and constant supporters – I can never thank you enough. I write for you!
Thank you to Valorie Clifton, editor, and proofreaders Janice Owen and Carey Sullivan, for the impeccable edits! Your willingness to flex to my schedule and fit me in at the last minute is immensely appreciated!
Thank you to Louisa Maggio of LM Creations, for whipping up one of the most beautiful covers I’ve ever laid eyes on (if I do say so myself)! The cover couldn’t be more perfect for this story and captured the essence of everything I wanted this story to represent. Working with you is always an absolute joy!
To Morgan Terry and Ashley Cestra – thank you for beta’ing Royal for me!! Your notes were tremendously helpful. If it weren’t for Morgan, Beckett would’ve been named Brookson. WHOOPS.
To my author friends – Sosie, Cora, Vanessa, DG, and so many others – thank you for the camaraderie and procrastinating FB chats. ;-)
Last, but not least, thank you to my husband, who assisted in my research and never once complained when I asked him the same questions over and over. You’re the best parole officer (and most patient husband) this side of the Pacific! Love.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Winter Renshaw recently celebrated her third 29th birthday. By day, she wrangles kids and dogs, and by night, she wrangles words. She loves peonies, lipstick, and balmy summer days. Chips and salsa are her jam, and so is cruising down the highway with the windows down and the air blasting while 80s rock blares from the speakers of her Mom-UV.
She would describe her writing style as sexy, conflicted, and laced with heart. Her heroes are always alpha and her heroines are always smart and independent. HEA guaranteed.
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BACHELOR (Rixton Falls #2)
Coming late March 2016!
*unedited and subject to change
Sawyer
I watch her watch him.
We’re trapped on a neon party bus scented with a potpourri of stale cigarette smoke, spilled drinks, and dried vomit, and we’re the only two pathetic saps clearly not having a good time.
She’s all dark hair and bored sighs and quick sips of Heineken, and I’m all people-watching and fake-smiling and running an experiment to see if drinking to the point of getting drunk will, in fact, make me lose my concept of time.
This night needs to hurry up.
Scratch that.
This weekend needs to hurry up.
Who the hell does joint bachelor/bachelorette parties anyway? Are the bride and groom that insecure that they can’t spend one last night away from each other? God forbid a stripper with daddy issues gives Duke a lap dance. And God forbid the women go to one of those Magic Mike revues where most of the dancers have a preference for cock anyway.
“Hey, what’s your name?” A girl the size of a pixie with short lavender hair, a cluster of star tattoos at the base of her neck, and a diamond stud nose ring takes the seat beside me.
First and foremost, I didn’t come here to get laid. I’m here because my cousin made me groomsman number eight.
And secondly, I’m not interested in Princess Purple Hair. Everything about her is a desperate scream for attention, a plea for someone to find her interesting or special, and to be honest, it bores the ever-loving fuck out of me.
Lastly, I can’t stop watching the cocoa-haired, tragically attractive Goddess of Boredom at the front of the bus.
She intrigues me.
Every time she takes a swig of her beer, her eyes find their way to the couple sitting across from her. In between those moments, she checks her phone, pressing the home button and slipping it back into her pocket when she sees nothing has changed since thirty seconds ago.
“Sawyer.” I answer the pixie because I’m not rude, and my mothers raised me well. “Yours?”
Pixie grins and wiggles her body until she’s closed what little distance between us remained a second ago.
“I’m Violet,” she says.
Naturally.
“Of course you are.” My eyes travel to her hair as she sweeps her bangs across her forehead.
“Are you a friend of the bride and groom?” she asks.
“Cousin of Duke’s.” I take a sip of my gin and tonic, which oddly tastes better coming from a plastic cup molded in the shape of a crystal tumbler. Duke Seaborn III would never allow red Solo cups at his bachelor party. Hell, I’m shocked we’re all riding in a party bus and not a freshly waxed limousine. Then again, our options were slim because you can’t fit twenty-four twenty-somethings in an extended Benz. “You?”
“Friend of Natalie�
�s,” she says. “We went to high school together. We go way back.”
Way back . . . what? Like five whole years? This conversation is boring me already.
I glance at the brunette up front again, and she’s still staring at the lovey-dovey couple every chance she gets. Upon closer inspection, I see that one half of that couple is very much pregnant. The guy rests his hand on the woman’s belly, and the brunette stares down the neck of her beer bottle.
She was late getting here, the last to hop on the bus before we left the parking lot of the Rixton Falls Ramada Inn. I’m guessing she didn’t want to sit there. Next to the Happiest Couple on Earth. I bet they honeymooned at Disney World, and I guarantee they wore those wedding-style Mickey Mouse ears with “bride” and “groom” embroidered on the back.
Either she really hates weddings and doesn’t want to be here, or she’s got some kind of history with the daddy-to-be who won’t stop doting on his baby mama.
Probably both.
The bus slows and we all lurch forward.
“Okay, everyone. Thank you all for joining us tonight. We’re so excited to get this party started!” Natalie stands, beaming ear to ear, one hand gripping a pole for balance and the other holding a plastic champagne class. “We’re all going to do one shot and then we’re going to head into O’Rourdan’s for our first stop of the night!”
One of the many faceless attendees grabs a bottle of cherry vodka and passes around little paper shot classes, which I’m pretty sure are better suited for Jell-O shots.
I take one, like the good sport I am, and wait until Natalie gives the all clear before shooting it down the back of my throat.
“Whew.” Violet shakes her head and sticks out a red tongue and laughs. “That stuff did not go down as easy as I thought it would. Tastes like cherry cough syrup. Ick.”
I think she’s trying to be cute.
Up ahead, the brunette girl hasn’t chugged hers yet. Not sure what she’s waiting for, but everyone is gathering their things and filing off the bus and she’s sitting there in some catatonic state.
“You coming?” Violet asks as she rises and slips her clutch under her arm. Why she would suddenly act like we’re together is beyond me, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and blame it on a combination of the cheap liquor and her young naivety.
“Yeah. You go ahead.”
Violet’s smile fades, but she nods and files in line. The bus empties and the Good Time Gang files into the kind of traditional Irish pub that would make our grandmother proud, rest her soul.
The brunette gathers her things and stands, her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathes in and exhales. Three deep breathes later, she steps toward the exit. I don’t even think she notices that she’s not alone. I don’t want to freak her out, so I wait another minute.
“You in or you out, buddy?” the driver calls back, his beady eyes watching me from the wide rear view mirror.
“Out.” I hope up and head into the bar.
The party takes up the entire length of the wooden bar and no less than three bartenders are attempting to keep up with the sudden influx of drink orders.
I find an empty high top and take a seat. It’s going to be a while before I can order another drink, and I can feel the shit already coursing my system weakening with each passing minute.
A cocktail waitress hurries past, stopping fast when she sees me sitting empty handed.
“What are we drinking tonight?” she asks.
I order another gin and tonic, glad for the good service, and scan the bar in search of the girl who doesn’t want to be here tonight.
I want her story.
I don’t want some bullshit meet-cute with some purple haired fairy who’s going to try and fuck me in my hotel tonight and spend all of tomorrow social media stalking me.
The waitress returns with my drink. I thank her and slip her a tip. And when she walks away, I glance up and meet the gaze of the Goddess of Boredom herself.
She freezes.
I freeze.
I don’t know what the hell is happening right now.
The woman abandons my stare and searches the packed bar for a place to sit. All the tables around me have filled up in the last few minutes. It’s just me, by myself, at this table for two.
Her almond-shaped gaze floats to the empty seat next to me, but she hesitates.
“This seat taken?” A drunken-eyed man in a Third Eye Blind t-shirt slurs into my ear. Not sure where he came from.
“Yeah,” I say. I point to the girl.
“Sorry man.” The drunk stumbles off, and I turn back to her.
“Now you have to take it.” I offer her a smile, to assure her I’m not a creep. I’m genuinely a nice guy. I think. Brutally honest. Unapologetically observational. But I think those are good things mostly.
The corners of her mouth inch up, and her eyes brighten in the dark.
“I’m Sawyer,” I say. “Cousin of the groom. Eighth and final groomsman. And I don’t want to be here.”
She smirks. “Delilah. Friend of the bride. Eighth and final bridesmaid. I don’t want to be here either.”
I flash her a genuine smile, first one I’ve had all night, and ask her what she’s drinking.
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