Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  I ran a finger under her eye. “My favorite color is green. I already like you. I like you a lot. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with you.”

  “My favorite color is blue,” she whispered, reaching up to touch my cheek. “The exact shade your eyes are, in fact.”

  “Isn’t that a coincidence.”

  “I love blue.” She drew in a deep breath. “I love you.”

  “Then I guess this works out perfectly, doesn’t it?”

  “You really want to marry me?”

  “I booked two tickets to Vegas. We fly out tonight, and I booked a two-a.m. ceremony.” Then I smirked, tracing my finger over her tattoo hidden under my shirt. “I even arranged a bouquet for you. I was very specific about what it was to contain.”

  “What if I had said no?”

  “I wasn’t leaving until you said yes.”

  “You’re so sure.”

  “Yes. I am. This is right. We’re right. I’m going to marry you today, and we’re going to spend the next eighty years or so getting to know each other. If you change your mind after that, we can talk about a separation.”

  “Eighty years?”

  I grinned mischievously. “I have hidden depths. It’s going to take you that long to figure me out. Make sure before you decide one way or another.”

  She smirked at me, her hands stealing around my neck. “I know I like it when you’re hidden in my depths.”

  I swung her up into my arms. “Oh, gypsy-girl. Now you’ve done it.”

  On Tuesday evening, I shifted into park and looked over at Lily. “Ready?”

  “It’s suddenly very real. And scary.”

  “It’s going to be fine. She’s going to love that arrangement”—I leaned over the console and kissed her—“and you.”

  I got out of the car, opening the door for Lily. From the backseat, I lifted the massive arrangement Lily had brought, the fragrance of the flowers heavy in my nose. I kept one arm around the flowers and threaded my free hand through Lily’s fingers, holding tight.

  “Here we go.”

  I had warned my mother there would be an extra person for dinner. She tried to get me to divulge information about the mystery girl, but I stayed silent except to tell her this girl was “special.”

  To her credit, my mother was a gracious hostess. She took our coats, gushed over the flowers, and managed to refrain from hugging Lily more than six times by the time we made it to the living room where my father was reading the paper.

  When we sat down, Lily was noticeably shaking, and I lifted her hand to my mouth kissing it. “Relax, baby.”

  Mom squealed behind her dishtowel, and my father rolled his eyes. He smiled kindly at Lily. “Tell us all about yourself. It will be easier for all of us.” He winked. “My wife will interrogate you otherwise, and it won’t be pretty.”

  “Philip!” She gasped. “I would do no such thing!”

  He and I laughed. “Eleanor, my dear, how you fib.”

  I smiled at my parents. “I have something to share with you.”

  They nodded, looking expectant.

  I lifted Lily’s hand. “Lily and I got married on the weekend.”

  After the shock wore off and the squealing stopped, we talked. I had kept my story pretty PG, and as promised, Mom had a ton of questions for Lily—and a lot more hugs.

  My dad leaned over and clapped me on the shoulder. “She’s lovely, Ethan. Perfect for you.”

  I watched my mother cup Lily’s face, kissing her cheek and listening to everything Lily said. Lily was looking at my mother, her face serious. “I love him. I don’t need his money—I have lots of my own. I only need him.”

  “I know,” Mom assured her. “I can tell from the way you look at him.” She glanced my way. “And the way he looks at you.”

  “I know it’s fast …”

  Mom shook her head. “When you know, you know. Phillip asked me on our second date.”

  Dad nodded. “I was smitten.”

  I snickered. I knew that feeling.

  Mom gasped. “I need to phone your sister. She’ll come right over!”

  I groaned, pulling Lily back down to her chair. “If you thought Mom was bad, wait until you meet Reagan.”

  My dad laughed and stood. “I’ll go make sure your mother remains somewhat calm.”

  I wrapped my arm around Lily. “Okay?”

  She nodded. “They’re wonderful, Ethan.”

  “Told you they would love you.”

  “I love you,” she breathed out.

  I lowered my mouth to hers. “Welcome to the Thomas family, Lily.”

  I pulled up in front of the shop, stifling my grin. My mom’s car was there, which meant she’d probably been there for hours. Who knew what she and my wife had been doing. The two of them were as close as could be—I was only surprised to see Reagan’s car wasn’t there. The three of them were often in cahoots.

  Stepping into the shop, I heard the laughter and had to shake my head. Reagan was there—she must have come with Mom. I knew, without a doubt, I was going to lose Lily for the night. When they got together, there was no telling what would occur. It could involve a lot of wine and me leaving the house, or they could have some great adventure planned with me left at home while they went out to a wine tasting or a new cooking class.

  Either way, I did reap the benefits. Lily was a stellar cook, and I enjoyed eating whatever new dish she learned to make. The nights when she drank too much wine, she was especially frisky. It was a win-win situation, no matter what.

  Except, I missed her.

  Marrying Lily was the best thing I had ever done in my life. My family had been as taken with Lily as I was, and the feelings had only grown in the past months since we’d said I do.

  “Ethan!” Lily sang out, startling me from my thoughts. I opened my arms as she barreled toward me, her face beaming. Obviously, tonight was wine night, from the faint flush along her cheekbones. Her enthusiastic kiss and the way she pressed herself close, let me know they’d been at it for a while.

  I grinned against her full lips. “Hey, gypsy-girl.”

  “We’re having girls’ night.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Your dad is waiting for you. He’s in the sunroom. I got you pizza. And beer.”

  “I’m not getting kicked out?”

  She giggled. “No. We’re having it here in the shop. There’s a celebration at the nursing home tomorrow. I promised to make all the corsages and boutonnieres. The girls are gonna help.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “You’re sure that’s a good idea? Um, sharp knives and wine?”

  She laughed. “The flowers are all prepped. We just have to add greenery and do the taping. We’ll be fine. It won’t even be a late night.”

  “Okay.” I kissed her again. “I’ll see you later.”

  She returned my kiss enthusiastically. “Yep.”

  Dad was waiting, a game lined up. We spent the night yelling at the TV and listening to the sounds of laughter drifting down the hall from the shop.

  Dad caught my eye at one point, chuckling. “Never thought I’d see this day, Ethan.”

  “What? Me, married to a free spirit after only knowing her a week, living with a bunch of cats, in a converted cottage attached to a flower shop, and loving every single second of it? Really, Dad, how narrow-minded of you. It was in my grand scheme of life all the time.”

  He laughed. “Ethan, the only scheme in your life was to get rich. Once you accomplished that, you wanted to get richer.”

  “Well, I did that. Although, I think what I have with Lily is far more valuable.”

  “I agree.” He paused with a grin. “When do we get some grandkids?”

  I choked on the mouthful of beer I was trying to swallow. I sputtered, thumping my chest as I stared at him. “Is that Mom or you asking?”

  “Me, actually. Your mom wants to give you a year before she starts dropping hints. I want to bounce a baby or two on my knee—an
d soon.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Lily.”

  “Tell Lily what?” She slid her arms around my neck, dropping a kiss to my skin.

  I tilted my head up, grinning at her. “Dad wants grandkids.”

  “Hmmm. Okay, Dad. Out. We need to get busy.”

  He threw back his head in laughter. He adored my Lily. She felt the same way about him.

  She patted my shoulder. “You better bring your A-game, Ethan.”

  I grabbed her hand, kissing the palm. “I’ll do my best.”

  Later that night, we were wrapped around each other, the blankets warm, the night dark, and our bodies sated and heavy from our lovemaking. Lily’s head rested on my chest, and I was caressing her thick curls, my fingers running long passes over the silky strands.

  “We’d have to move.”

  My brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?”

  “When we have babies. This little cottage isn’t big enough to add children.”

  “My dad was teasing, Lily.”

  She lifted her head, meeting my gaze. “I want children. I know you do, as well.”

  “Yes, I do. When you’re ready. When we’re ready. And we don’t have to move. The property is huge. We can add an addition.”

  Her finger traced circles on my chest. “Could we talk to an architect soon?”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Really.”

  I gathered her close and kissed her. “I’ll call around tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  She burrowed into my chest, her breath drifting over my cooling skin. I felt her body relax and ease into rest. I tucked an arm under my head, not even bothering to attempt sleep.

  Outside, the moon shone down on the trees, their branches moving gracefully in the light breeze.

  Less than a year ago, I had been in my condo, wealthy, stagnant, and alone. I’d been surrounded by lifeless rooms, and aside from work, my life was empty.

  Tonight, my wife slept in my embrace, and our life filled this house as we made it a home. Music, books, and flowers were everywhere. Echoes of laughter and conversations lingered in the air. Everything I did, every decision I made had one focal point behind it.

  My Lily. My gypsy-girl. My wife.

  Who had just told me she wanted to get pregnant. With my child. We would be a family.

  Because of her, I had a real life. I was happier than I ever thought possible.

  And all of that happened because I clicked on an ad to find a florist who was open late so I could pick up something to soften the blow when I told my mother I’d dumped my girlfriend who didn’t want me.

  I hadn’t thought of Abby in a long time. I really needed to thank her for being such a lousy girlfriend. I had a feeling she’d hate that.

  A grin tugged on my lips.

  Maybe I should send her some flowers. Thanks-for-blowing-my-neighbor-and-because-of-your-whoring-around-I-found-the-love-of-my-life sort of flowers.

  I bet Lily could add that to her book.

  I tightened my arms around my wife.

  I’d have to tell her in the morning.

  Over perfectly toasted bread made in her convection oven.

  New York Times/USA Today bestselling author Melanie Moreland, lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-seven-plus years and their rescue cat, Amber. Nothing means more to her than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them.

  While seriously addicted to coffee, and highly challenged with all things computer-related and technical, she relishes baking, cooking, and trying new recipes for people to sample. She loves to throw dinner parties, and also enjoys travelling, here and abroad, but finds coming home is always the best part of any trip.

  Melanie delights in a good romance story with some bumps along the way, but is a true believer in happily ever after. When her head isn’t buried in a book, it is bent over a keyboard, furiously typing away as her characters dictate their creative storylines to her, often with a large glass of wine keeping her company.

  Follow her:

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  How We Met by Claudia Burgoa

  Hunter Everhart has it all—the brains, the money and a rewarding career. He’s also the uncanny knack of choosing the wrong woman and suffers from a Knight complex. One night, he crosses paths with Willow Beesley, and before he can get a name or even a number, she’s gone. Willow Beesley can’t catch a break. Not only is she working for her younger sister and living with her grandfather, but the man who saw her at her worst happens to work for them. Is this a match made in heaven? Or another disaster about to happen?

  When you meet someone, special, you’ll know, your heart will beat more rapidly, and you’ll smile for no reason.

  ~ Unknown

  Hunter

  Living in one of the biggest cities in the world means more people are out and about at all hours of the day—even nights. Lights illuminate the sky. There’s not a moment of silence. The cars drive around with their headlights on. I can’t see a single star in the sky. Nights like tonight make me wish I lived in the country, a house in upper state New York. I’d trade my penthouse for a piece of land where I can watch the sky, littered with dazzling stars, relax near a lake, and listen to the backdrop of crickets in the long fresh grass. Instead, I’m hurrying through mid-town Manhattan. I fight the crowd as hundreds of people bustle in and out of the theaters on Broadway, all of them dressed in their best clothing.

  Debating between fighting for a cab or walking faster, I stop to check my phone. H’s picture and name flash on the screen as I pull it out of my jacket pocket. Over, we are over, I repeat inside my head. Once it stops, the notifications appear. I have thirty texts and missed eight calls—from her.

  Why can’t I find an ordinary woman? My brothers ask why am I even looking for a woman? They don’t have time for relationships and would rather play the field. I’m the youngest of four, and we can’t be any different from one another. I’m the one who prefers routine. Is it so wrong to want the same person next to me at nights?

  The dating scene is complicated. Being me makes it at least a hundred times harder. If given a choice, I would date a woman who doesn’t know who I am, like the one coming down the sidewalk at that moment. Her hair is straight black, she wears a pair of jeans and flats, her figure a perfect hour glass. Out of habit, my eyes fall on her hand to look for rings. When she comes closer to me, I see the stream of tears falling down her cheeks.

  “Sorry,” she says, as she bumps against my shoulder.

  I grasp her elbow breaking her fall. “Careful, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head; her eyes focused on the ground. Her sobs are muffled by the honking sound of a car.

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Her head tilts to the left; I remove the black curtain blocking her angelic face. There’s a need inside me. “The Knight complex” as my brothers would say, yearning to erase her pain. “Can I walk you home?”

  “No, thank you.” She dries the tears with the sleeve of her light jacket.

  “What’s your address?”

  She snorts. “I live in Queens, I have a long way to go.”

  Not letting her go, I hail a cab helping us both inside it.

  “Where in Queens?”

  The beauty lifts her head, her dark eyes almost as dark as her hair. “No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

  “This one is on me,” I order the driver to head to Queens. “What’s your address?”

  “Sorry, usually I don’t … it wasn’t a good night. A week—or a year …” she apologizes, searching inside her big black purse. “Park Avenue and Seventy-second Street, please.”

  That’s not Queens, but I’m interrupted by the buzzing sound of my phone. I pull it out of my jacket, and regret it as I see a new text from her.

  H: We need to talk.

  Scott: Your ex is harassing me.
<
br />   H: No one will tell me where you are. I think this break is taking too long.

  Fitz: H is texting me. You said it was over.

  I text my brothers from the group chat. It is over.

  Scott: Let her know, and tell her to lose my number.

  Fitz: Stop being a serial monogamist. But if you must, find someone less …

  Clingy, fake?

  Scott: The word you’re looking for is fake.

  Stop sending me texts, I want to type or throw my phone out the window. Being the baby of the house has a few benefits, in general, is a pain in the ass. My brothers continue texting for the next few minutes. Giving me unsolicited advice on how to get the perfect girl. Not that either one of them has landed a girl—or plans on doing as much.

  The woman next to me snorts. “Is she always that bold?”

  I turn my attention to her, hers in on my phone. “Do you always read over people’s shoulders?”

  H: We have to get back together. We have something great going on.

  H: At least give me a chance to talk about the summer.

  H: Can we rent a house in the Hamptons? My parents would love to join us.

  “What do you mean?”

  She twists her lips to the left while her dark blue eyes stare at the screen. “She wants you to rent the house. As in you pay for it.”

  My eyes narrow, the memory of last December hitting me hard on the head like an ice-cold bucket thrown from the sky. H wanted a big cabin in Vermont for the winter. I paid for it, and her family enjoyed it all fucking winter long.

  “No. You shouldn’t overthink it.” Her eyes brighten, not sure if it’s the unshed tears or the light hitting her face. “Or regret it. Next time, try to get to know her before offering her a trip to Barbados.”

  The cab stops right at the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-second.

  “This is me,” she says, sighing. “Reality awaits. Let’s confront my master, my demons, and beg for a little help.”

  “Sounds like you don’t want to do it.”

  She hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Thank you for the laugh.”

  “At me?”

  “No.” She smirks. “Maybe.”

  “Should you be begging for help?” I don’t assume, but maybe she’s going back to some rich guy who will solve her money situation.