Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (24 page)

Acknowlegements:

              Marisol’s story was born one afternoon when my beta reader said, “You’re gonna write Marisol’s story. Right?
Right
?”

             
It wasn’t until that moment that I even considered making Baby & Bump a
series
. And thus the This & That Series was born. Marisol’s story came to me fast and furiously, almost filling my brain faster than I could type. Which, if we are all being honest, is exactly Marisol’s style, wouldn’t you say? I have to say that I had so much fun writing it, and that Marisol will go down as one of my favorite characters of all time. Thank you, Marisol Vargas, for being you.

             
I have some of the most supportive friends and fellow writers in my community, and I am eternally grateful for each of them. Katie & Jess, you two are the best beta readers an author could ask for. Thank you so very much. And Jess, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the midday plotting sessions that usually consisted of me griping about my personal life more so than actual
work.
Thanks for never getting sick of me. Or at least not showing it when you were.

             
Special shout out to “The Itzel Library”….you know what you helped with, and I appreciate it. Very much.

              At the risk of sounding over the top, I literally cannot take all of the credit for this book, or Baby & Bump, without throwing out homage to my CP and editor, Meggan Connors. This woman earns her keep, folks. She listens to my whining, accepts my moods—no matter how foul, and she literally turns my books into little works of silly, romantic art. Without her, my stories are just that… stories. Thank you, Meggan.
You are priceless
.

             
A special thanks goes to my family. They never make me feel bad when I am buying KFC—again—so that I can get back to writing. And they always tell me I’m pretty, even when I haven’t showered for two days, and my hair looks like a lesbian logger (not that there’s anything wrong with that.) My children are wonderful, chipper, funny little people who make me feel like I’ve done something right in this world, and my husband is truly the greatest gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.

             
As always, I’ve saved the best for last. To my readers: I will never be anything without each of you, no matter where you are, or what you look like. You’re wonderful, you’re supportive, you’re perfect, and in my imagination you’ve all got most excellent hair. Thank you for making my career dreams come true. It is all because of you that I can say this adventure was a success. Thank you so very much.

             
And as always… stay tuned. There is always more to come.

Then & Now

Book 3 of the This & That Series

I blinked at the man sitting across the table from me, waiting for him to tell me he was kidding, but alas… he just sat there. Wiggling his eyebrows at me. I may have seen a bit of tongue poke out of his mouth, too, but I couldn’t be sure, because the waiter approached our table with the check.

             
Thank you, God, for rescuing me from this pervert.

             
“How was dinner tonight? Good, eh?” The waiter beamed down at us like our steaks could’ve changed our lives.

             
Mine hadn’t changed my life. It had, however, given me a rotten case of indigestion. Or maybe that was the company. The slick expensive suit and Mercedes Benz parked outside of the restaurant weren’t enough to convince me this date was a good idea. In fact, I was pretty convinced that it was a completely, utterly bad idea.

This was the last time I let my friend, Marisol, fix me up. Six dates with a myriad of handsome, successful men, and not one of them had made my heart twitch. Or my girlie bits twitch… because that’s what she said really mattered when you’re a thirty-four year old widow. (Her opinion, not mine.)

As if Marisol’s illicit track record as a serial dater—before she married a handsome Greek mechanic—weren’t enough to convince me that I was better off alone, then the fact that I was getting more hot and bothered fantasizing about getting home and devouring my latest novel was. I could practically feel the thin cotton comfort of my favorite sweats on my legs, instead of the constrictive grey skirt I was wearing. And in the back of my mind, I imagined the way the worn pages turning would sound in my quiet bedroom.

I almost gasped. I had a babysitter back at home, which meant the kids were probably already asleep. And that meant I would be left alone to read in
peace
.

Hot damn!
I could hardly contain my excitement. I had to get home. Now.

My eyes darted from the waiter’s face, to my date
’s, who was staring at me like a teenager stares at the most dangerous ride at a theme park. Like a roller coaster he needed to conquer.

Sorry, buddy. There won’t be any conquering tonight.

Suppressing a shudder, I smiled up at the waiter. “The steak was dry,” I said sweetly. “And the asparagus tasted like gym socks. Could we get our check please?”

Okay, okay. So I was being kind of nasty. Usually that wasn’t my style. Or, it wasn’t before my husband dropped dead on a golf course, leaving me alone with three small children to
raise. In the twenty-two months, eight days, and five hours since, I’d become a bit callused. My friends and family tell me that they miss the “old me.” That it’s been nearly two years, and I need to perk up.

Hey, we can’t help what grief does to us, right? At least that’s what my therapist says. I consider that permission to be as bitchy and antisocial as I want. Hey, that’s why I pay her the big bucks, right?

“That was, uh,
direct
.” Irritation flashed in my date’s—Rick, or Rich, or… oh, crap, I don’t care, anyway—eyes. “You know, I had to pull some major strings to get us into this place without a reservation. It’s the hottest restaurant in town.”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know.” I fiddled with my earring, and looked at him coyly. “Thank you for the dinner, Rich.”

“
Rob
,” he hissed, adjusting his cufflinks.

Seriously, who
cared?

“Right.” I looked down at my hands and noticed the subtle indentation the third finger on my left hand still had. A sinking sensation filled my stomach, and I sucked in a sharp breath of air.

I’d only stopped wearing my wedding ring a few months ago. Around the same time Marisol convinced me to go on debunked date #1. Thom with a “th,” who’d asked me if I wanted him to come to his place for some sex and won tons. Little did the poor schmuck know I’d given up both sex
and
won tons after my husband, Brian, died.

“Where are we headed next?” Rob asked me, smoothing down his tie. “How about some
martini’s at Madison’s? Maybe that’ll loosen you up.”

I looked at him sharply. “Need loosening, do I?”

He scoffed. “Well,
yeah.
When Marisol Vargas called to tell me she had someone she wanted me to meet, I expected someone a little more…”

I knew where this was going. I’d had the same discussion with
most of the other dates. When Rob paused, I folded my arms across my chest. “Promiscuous?”

“No!” He shook his head, then laughed and nodded. “Well, yes. Maybe. A little.”

Good Lord, I hated dating. I’d hated it clear back in college when I’d met Brian at a frat party. “Sorry. Not my style.”

Rob leaned forward, his elbows on the table making his roll plate tilt. “Marisol says you’re a widow.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

No, he wasn’t. They never were. If he hadn’t died, we wouldn’t be on this date. Duh.

“How long has he been gone?” Rob asked, tilting his head to the side.

Ah, the head tilt. The #1 way people expressed their sympathy without actually uttering the words,
my sympathies
.

“
Nearly two years,” I told him, my arms tightening around my middle.

He clicked his tongue. “That’s awful. Just awful.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I decided on: “Yes.”

“So, in those two years, you haven’t… you know,
dated
anyone seriously?”

Aw, hell. I knew where this was going. Date #3—
Patric-without-a-K—had gone there, too. The whole
you’re a lonely widow, you must be so horny
thing. Oh, yeah. I’d heard that one before.

I shook my head. “No.”

His eyelids lowered in what I could only assume was supposed to be a seductive gaze. “So…” He licked his lips. “In theory, you haven’t been with a man in, like,
two years.
Right?” He said this like I’d actually refrained from something necessary for life. Like water. Or air. “I’ll bet you’re lonely.”

“Listen, Rob, I—”

He didn’t let me finish. “Listen, why don’t we go back to my condo? I’ve got a hot tub, and maybe we can get to know each other better. Work off some of that sexual tension you must have pent up.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Oh,
good Lord.”

The truth was, I’d only recently started to miss sex. In the months and years prior, I’d missed Brian’s hands on my skin, or the way he laughed into my neck when we made love, or the scent of his cologne on my pillow in the morning. I still missed those things. But the all-consuming ache I felt for those m
oments had dulled. Now they were distant memories that made me wistful.

I no longer craved Brian’s adept ability to satisfy me. Now I just craved the release. The explosion of sensation that made my mind
go fuzzy and blank. The split second of utter disconnect when I could forget how lonely I was, and the stress of being the only parent my kids had left. When the buzz filled my head and my toes curled and my body hummed. That’s what I missed nowadays.

Not that I was going to admit that to Rob. I’d rather grow cobwebs in my woo-
hoo than go to bed with the likes of him. Or any of the other losers I was being set up with. No thank you. Because as much as I missed the feel of someone else’s hands on my body other than my four-and-a half year old’s, having a friends with benefits relationship wasn’t my style, and never would be.

             
I liked being a wife and mother. I was good at it. Too bad it had come to an abrupt end.

Then & Now: Book 3 of the This & That Series

Coming soon from Brooke Moss!

"I write because if I don't...my head will explode, and ruin the drapes.
"♥



Brooke writes complex, character-driven stories about kismet, reunited lovers, first love, and the kind of romance that we should all have the chance at finding. She prefers her stories laced with some humor just for fun, and enough drama to keep her readers flipping the pages, and begging for more. When Brooke isn't spinning tales, she spends her time drawing/cartooning, reading, watching movies then comparing them to books, wrangling five kids, mugging on one hubby she lovingly refers to as her "nerd", and attempting to conquer the Mount Everest of laundry that is the bane of her existence. Brooke is also an avid Autism Awareness advocate, and a passionate foster/adoptive mother, who loves to share her experiences with anyone who will listen. Find Brooke elsewhere on the web at
www.brookemoss.com