Back to You (19 page)
Chapter 17
SOPHIE urged John to go back to work, despite his protests – she had something important to care of.
John seemed concerned, but she assured him everything was going to be fine, and told him she would call him soon.
She reached her mother on her cell, and made arrangements to meet Jesse for lunch. And of course, since she told him they go could anywhere he wished, they ended up on the cold hard seats of a fast food joint, much to her dismay.
“So what’s up, Mom?” Jesse asked between bites – ketchup dripping from his burger – the kid loved ketchup.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she started. “You know you are the most important thing in my life right?”
He smiled. “Yes, Mom. You
tell
me
all
the time.”
And she would keep doing that, until the day she died.
“How did you enjoy your summer?” she asked, hoping to get the answer she was expecting.
“I
loved
it,” he told her. “I wish I could stay.”
And there it was – all she needed to hear.
She smiled. “And what if…” she started, “you didn’t have to leave.”
“You mean… stay here?” he asked in shock, burger in hand. “Live here?”
“Why not?” she asked. “You already have a friend here. The school is great, I hear. And Grandma would be in seventh heaven.”
“She
so
would be,” he agreed, grinning from ear to ear.
“So what do you think?” she asked. Big cities and private schools were overrated as far as she was concerned. This is where they belonged.
“I think it would be
awesome!
”
And just like that, it was settled.
***
Tracking down John was no easy feat – multiple calls were made to multiple people, and she finally pegged him down across town.
Before she left the house, she dolled herself up – she was going to be seeing John soon and she wanted to look fabulous. She chose a cute skirt – he seemed to favor those – and the sheer blouse Paige had given her.
She drove over in her mother’s old van, not really knowing where she was going, and wished she had her GPS.
When she finally made it to her destination, a countryside estate, she knew she was at the right place – John’s truck was sitting in the driveway.
Nerves suddenly grabbed a strong hold of her as she made her way to the front door.
She tried the doorbell – it wasn’t functional. She knocked lightly – no answer. She knocked a little harder – still no answer. She knocked even louder – and
still
no answer.
Then, she practically banged the door down.
Craig answered the door with a smile. “Sophie!” He seemed surprised to see her.
“Hi Craig,” she said shyly. “How are you?”
“Better for seeing you.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Craig. Is John here?”
“Boss,” Craig called out as he let Sophie in.
John made his way to her, his shirt covered in saw dust. And she found she wanted him right then – it was truly amazing – the magnetic power he had over her.
“Hi Snow,” he smiled. “What brings you here?”
“Do you have a bit of time to spare?” she asked. “Just an hour?”
His eyes fixed hers and they seemed to soften. “Of course.”
“I have a surprise for you,” she blurted out, not able to contain her excitement.
He smiled that devilish smile, hand resting on his tool belt. “I like surprises.”
As she drove him to the ‘surprise’ destination, he looked at her, a smile on his face.
“So this surprise of yours,” he started, “can you give me a hint?”
“Well…” she started. “It’s not as exciting as ‘fireflies’ or anything like that,” she told him. “You’re much more creative than I am.”
“Does it involve you naked?” he asked jokingly. “Because that’s all I need, you know.”
“Oh… really?” she teased. “I think you need more than that.”
He laughed.
“It doesn’t involve sex,” she explained. But then again, she’d have to see about that.
“I am officially intrigued,” he told her, sliding his hand slowly up her thigh.
She melted. “You can’t do that right now,” she scolded him and took his hand off her thigh. “Do you want me to kill us both before we get there?”
He laughed. “All right… I’ll behave.”
As they closed in on their destination, Sophie saw realization in John’s eyes.
“Is it at your Mom’s place?”
“Well, it’s not so much there… as it isn’t.”
“What?” John asked, clearly confused.
As they stepped out, Sophie grabbed his hand and led him to the front lawn.
They stood there for a while, not saying a word.
“I’m confused,” he admitted. “This is your mother’s house.”
“Look around,” she urged him. “Do you see anything missing?”
He looked around, and seemed even more confused.
She grabbed a handful of his filthy work shirt, and pulled him to her. “The
‘For Sale’
sign is gone.”
A smile slowly stretched to his ears. He understood – and he was clearly very happy about it.
“You did such a great job, my mother couldn’t leave it.”
“Oh…” he said, sudden disappointment apparent on his face.
“And I couldn’t either,” she was quick to add. “Jesse and I are moving here… permanently.”
He hugged her tightly.
“You happy?” she asked, still snug in his arms.
“I’m over the moon.”
“To tell you the truth,” she admitted, “I think my mother never planned to leave.”
He finally let her go. “No way… are you saying this was all a ruse?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Sophie replied with a huge grin.
“Remind me to thank her later,” John said, holding her in his arms again.
“I will.”
“You and Jesse are welcome to live at my house,” he let her know. “Honestly, I don’t think I can live without you in my bed every night.”
She smiled. “Your bed
is
pretty comfy.”
He laughed. “It is that.”
She bit her lip. “About that naked part of your surprise…” She hesitated a little before saying, “…no one’s home right now. They’re out for the day.”
He didn’t say a word, desire in his eyes, and simply took her hand and lead her inside.
She smiled a wicked smile, wondering what he had in store for her.
Epilogue
One year later.
SOPHIE sat comfortably in the cozy, antique Victorian armchair, a cup of chai tea keeping her hands warm. She still couldn’t believe this was all hers: the bookshelves lining the walls, the antique furniture, and the magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Her life had changed on her fortieth birthday – the day she had told Mr. Beaudoin she hoped he would find a good buyer for his bookstore.
As it turned out,
she
had been that special buyer.
And every day, she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. To think, just a year ago, she had been unemployed and miserable.
She eyed the front display shelf in the distance. And soon, she thought, not only would she own the place, but she would be selling her own cookbook – and of course, it would be prominently displayed – after all, she called the shots here.
The old-fashioned brass shop doorbell clanged loudly – she never missed a customer coming in.
“Hello,” she called out with a smile.
“Hello,” the middle-aged woman smiled, as did her teenage daughter.
Sophie enjoyed greeting the customers, and chatting with them once in a while. And sometimes she simply enjoyed watching them from the corner of her eye – observing which displays they were instinctively drawn to, and which books they were most interested in.
Sophie checked her watch – it was almost one o’clock and she hadn’t had lunch – she was famished.
Finally, the doorbell clanged loudly again, and there he was.
She never tired of his face, and that smile which always made her day.
He kissed her on the nose. “Sorry, I’m a little late,” he apologized as he sat the paper bag down on the counter – take-out from her favorite sub sandwich place.
“Thank God you’re here. I’m starving,” she told him as she feverishly opened the bag. She couldn’t wait for that first delicious bite.
But the first bite was pure disappointment.
She frowned at him. “John,” she sighed. “I specifically said… no pickles.”
“Oh…” he said wide-eyed. “There must have been a mix-up. Just take them off.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can take them off, but the taste will
still
be there,” she tried to explain. “I
hate
pickles.” Sophie knew she was quite particular about her food tastes, but she had always been that way.
She looked down at her sandwich – she couldn’t eat it. She wasn’t really mad at John – mistakes happened.
But then, she saw the smile on his face and the glint in his eyes.
He laughed. “Here, this is yours,” he said, handing her his sandwich.
Her jaw dropped when she realized he had been messing with her – again.
“I can’t believe I still get away with that stuff,” he laughed. “You are so gullible.”
She smiled. “I think that’s why you love me.”
A wicked smile reached his ears. “Well, that… and a few other things.”
She bit her lip. He
still
had her completely wrapped around his finger.
They finished their lunch and found themselves alone in the shop.
“I guess, you should get back to work,” she said, a little disappointed. She loved having lunch with him, but always hated saying goodbye.
“Yep,” he said, standing to his feet.
“I was thinking of making lasagna tonight,” he told her on his way out. “Jesse loved it last time.”
She smiled playfully. “It’s Wednesday,” she pointed out with a mischievous curve of her lip. “Jesse’s at my mother’s tonight. And Paige is at Jennie’s.”
John’s slow languid smile said it all. She knew
exactly
what he was thinking because she was thinking the same thing.
He grabbed her waist and pressed her to him, “I see… well, what’s your pleasure then?” he whispered in her ear.
She laughed a little, “I think you know the answer to that.”
“I think I do,” he said, gently biting the edge of her jaw. She melted into him. He
still
could light her up with just a touch – and he probably
always
would.
“John,” she breathed. “We’re in my shop. A customer could walk in anytime,” she warned, trying to push him away – although, she didn’t want to.
But John wasn’t in the mood to listen. His kisses trailed down her neck. She knew if she didn’t stop him right then, she would be hopeless to in a minute.
“John,” she whispered, pushing him away, a smile lighting up her face. “I’m serious.”
“Okay,” he finally relented, backing away. “That was just an appetizer,” he said softly.
A delicious one, she thought.
And just as he stepped out the door, he added with that wicked smile of his, “You’ll get the main course tonight.”
And with that, Sophie Moretti found herself hungry all over again.
The End
EXCERPT from THE GROUND RULES Trilogy – Book 1
Two
beautiful couples.
Five
simple rules.
One
hot
mess.
My name is Mirella. I’m happy. I have it all: a great job, two beautiful girls, a lovely home in the suburbs, and a gorgeous husband (my high school sweetheart) who still rocks my world.
But by chance, one fateful night in the city, Gabe and I meet a mysterious, peculiar man and his beautiful wife. Weston and Bridget Hanson are no ordinary couple; they’re stunning, enigmatic, and sexy as hell. And of course, our ordinary life falls apart immediately. How can it not when Weston and Bridget propose the unthinkable.
I’m scared to death – Gabe is the only man I’ve ever been with. But Weston is so beautiful and mystifying – I am inexplicably drawn to him. Yet I can’t help but worry about the risks of this arrangement, about my marriage.
But eventually, it becomes inevitable… the pull is just too strong.
The ground rules are clear, but as I discover the kind and gentle loving man hidden under Weston’s cold, rigid exterior, I soon fall for him. Hard. And as Weston’s walls begin to crumble, he starts to break his own rules as well.
As I fall deeper, I’m torn between my feelings for Weston and my love for Gabe. Gabe is a rebel; he’s volatile and passionate, and of course, he knows I’ve fallen. And as he becomes increasingly jealous, I realize my entire world is tearing at the seams.
Excerpt: Chapter One
PREFACE
FEW WORDS were spoken. Yet I knew. I can’t really explain it…physical attraction is a powerful thing, an all-consuming thing. I didn’t want it, and I certainly wasn’t looking for it, but there it was, nevertheless.
I should have run in the opposite direction. But I didn’t. No…I yielded to it.
It’s amazing how life can change so easily—veer off the path. A single moment, a decision you make, however insignificant, can change the course of your destiny.
For me, it all started with a pink dress.
CHAPTER ONE
The pink dress…
GOODNESS…MY TOES are a disgrace
. I haven’t looked at my feet in a while, and as I stare down at the faded, chipped blue polish on way-too-long toenails, I realize I might be letting myself go.
I really need a pedicure.
I can’t remember the last time I gave myself a pedi. Chloe’s toes are perfect little shiny red buds—I just did her nails yesterday.
When did my daughter’s toenails become more important than mine? Probably about eight years ago or so. I first painted her toenails when she was just a baby—just wanted to see what it would look like.
I suppose that’s what happens when you become a mom. One day you have a life. You look hot. Other men (men who are not your husband) want to do wicked things to you.
And then…you’re painting your baby’s tiny toenails.
I sigh as Chloe wraps one of my colorful scarves around her neck, her dark brown curls caught under the silk. We’re playing dress-up.
She twirls in front of the wall mirror. “Do I look grown-up, Mommy?” Her gorgeous eyes gaze at me intently. “Well, do I?”
“Yes, sweetie. You look very sophisticated.”
Classier than me
, I muse—ghastly toes, shabby sweats, and all. Every time I look at her, I see her father. She looks so much like him—the crazy dark curls, the gorgeous, sleepy hazel eyes and the slightly off-kilter, devilish smile.
She’s precious, standing in my over-sized black pumps and red cocktail dress, a hodge-podge of necklaces draped around her neck.
Her little sister stands on a vanity chair, arms stretched as she reaches for one of my dresses. “How ’bout this one?”
I give Claire the pick of the crop. I never wear them anymore. And I do have a
lot
of dresses—when a pretty one catches my eye, impulse overtakes me. I
never
ask myself, “When am I ever going to wear this?” If I did, I probably wouldn’t have this overstuffed closet.
I’ve taken over the closet, in fact—Gabe’s clothing is stuffed in an armoire, but I don’t think he minds. He’s a simple guy—he wears mostly jeans, T-shirts, and plaid button shirts. He doesn’t need a closet.
Well, that’s what I tell myself anyway…
I study the dress Claire has picked out—it’s one of my favorites, probably
the
favorite. It’s a fifties-era dress I spent a small fortune on at one of those posh vintage stores—pink chiffon over taffeta, a corset-like bodice with lacy straps, and a flowing skirt that falls just above the knee.
The pink dress brushes the carpet, hanging off Claire’s tiny six-year-old frame. She looks so sweet in it. I can’t help but stare. I’ve only worn it twice—once at the theatre, the other time at a wedding. Gabe’s oldest brother tied the knot on a beautiful July day, which somehow managed to turn into a torrential downpour. We all got drenched. Gabe and I sprinted to our hotel room, undressed in a fury, and made love. Gabe’s wet shirt was plastered on his body, the tribal tattoo covering half his torso peeking through the soaked fabric. It’s one of my favorite (very hot) memories.
I looked really nice in that dress.
“You look like a princess,” Chloe tells her little sister. Claire, seemingly pleased with this observation, flashes her adorable toothless smile.
The dress seems so small.
Would I still fit into it? No way.
I’m almost thirty-five years old, and I’ve had two kids. But… I just need to know.
“Claire,” I venture softly. “Can you take the dress off?”
She shrugs, tiny brows furrowed. “But you
said
I could wear any of your dresses.” She’s not taking it off. “It’s my favorite,” she says with pursed lips. Even when she’s being difficult, she still manages to be adorable.
“Well, it’s my favorite too actually,” I tell her, stroking the chiffon between my fingers. “But it does look very nice on you.”
She ponders me for a second, and I can almost see her little mind working. She stares at me with those big brown eyes of hers—she’s so sweet. “Do you want to wear it?” she asks softly.
“You think I should. You think I could fit into it?”
“For sure,” she says with conviction. Well…she’s definitely more optimistic than I am because I’m pretty sure I won’t fit into that dress.
She wiggles out of it, and I quickly get out of my shabby sweats. I’m down to my undies and undo the side zipper.
“The moment of truth, girls…”
As I carefully slip the dress over my shoulders, I’m surprised. It falls to my knees and seems to still fit. But whether I can zip it up or not is the question. I make it three-quarters of the way there, and the dress fits more snugly than I remember…but it fits!