There I was again.
Soaring.
Though, these days, I’d learned how to live with my head in the clouds.
“God, I love you,” I whispered.
That got me one of his easy grins.
Yes, I absolutely loved him.
“Good, means you’ll make out with me in the coat closet,” he replied.
“My mother will be displeased,” I noted.
“Only reason we’re goin’ back at all is so I can save my mother from yours.”
I moved into him, sliding a hand up his chest. “I’m sorry, Mickey. They’re—”
He interrupted me, “Relax, Amy. They don’t care. They know people like that. They know how to deal with people like that. They know you’re not like that. They like you and they like your kids. That’s what matters.”
It was.
This meant it was time to relax.
It was also time to make out.
I tipped my head to the side. “So, are we gonna make out or what?”
I felt the heat from his eyes before I felt his lips take mine.
I slid my arms around his shoulders.
He slid one hand to curl it around the back of my neck, the other one he curved around the cheek of my ass.
At the intimate touch, I gasped against his tongue.
Mickey pressed me into the wall.
Thus, we made out at our rehearsal dinner in the coat closet, and we did it a long time.
Long enough to totally piss off my mother (something she didn’t show, except for the glacial looks she aimed at me), which was fabulous.
And long enough to get me hot and bothered so, much later, when my cell on my nightstand chimed, waking me from a restless sleep, and I took the call to hear Mickey growl, “Door,” I’d run to the front door (but I probably would have done that anyway).
He, at my mother’s demand due to “tradition” was staying with Cillian and Auden at Jake and Josie’s.
He, obviously, had the key.
So he was through it before I got there.
But the warning call was seriously sexy.
And last, we’d made out long enough for Mickey to get so hot and bothered he’d fairly dragged me down the hall to my room.
We’d fucked on my daybed.
Then he’d kissed me deep and sweet at our front door and gone back to Lavender House because it was bad luck to see the bride on the wedding day.
And even though the time said it technically was our wedding day, I decided it didn’t count because the sun hadn’t yet gone up.
So I ignored that and just slid into Mickey and my bed, put my head to the pillows and fell back to sleep.
But I did it with my head still in the clouds.
*
Mickey
Mickey lay naked in the bed, the fireplace blazing, his eyes to the kitchen, waiting.
She walked to him wearing her sequined fuzzy slippers and a short robe, carrying a tray.
“I have squirtable cheese and crackers,” she announced. “I also have a can of whipped cream and vanilla wafers. I have a fresh beer. Thus I have on my magical tray the makings of dinner and dessert, no muss, no fuss, no cleanup.”
He had no idea what she intended with that whipped cream but he knew what he was going to do with it.
He watched as Amy placed the tray at the end of the bed, moved to her side, slid off her slippers, shrugged off her robe and he took in the curves of his wife’s naked body as she joined him under the covers.
He rolled into her.
Her arms slid around him even as she warned, “You’re gonna knock over the beer, Mickey.”
He moved away from her, grabbed the beer, leaned into her to put it beside her glass of champagne and the bottle in its bucket on her nightstand before he went back to her.
He took in her soft skin, her fresh floral scent, the warmth in her pretty hazel eyes.
And he saw it there.
Ten hours ago, with her kids standing with her and his kids standing with him, they were married in Reverend Fletcher’s church.
They’d had two parties after.
One, a big, fancy one that Josie and Alyssa threw at Lavender House.
The other, a small, quieter one the old folks threw at Dove House.
His kids went to Rhiannon.
Her kids went to her ex.
And Mickey took his new wife to Jimbo’s hunting cabin for their three day honeymoon.
She had no idea where they were going.
When they parked outside it, they hadn’t even got out of his truck before he had to piss her off to stop her from crying.
That took no effort but she lost the pissed real quick when he carried her over the threshold.
If he still had any question, which he didn’t, her reaction to their honeymoon destination would have told him everything he needed to know.
His new wife needed his body beside her in their bed.
And anything else life threw at them, she would deal.
Then again, she was dealing with a five carat diamond on her finger.
“Finest woman I ever met,” he whispered.
Her hand cupped his jaw. “Mickey.”
“Love you, Mrs. Donovan.”
She closed her eyes and it swept through her face, something he’d seen countless times, something that never failed to move him, and fuck, fuck, he gave her that.
He gave it to her.
And each time he did, he got it.
She didn’t need fifteen million dollars.
She didn’t need all her money.
She needed to feel that feeling.
That was all she needed.
And it was only him who could give it.
She opened her eyes.
“Same here, Mickey.”
He grinned at her before he kissed her and he did that a lot for three days (and beyond).
Then he made love to her and they did that a lot for three days (and beyond).
After, they ate squirtable cheese and did good things with whipped cream.
They also slept together and they woke up together.
And last, they spent three days naked together in that bed (also in the shower).
And that was all either of them needed.
The Magdalene series will conclude with the story of Coert.
*****
Read an excerpt from the first book in the Magdalene series, The Will.
The Safest Place I Could Be
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
My mouth filled with saliva when I heard these words, my eyes—shaded by both sunglasses and a big black hat—moving from the shining casket covered in a massive spray of deep red roses to the preacher standing at its side.
I wanted to rise up from my chair, snatch the words from the air and shove them down his throat.
This was an unusual reaction for me. I wasn’t like that.
But he was talking about Gran.
Gran, my Gran, the Gran whose body was in that casket.
She wasn’t exactly young, this was true. I knew it was coming, seeing as she was ninety-three.
That didn’t mean I wanted her to be gone. I never wanted her to be gone.
Outside of Henry, she was the only person I had. The only person in this whole world.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Gran wasn’t dust.
My Gran was everything.
On this thought, I felt them coming and I couldn’t stop them. Fortunately, when they spilled over, they were silent. Then again, they always were. The last time I let loose that kind of emotion was decades ago.