Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3)

That’s the thing about Lisa. She’s always up for some good times, but she doesn’t run away during the bad ones.

A huge, contented sigh came from my best friend. “I’d love to give you a big lecture here. I should probably feel compelled to warn you about everything that could go wrong again.” She looked up at me, and she actually had tears in her smiling eyes. “But I just can’t. Seeing you two together… It’s like… like it’s…” she trailed off, a dreamy expression on her dazed face.

“I know. And it is.”

“’Bout time.”

“Tell me about it.”

She shook her head, laughing. “A freaking movie star. Leave it to you.”

I had a flash of that freaking movie star’s beautiful body poised above me, reducing me to a heaving pile of useless flesh the night before, and a delightful shiver made its way down my spine. I tried to contain my smile. I really did. But Lisa saw my battle and her eyes went wide. “You already had sex with him!”

I let my smile turn into a huge grin. “I did.”

“You slut!”

“Shh! Your kids are in the next room!”

“Well, I think it’s best that they know something like this now. Hey kids! Your aunt is a tramp!”

I leapt onto the couch and stifled her stupid, loud mouth with my hand. She was trying to squirm out of my grasp, but I held firm until she pinched my arm. “Ow!” I yelped as we both cracked up.

She was just looking at me, shaking her head. “This is like, so weird.”

I rubbed my forearm and answered, “I know. But Lis… I can’t even tell you. Trip and me… we’re like, even better than we ever were. It’s as if every stupid thing we’ve ever done to each other was worth it just to get us here, you know?”

“There were a lot of stupid things.”

“I’m quite aware of that, thank you.”

“So, this is it, then. You guys are really doing it this time.”

“Holy shit. Yeah, I guess we are.”

Lis smiled, and I was just getting ready to spill all the sordid details when Caleb came tearing into the room. “Mommy? When will Daddy be home?”

She shook her head and directed her commentary to me. “Every flipping day with this question,” she lamented before answering Caleb, “No game tonight. Daddy will be home at the regular time, baby.”

“Will he do fwips wif me?”

Pickford was an insanely amazing father. He doted on those kids every minute he got. His coaching job wiped him out every day, yet he still found the energy to roughhouse with the twins when he got home at night. I can’t tell you the number of times he’d start a sentence with, “You can’t believe what those two did the other day,” before regaling me with prideful stories about the latest adorableness to ooze from his precious children.

“Yes, baby, he’ll do flips with you. Hey. Auntie Layla has to get back to work. Why don’t you find your sister and we’ll walk down to Gramma and Pop Pop’s. Then we can hit Chuck E. Cheese.”

“I don’t wanna hit Chuckie. I wike him.”

We cracked up at that as Lisa explained what she really meant.

“Oh. Okay! Wet’s go now! JOO-YA!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

I laughed. “Don’t yell, monkey! Go in the other room and get her, you wacko.”

He skipped out of the room as I whispered to Lisa, “Oh my God. Please reconsider your decision to send that kid for speech. I freaking love hearing him talk.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be real cute when he’s president or something.” She rolled her eyes, admitting that she agreed with me, however, as Caleb stuck his head back around the door.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What’s a twamp?”





Chapter 9





THE TALENT GIVEN US


A couple days later, I was back at my desk, attempting—again—to get some actual writing done. My head was still spinning from the sudden reemergence of Trip in my life, and we’d spent practically every minute together since then. I needed a day just to concentrate on my pre-Trip persona. At least for a few hours.

I wasn’t on any sort of imposed deadline for the next book, but I normally liked to set some timeline goals for myself just the same. The problem was that I hadn’t really nailed down exactly what I’d be writing about yet. I had pages of outlined ideas, just waiting for one of them to spark, catch fire, and suck me into its world.

My mind was wandering, and I found myself pulling out an old file, some of the research I’d done while writing my first book. Originally, Beachlight Publishing had used Diana as their middle man, asking if she’d sign me as her client. They were expecting her to convince me to submit a memoir about my high school days with Trip and actually thought it would have more teeth if I used real names. They soon found out that there was no way I’d ever agree to write such a thing. Instead, I’d offered up a fictional retelling of my life. They didn’t go for it.

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