“Then we’ll have one.” I meant it. Anything Sloane wanted was now my job to procure.
She blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry. Did you say…” She brought a hand to her head and starting prodding the bruise on her forehead. “Maybe I did give myself a concussion. I could have sworn you said—”
“If you want kids, we’ll start today,” I said, leaning against the porch post.
She was back to shaking her head. “You don’t understand. I want to live here. I want to raise a family here.”
“No, Pixie, you don’t understand. I could have lost you last night. I’m not going to let that happen again. Ever. If you want ten kids, we’ll have them. If you want a six-story library full of medieval first editions, I’ll buy every book for you. If you want to raise a family here, I’ll move back and feed your asshole cat every morning. If you decide you want to throw it all away and move to a tasteful hut on a tropical beach, I’ll build the fucking hut.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind. We’re incompatible. We have nothing in common. We make each other miserable. We can’t stop insulting each other, you sweatpants-stealing lunatic,” she added.
“We’ll work on it. I happen to know an excellent therapist.”
“That’s not how any of this works. I’m sorry you freaked out about the fire. But I’m not getting into a relationship with you again. I’ve learned my lesson on multiple occasions now.”
“Sloane, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. There’s no discussion necessary. We are in a committed relationship. You mean something to me, and I’m not letting you go again. Not now, not ever. Everything else is just details.”
“Having a family is not just details. I want a husband and a partner, not someone who’s going to hire a fleet of nannies.”
“I don’t think that’s the correct term. And if you don’t want a fleet of nannies, I’ll hire a small infantry of nannies.”
She threw the bagel at me, and I caught it with one hand.
“Fine. No nannies. You just tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I want you to go away. Immediately and forever.”
“No, you don’t,” I said smugly, remembering the way she’d cuddled closer to me in bed.
Sloane let out an exasperated groan. “This is not happening,” she decided, back to shaking her head. “I’m probably in a hospital bed right now, loopy from smoke inhalation.”
I closed the distance between us and took her wrists. “If you were, I’d be next to you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“A threat, a promise, whichever you prefer.” I could feel the racing flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers.
“Why are you smiling? You don’t smile. You glower. You brood. You…fester!” she said.
“I’ve never once festered,” I argued.
“Oh, shut up.”
I took her gently by the shoulders. “Sloane, listen to me. There will be no more hiding. No more pretending we can’t stand each other.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured.
“You’re mine and I’m yours. For better or worse.”
She sagged against me for a moment. “Only Lucian Fucking Rollins would think he could order a woman into a committed relationship.”
“I’m just cutting through the bullshit.”
She pushed away from me and started pacing while she resumed her yelling about all the reasons we wouldn’t work. I found it adorable. I had never felt better about a decision in my entire life.
40
A Face Full of Chardonnay
Sloane
Thank you for your time,” I said and disconnected the call with the sandpaper-voiced insurance adjuster lady. “Which is absolutely worthless, you paper-pushing pain in my ass. As if I’d burn down my own library.”
Naomi grinned at me from behind my dad’s desk. We were in the study, which had become library command central. It had been two days since the fire, and I was deep in the weeds of bureaucratic red tape.
“Apparently the insurance company isn’t comfortable paying out until they can be sure I wasn’t the one who started the fire,” I complained loud enough to be heard over the squealing drills outside.
Naomi flashed me a pitying look while efficiently finishing an email on her laptop. “I happen to have an in with the chief of police. I’m sure we can get Nash to convince the insurance company you had nothing to do with the fire,” she said.
I hopped up from the chair and marched to the window overlooking the front porch. Besides the team of security experts on ladders, it looked like a going out of business sale at a bookstore. The fire department had gone through the building and brought every book that looked rescuable to the only place I could think of: my house.
Now I had a few thousand books airing out in the spring breeze on the wraparound porch.
Thanks to backup servers, our collection of ebooks and audiobooks was still available for patrons to download. But as a community library, we were so much more than just the books we provided.
People depended on us. We were part of daily life in Knockemout. I wasn’t about to let a little arson change that.
The drilling started again, and I glared at the team installing the James Bond–level security system outside. My six-foot-four shadow, Lucian, had deemed my Wi-Fi cameras “inadequate” and stubbornly insisted on upgrading the technology. I still wasn’t sure how I’d lost that argument. I also wasn’t sure how the man was still here. Or how he’d gotten a closet organizer named Miguel past me.
Jamal poked his head in the doorway, waving his phone. “Good news. The GoFundMe to replace the children’s books just hit $30,000.”
“Seriously?” I asked, momentarily forgetting my frustration. That was good news.
“In more good news, the synagogue and Unitarian church volunteered to join forces and cover all the June free breakfasts for the kids. They’re willing to cover July as well if we’re not open by then,” Naomi said chipperly.
“I love this town,” Jamal sang as he headed back to his workstation in my dining room.
The thump and scrape of chairs came from above.
“Are they still up there?” Naomi asked.
“Yes,” I said grimly. “They” were Lucian and several of his employees. The man hadn’t left my side since he’d climbed through my bedroom window the night of the fire. He also hadn’t dropped the charade of being committed to a relationship with me. My patience was wearing thin.
The doorbell rang, and I ignored Lucian’s distant “I’ll get it.”
I opened my front door to find Lucian’s driver holding several dry-cleaning bags in each hand. “Morning, Ms. Sloane. Where can I put these?” Hank asked.
“If you were your employer, I’d be happy to tell you where you can put them, Hank. But I’m not mad at you.”
“You can put them upstairs in the last bedroom to the right,” Lucian said, appearing behind me. I turned to glare at him. He looked the way he always did, unfairly gorgeous. He was keeping things casual around here, sticking to tailored trousers and well-fitting button-downs rather than an entire suit. Meanwhile I was still wearing my cat pajamas.
“I don’t have room for you in my bedroom,” I insisted, crossing my arms as Hank marched across the threshold.
“That’s why I hired Miguel. Ah, here come the groceries,” Lucian observed as yet another vehicle pulled into my driveway.
“Groceries?”
“I invited your family to dinner tonight. We’re cooking.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?” I demanded.
“On the contrary, I finally came to my senses,” he said before kissing me on the top of the head.
“Maybe I’m losing mine,” I muttered to myself as he met the grocery delivery guy on the walkway.
“Or maybe he’s just showing you how he really feels for the first time,” Naomi said, joining me in the doorway. “By the way, he invited Knox and Waylay and me for dinner next week.”