Page 245 of The Reason I Married Him
“Thank you,” she says. “You’re sitting in the middle. Let me go check on the girls and see if they’re ready.”
She takes off while I’m left in the living room by myself. Aubree and Hattie are showing up in a little bit. I know they’re excited about the signing. Ryland and Hayes are taking Mac up to the redwoods for a fall hike, and the movers we hired are packing up the house as we speak.
We’ve spent the past few weeks helping Ryland figure out what he wants to sell, keep, and store for the big move. He ended up buying the Victorian house after he showed it to Mac, who was more than happy to move. We’ve actually never seen her happier, which has given Ryland an ounce of relief.
In the past few days, Aubree and I, along with Hattie, have spent some time turning Mac’s room into a horse lover’s paradise. We’re talking a horse mural, horse bedding, and horse curtains. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and we know she’ll freak out.
I can’t wait to show it to her.
On days that we haven’t been helping Ryland, Aubree and I have settled into a level of comfort that is so real, like we should’ve been doing this all along. At night, we bring my computer on the bed, she curls into me, and we look at furniture, paint samples, and different ways to decorate the farmhouse and make it our own. We’ve talked about expanding the second floor and making a large main bedroom and adding a guest bedroom on the first floor for when Mac stays the night. It will take some time, but we want to make the house our forever home.
We’ve talked about kids and if she wants them, if I want them, and we both agreed that we’re happy with helping with Mac, but Aubree doesn’t feel—at the moment—that she is equipped to raise her own kid. She’s still fighting demons from her childhood. I told her she’s a wonderful aunt and the way she interacts with Mac is awe-inspiring. She’d be a great momone day, but I don’t want to push her. It’s not a never-say-never situation. It’s just a not-right-now situation, which I’m fine with.
As for Hattie, well, she’s still waiting on that ring from Hayes. At this point, I think he’s just holding off because he truly wants to surprise her. I think he’s waiting until she gives up all hope, and then he’ll spring it on her. I know the minute he proposes, though, we’ll be in full-on wedding mode.
Laurel and her girlfriend, Rhonda, broke up a few weeks ago but then recently got back together. Rhonda seems to really like Laurel, but Laurel is unhappy and is considering moving closer to Almond Bay and broke up with Rhonda because of that. Well, Rhonda came back and said she’d go anywhere Laurel went, so my best friend might be moving closer.
And for the cabin, Wallace tried to speak with the lawyer and call fraud on me, but the lawyer said as long as the marriage stands, Wallace can’t do anything about it. We’re celebrating Christmas in Canoodle this year with Ryland and Mac. It’s going to be magical.
“Ah, there he is,” a woman says from the side. I turn to find two women, standing side by side, one with thick-rimmed glasses and black hair, the other dressed in what I can only describe as classic Victorian garb with her hair piled on the top of her head.
“Hello,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“You’re W.J. Preston, are you not?”
“I am,” I say to the woman with the glasses.
She stiffly holds out her hand and says, “Allow me to introduce myself and my comrade. My name is Keiko, and this is Victoria. I’m withholding last names for the purpose of security and well-being.”
“Okay,” I say, a chuckle on the tip of my tongue.
“We are avid and voracious readers. Victoria pens some sensational historical novels while some have reviewed them as being the real cat’s meow.”
“Keiko, please,” Victoria says.
“This gentleman needs to understand he’s in the presence of grandeur, a noblewoman of the written word.”
“Well, I’m honored,” I say, loving every second of this.
“You see, we accumulated friendship through the interwebs. I reside in the Windy City, and Victoria is a resident of Port Snow, Maine. Through the written word, we found commonality and together have initiated the first installment of fan fiction based on your novel,Don’t Look In The Window.”
“Oh that’s?—”
“The ending was so ghastly abhorrent, we took it upon ourselves to make the wrong you did into a right.”
Ehhh . . .
“It has now been written the way that the writing gods intended it,” Victoria says, patting me on the shoulder.
“That’s, uh, that’s great,” I say, trying not to be insulted. Sure, the ending of that book wasn’t widely received by everyone, but is rewriting it in fan fiction necessary?
“We shall email you the eighty-five pages of corrections we’ve made as well as the alternate ending. We highly suggest you take a look at it and make adjustments.”
“Keiko, Victoria, what are you doing? I told you not to talk to him.” Rylee Ryan, famous romance author, walks up to us.
Keiko pushes her glasses up on her nose. “It was imperative he knew about the embarrassing attempt at a plot twist.”
Rylee points behind her toward her table and says, “Go over there and keep your mouths closed, or else I’m never taking you to one of these again.”
