But today was different. I was different.
For the first time, I had hope again. Maybe fate hadn’t wronged me after all.
Without further hesitation, I opened the box and placed the picture inside on top of a stack of sweaters she’d bought for Sugar. It hurt like hell, and the fragile pieces of what was left of us in my heart crumbled, but the relief of letting go as I closed the lid—and ultimately the hardest chapter of my entire life—was overwhelming.
I was free.
We were free.
Almost exactly an hour later, and fifteen minutes late, there was a knock at my front door. Grinning, I smoothed my Braves T-shirt down and took one last glance around the house to make sure everything was in place. Burgers were seasoned to perfection and molded into patties. Lettuce and tomatoes were prepped—no onions though. Brats had been soaked in beer, and the baked potatoes had been wrapped in foil and baked, ready to be crisped on the grill.
The only thing missing was her.
I pulled the door open and found Remi standing on the welcome mat, holding a six pack. She was wearing tight jeans, ripped at the knees, and a cropped, white Braves jersey showing off a mouth-watering strip of skin at her stomach. Her blond hair was braided into pigtails, the top covered by a backward navy-blue baseball cap. She was always sexy, but damn, she could pull off sporty too.
Her smile grew as she took in my shirt. “I briefly panicked on the way over that you were a Red Sox fan and I’d never be able to speak to you again.”
“My father would have disowned me if I was.”
“I like him already.”
She stepped inside, and then I shut the door behind her. Taking the beer from her, I slid my free hand around her waist, splaying my fingers across the warm bare skin on her back.
Her smile faded as my mouth came down to cover hers.
I had intentions of keeping it chaste. However, as her lips parted, her tongue gliding with mine, it seemed Remi had other plans.
I had to admit that her approach was far superior.
“Mmm,” she hummed into my mouth, linking her fingers behind my neck and bringing our bodies flush until her breasts pillowed between us. “I love that you don’t wait until the end of the night to kiss me.”
“Patience is not a virtue I possess when it comes to you.”
She nipped at my bottom lip. “Good. Don’t start now.” She pecked me one last time before releasing me.
I watched as she strolled into the open living room, dining room, and kitchen area.
She trailed her finger over the modern handcrafted mahogany end table. “I should have known better than to picture you having a cheesy bachelor pad, but I’m impressed.”
I carried the beer to the kitchen and popped them into the fridge. “My sister’s an interior designer and insisted on decorating the place as soon as I bought it a few years back.” I pointed to the gray overstuffed sofa and love seat with built-in recliners. “Those are my style.” I swept a finger through the room, allowing it to linger on the abstract black-and-white canvases hanging on the walls and the red art deco floor lamp in the corner, which my sister claimed was the pop of color the room had been missing. “And the rest is what she thinks my style is.”
She meandered over to the bar dividing the rooms and slanted her head. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you change it?”
“Because she’s not wrong. It looks way better than anything I would’ve put together. You want to see something that is totally my style though?”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes danced with a contagious excitement that spread through my chest.
I scooped up the tray of raw burgers, balancing them on one hand, and then walked around the bar. “Come on. I should probably start cooking anyway.”
Taking my free hand, she followed as I led her out the back door. While it wasn’t quite dark yet, the sun had sunk below the horizon, triggering the warm glow of solar lights draped from one end of the porch to the other.
Cassidy had had a field day decorating my house, but I’d forbidden her from touching the outside. In Atlanta, finding a unicorn was more likely than stumbling across a large, secluded, partially wooded backyard. I’d fallen in love immediately, long before I had ever known I’d one day need a place to escape the devastation inside both the house and myself.
What started as a simple covered porch had turned into a sanctuary. I had an outdoor kitchen, complete with a grill, a small built-in pizza oven, and a natural-stone wraparound bar. There was a seating area just outside of the covering, where I did the bulk of my reading—and grieving. Off to the right was a stone walkway leading to a smokeless firepit, and on the other end, mounted on the wall beside the door, was a fifty-inch TV. But my favorite part, especially after seeing Remi’s face light up when she saw it too, was the plush bed swing covered in a mountain of pillows.
