Page 104 of A Lifetime of Afters
I gasped as I followed the line of Hawkley’s finger and landed on the first of my mother’s gnomes. “Hawk,” I breathed in wonder. “Are these my mom’s? Did you do this?”
“Yes. I believe they are your mom’s. And no, I did not.”
“Then, who?”
Kneeling on the grass, I pressed my hands onto the steppingstone. “These are the ones I broke.” Tears rolled down my face. “Hawk, can you believe it?” I laughed as I found each of my mother’s tiny gnomes. “Can you believe it?”
Leaning down, Hawk extended his hands and helped me stand, then pulled my back against his wide chest. Looping his arms loosely around my waist, he dropped a kiss to my neck. “Your chair is ready. I put an extra cushion on it. I’m going to go get your iced tea and the netting to cover Hunter.”
Overwhelmed by gratitude, I sat down gingerly and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.
It rang through to the answering machine just as I suspected it would.
“Thank you for holding onto them for me until I was ready. I love you.”
The End
Thank you for reading A Lifetime of Afters. A Lifetime of Afters is the first book in the Sage Ridge Series which is a spin-off from the Bridgewater Series. You can read all about the Bridgewater gang starting withLive Again.
Keep reading for the first two heartbreaking chapters from Rebecca and Rhys’ steamy and unforgettable second chance romance, Live Again
Live Again –
Chapter One – Gilligan’s Island
Istudied myself in the mirror by the front door, trying to see myself as a stranger would. I’d changed a lot in the past seven years and not much of that time had I spent worrying overmuch about my appearance. I could kind of see how I looked before as a superimposed transparency over the mirror image of my present self.
My body, at forty-two, had not changed a great deal since I’d never had children and I’d been blessed with a decent metabolism. Still had a little extra on the thighs, a little less boobage in comparison, but all in all, I was well-proportioned.
Petite, but tall on the inside, somehow that got conveyed by my attitude...or so I’d been told. My straight black hair that once fell past my bra strap was now liberally highlighted with silver, mostly around my face, and cut short in a sleek, graduated bob.
I was still pretty, my face mostly unlined, but thank God, I had laugh lines to show for my years. My eyes were wide set and slightly tilted. They had been described as watercolor blue. I could see it. They looked as if blue watercolor paint spilled out from the pupil to paint the iris, and then another spill that didn’t spread as deep, delineated by an almost white-blue wave, was marked by white-blue striations that burst from the pupil. I had a straight nose, small mouth, my upper lip, a small bow in my round face, and I had great cheekbones. My makeup was beautiful.
Still.
There seemed to be something missing in my face.
Flicking on my playlist it jumped to Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol, and I was tumbled back in time to a thousand and one memories of Jack. Larger than life, perpetually smiling, sexy as hell, love of my life, Jack. Ironic that one of the most romantic people, male or female, I’d ever met in my life, picked me up at Walmart.
It was after work, the Friday of the Labour Day weekend. I was grumpy. And hungry. And tired. With a weekend of dead air before me, I figured I’d get myself something to binge watch and headed to Walmart to check out their selection of old tv shows to make me laugh. I was endeavoring to make this all-important choice for my weekend entertainment when a man came up behind me.
“You like old tv shows?”
His voice, deep and mellow, came from over my right shoulder. I remained facing the wall of DVDs in the vintage tv section.
“Yup.”
I didn't even turn my head. I was not in the mood. I’d just broken up with the second biggest dick I’d ever dated, and I had decided to treat myself to the whole series of Gilligan’s Island available on DVD. In some warped way I guess it made sense to round out a less than perfect summer by having to fend off some pickup artist at Walmart, with its seriously unromantic fluorescent lighting, piped in radio music, and blaring announcements voiced by a psychotically enthusiastic Walmart employee.
“I Dream of Jeannie or Bewitched?”
“Bewitched.” I sighed, internally, I hoped.
My feet hurt. It was the end of the day, at the end of the week, at the end of summer, marked by the end of another failed relationship. I just wanted to go home to start my weekend and I did not want that start to include expending the energy to give this guy the brush off. I couldn’t even rouse the charitable thought that at least he was giving me a compliment.
“Dick Van Dyck or Gilligan’s Island?”
“Gilligan of course,” I snappily replied. This guy could not take a hint.
