Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Food!” Eddie called, coming out the back door with a massive tray in his arms.
The first of about twenty different trays of various foods.
The man was in his glory with so many people to cook for.
The rest of the day was full of a flurry of activity and conversations.
It seemed never-ending, but eventually, the ladies shuffled all the kids into the clubhouse for popcorn and a movie to try to chill them out, and the men cleaned up the outside.
Then there was peace.
Enough for me to drop down on the foot of Maeve’s chaise where she had our dead asleep son on her chest.
“He won’t remember any of this,” Maeve said. “But I can’t wait to tell him the stories about the mafia boss who sang him happy birthday in Italian.
“And the international arms dealer’s assistant who had given him an Argentinian prison tattoo in face paint.”
“There have been a lot of highlights for sure,” I agreed, rubbing her leg.
It was right then that a newly familiar face walked up.
One of the prospects.
“Maeve, you’ve got to do something,” he said, shaking his head.
“About what?” she asked, frowning.
“About this new story about me on the site!” he said, throwing up his hands. “She called me a puppy.”
“Puppies are cute,” Maeve insisted.
The sound he let out then as he turned and stomped away had Maeve’s smile spreading.
The site was still going strong.
And every new member and prospect waited on bated breath to see what someone was going to write about them.
All us old timers gave them a hard time about it, like we ourselves had never sat around waiting for a site update.
“I’m glad we never took down the site,” Maeve said, running her hand down our son’s back when he stirred. “It’s fun to watch the new guys squirm a little.”
I was fond of that site as well.
Not because of being on it.
I didn’t remember the last time I’d even seen the damn thing.
But because, if Maeve had never run it, I wondered if we would have ever ended up together. If she hadn’t had her little fantasies about the club and the life, would she have been as willing to be with me in the beginning? Back when she was so unsure, so shy?
“You ready to head home?” I asked, helping her to her feet.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Come on, Dolores,” she called, patting her leg with her free hand, making the dog go from passed out to awake and trotting beside us in a blink.
A few minutes later, we were all in the car.
Not my sports car, not anymore.
We needed room now.
For us, for our son, for Dolores, and for the insane amount of presents stuffed in every square inch.
And I didn’t drive fast anymore.
There was too much to live for to risk anything like that.
We pulled up to the house a while later, both dead on our feet.
“I still can’t believe you found them,” Maeve said as we paused at the front door to get the security system disengaged.
Her gaze was on the two garden gnomes near the door.
Gnomio.
And Sherlock Gnomes.
The ones Triss had tossed at Natalya’s car that first night we’d met.
The ones who had been ruined in an attempt to save my life.
I’d been tracking down replacements of the vintage things for years. I’d given them to her on our wedding anniversary. And not a day went by when I didn’t catch her smiling at them.
With that, we went inside, getting our son to bed, then each taking turns with the shower, too tired to do anything sexy.
Somehow, though, we both seemed to find our way to the kitchen sometime later.
To find Triss sitting there with one of our freezer cheesecakes and three glasses of frozen drinks.
“Midnight virgin Margaritas,” she said, toasting us before flicking the music on her phone.
Some ridiculous song about putting a lime in a coconut that they always played when there were Midnight Margaritas around.
“Guess what I found?” she asked.
“What?” Maeve asked, brows pinching as her sister passed her a piece of paper.
Unfolding it, I saw very large, childlike handwriting.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You,” Maeve said, shooting me a watery smile.
“Me?” I asked.
“I got him,” Triss declared when our son started crying, rushing off and leaving the two of us alone in the kitchen.
“When we were kids, we wanted to be Owens sisters. So we cast silly little spells like in the movie to draw our dream men to us one day.”
Tall.
Stable.
Kind.
With a beard.
The beard part was underlined four times.
“The beard was important,” Maeve said, smiling.
“Here I was thinking you loved me for me. Now I learn it’s all a lie and you conjured me up,” I teased.
“Maybe it was a whole lot of perfect you, with just a sprinkle of magic,” Maeve suggested, leaning into me.
“I can get behind that.”
Because, really, what was love if not a whole lot of commitment, a bit of luck, and a dash of magic?