Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Wells kept their foreheads pressed together. “I’m so much better than all right. You’re here. It’s when I’m away that I’m not good.”
“I know.”
“My family is here.”
“And we’ll always be here.” She looked him in the eye until he got through a deep breath, but something continued to weigh on his mind. “Let’s get the kids to bed.”
Wells nodded and the four of them climbed the stairs together, Wells taking their son, Rex, into one room, Josephine herding Mabel into another. Half an hour later, she went looking for her husband. He wasn’t in their bedroom or the kitchen, but intuition told her where to find him, and she was right. Wells stood in the center of his trophy room, her gorgeous champion in sweatpants, no shoes, ink swirling high and low on his broad back.
If she tugged down his pants, she would find her name tattooed on his right butt cheek.
He’d threatened to do it for years and she’d assumed he was joking.
Nope. It had been her thirtieth birthday present.
Property of Josephine in bright blue ink.
Wells turned at her entrance with shadows in his eyes, but his arms opened automatically. On her way into them, she cataloged the changes in her husband over the last eight years. Lines fanning out from wise, contented eyes. The barest sprinkle of gray in his chest hair and stubble. He still radiated confidence, but it was quieter now, like he’d grown into it. And she had so much pride in the man he’d become, it almost hurt to breathe.
They swayed, locked in each other’s arms for a few moments while Wells hummed the first few bars of “California Girls” into her hair.
He pulled back and looked her in the eye while tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs, and she couldn’t help but fall even harder for this man, surrounded by accolades but directing all his affection at her. “Josephine.” He smiled, kissed her softly. “I’m retiring.”
A jolt passed through her. “You’re . . . what?”
“I’m done with the tour. I want to be home.” He stroked her hair, then whispered back the words he’d said to her eight years earlier. Words he said to her every time he returned from a trip. “You don’t know what it’s like to miss you, baby. No fucking idea.”
“I have some idea,” she said back, her chest swamped with bittersweet emotion. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the second most sure I’ve been about anything in my life. You are the first.” He pulled her into a bear hug. “I want to be home to love you more.”
She blinked back tears. “I’ll take all the love from you I can get.”
“Good. I’ve got a lot of it.”
“Me too.”
They stayed that way for a long time, Josephine sensing he needed the anchor.
“Retired at thirty-seven,” she said, finally, kissing his shoulder. “What are you going to do with so much time on your hands?”
“Coach Little League. Help out at the shop. Take the occasional commentating gig. Make love to my wife. Be her trophy husband.” He sighed into her hair. “Golf.”
They laughed their way into a kiss while he continued humming the rest of “California Girls” and they started to dance. And life stayed just like that.
Blissful.
Happy.
Together.
Forever.