This is my first adult contemporary romance!!!!
And I've been writing it slowly for over a year and a half. So now that it finally has a release date and the cover is finished and I'm showing it off, I really cannot wait!!!!
It will be out January 27th, 2015.
But it's already up for pre-order everywhere!!!
The Five Stages of Falling in Love for Amazon
The Five Stages of Falling in Love for iBooks
The Five Stages of Falling in Love for Barnes and Noble
The Five Stages of Falling in Love for Kobo
Here it is. For your viewing pleasure! Plus I've attached a little excerpt so you can get a glimpse at what it's all about!!!
Synopsis:
Elizabeth Carlson is living in the pits of hell- also known
as grief.
Her husband of eight years, the father of her four children
and the love of her life, died from cancer. Grady’s prognosis was grim, even
from the start, but Liz never gave up hope he would survive. How could she,
when he was everything to her?
Six months later, she is trying to pick up the pieces of her
shattered life and get the kids to school on time. Both seem impossible.
Everything seems impossible these days.
When Ben Tyler moves in next door, she is drowning in sorrow
and pain, her children are acting out, and the house is falling apart. She has
no time for curious new friends or unwanted help, but Ben gives her both. And
he doesn’t just want to help her with yard work or cleaning the gutters. Ben
wants more from Liz. More than she’s capable of ever giving again.
As Liz mourns her dead husband and works her way through the
five stages of grief, she finds there’s more of her heart to give than she
thought possible. And as new love takes hold, she peels away the guilt and
heartache, and discovers there’s more to life than death.
Excerpt:
Prologue
“Hey,
there she is,” Grady looked up at me from his bed, his eyes smiling even while
his mouth barely mimicked the emotion.
“Hey,
you,” I called back. The lights had been dimmed after the last nurse checked
his vitals and the TV was on, but muted. “Where are the kiddos? I was only in
the cafeteria for ten minutes.”
Grady
winked at me playfully, “My mother took them.” I melted a little at his roguish
expression. It was the same look that made me agree to a date with him our
junior year of college, it was the same look that made me fall in love with
him- the same one that made me agree to have our second baby boy when I would have
been just fine to stop after Blake, Abby and Lucy.
“Oh,
yeah?” I walked over to the hospital bed and sat down next to him. He
immediately reached for me, pulling me against him with weak arms. I snuggled
back into him, so that my head rested on his thin shoulder and our bodies fit
side by side on the narrow bed. One of my legs didn’t make it and hung off
awkwardly. But I didn’t mind. It was just perfect to lie next to the love of my
life, my husband.
“Oh,
yeah,” he growled suggestively. “You know what that means?” He walked his free
hand up my arm and gave my breast a wicked squeeze. “When the kids are away,
the grownups get to play…”
“You
are so bad,” I swatted him- or at least made the motion of swatting at him,
since I was too afraid to hurt him.
“God, I
don’t remember the last time I got laid,” he groaned next to me and I felt the
rumble of his words against my side.
“Tell
me about it, sport,” I sighed. “I could use a nice, hard-“
“Elizabeth
Carlson,” he cut in on a surprised laugh. “When did you get such a dirty
mouth?”
“I
think you’ve known about my dirty mouth for quite some time, Grady,” I flirted
back. We’d been serious for so long it was nice to flirt with him, to remember
that we didn’t just love each other, but we liked each other too.
He
grunted in satisfaction. “That I have. I think your dirty mouth had something
to do with Lucy’s conception.”
I
blushed. Even after all these years, he knew exactly what to say to me.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“Probably,”
he chuckled, his breath hot on my ear.
We laid
there in silence for a while, enjoying the feel of each other, watching the
silent TV screen flicker in front of our eyes. It was perfect- or as close to
perfect as we had felt in a long time.
“Dance
with me, Lizzy,” Grady whispered after a while. I’d thought maybe he fell
asleep; the drugs were so hard on his system that he was usually in and out of
consciousness. This was actually the most coherent he’d been in a month.
“Okay,”
I agreed. “It’s the first thing we’ll do when you get out. We’ll have your mom
come over and babysit, you can take me to dinner at Pazio’s and we’ll go
dancing after.”
“Mmm,
that sounds nice,” he agreed. “You love Pazio’s. That’s a guaranteed get-lucky
night for me.”
“Baby,”
I crooned. “As soon as I get you back home, you’re going to have guaranteed
get-lucky nights for at least a month, maybe two.”
“I
don’t want to wait. I’m tired of waiting. Dance with me now, Lizzy,” Grady
pressed, this time sounding serious.
“Babe,
after your treatment this morning, you can barely stand up right now. Honestly,
how are you going to put all those sweet moves on me?” I teased, wondering
where this sudden urge to dance- of all things- was coming from.
“Lizzy,
I am a sick man. I haven’t slept in my own bed in four months, I haven’t seen
my wife naked in just as long, and I am tired of lying in this bed. I want to
dance with you. Will you please, pretty please, dance with me?”
I
nodded at first because I was incapable of speech. He was right. I hated that
he was right, but I hated that he was sick even more.
“Alright,
Grady, I’ll dance with you,” I finally whispered.
“I knew
I’d get my way,” he croaked smugly.
I
slipped off the bed and turned around to face my husband and help him to his
feet. His once full head of auburn hair was now bald, reflecting the pallid
color of his skin. His face was haggard, dark black circles under his eyes,
chapped lips and pale cheeks. He was still as tall as he’d ever been, but
instead of the toned muscles and thick frame he once boasted, he was
depressingly skinny and weak, his shoulders perpetually slumped.
The only thing that remained the same was his eyes;
they were the same dark green eyes I’d fallen in love with ten years ago. They
were still full of life, even when his body wasn’t, still full of mischief
while the rest of him was tired and exhausted from fighting this stupid
sickness.
“You
always get your way,” I grumbled while I helped him up from the bed.
“Only
with you,” he shot back on a pant after successfully standing. “And only
because you love me.”
“That I
do,” I agreed. Grady’s hands slipped around my waist and he clutched my sides
in an effort to stay standing.
I
slipped my arms around his neck, but didn’t allow any weight to press down on
him. We maneuvered our bodies around his IV and monitors. It was awkward, but
we managed.
“What
should we listen to?” I asked, while I pulled out my cell phone and turned it
to my iTunes app.
“You
know what song. There is no other song when we’re dancing,” he reminded me on a
faint smile.
“You
must be horny,” I laughed. “You’re getting awfully romantic.”
“Just
trying to keep this fire alive, Babe,” he pulled me closer and I held back the
flood of tears that threatened to spill over.
I
turned on The Way You Look Tonight- the Frank Sinatra version- and we swayed
slowly back and forth. Frank sang the soft, beautiful lyrics with the help of a
full band, the music drifting around us over the constant beeping and whirring
of medical machines. This was the song we thought of as ours, the first song
we’d danced to at our wedding, the song he still made the band at Pazio’s play
on our anniversary each year.
“This
fire is very much alive,” I informed him sternly. I lay my forehead against his
shoulder and inhaled him. He didn’t smell like himself anymore, he was full of
chemo drugs and smelled like hospital soap and detergent, but he was still
Grady. And even though he barely resembled himself anymore, he still felt like
Grady.
He was
still my Grady.
“It is,
isn’t it?” He whispered. I could feel how weak he was growing, how tired this
was making him, but still he clung to me, held me close. When my favorite verse
came on, he leaned his head down and whispered in a broken voice along with
Frank, “There is nothing for me, but to love you. And the way you look
tonight.”
Silent
tears streamed down my face with truths I wasn’t ready to admit to myself and
fears that were too horrifying to even think. This was the man I loved with
every fiber of my being- the only man I’d ever loved. The only man I’d ever love.
He’d
made me fall in love with him before I was old enough to drink legally, then
he’d convinced me to marry him before I even graduated college. He knocked me
up a year later, and didn’t stop until we had four wild rug rats that all had
his red hair and his emerald green eyes. He’d encouraged me to finish my
undergrad degree, and then to continue on to grad school while I was pregnant,
nursing and then pregnant again. He went to bed every night with socks on and
then took them off sometime in the middle of the night, leaving them
obnoxiously tucked in between our sheets. He could never find his wallet, or
his keys, and when there was hair to grow he always forgot to shave.
And he
drove me crazy most of the time.
But he
was mine.
He was
my husband.
And now
he was sick.
“I do
love you, Lizzy,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ll always love you, even when
I’m dead and gone.”
“Which
won’t be for a very long time,” I reminded him on a sob.
He ignored
me, “You love me back, don’t you?”
“Yes, I
love you back,” I whispered with so much emotion the words felt stuck in my
throat. “But you already knew that.”
“Maybe,”
he conceded gently. “But I will never, ever get tired of hearing it.”
I
sniffled against him, staining his hospital gown with my mascara and eye liner.
“That’s a good thing, because you’re going to be hearing it for a very long
time.”
He
didn’t respond, just kept swaying with me back and forth until the song ended.
He asked me to play it again and I did, three more times. By the end of the
fourth time, he was too tired to stand. I laid him back in bed and helped him
adjust the IV and monitor again so that it didn’t bother him, then pulled the
sheet over his cold toes.
His
eyes were closed and I thought he’d fallen asleep, so I bent down to kiss his
forehead. He stirred at my touch and reached out to cup my face with his
un-needled arm. I looked down into his depthless green eyes and fell in love
with him all over again.
It was
as simple as that.
It had
always been that simple for him to get me to fall in love with him.
“You
are the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, Lizzy.” His voice was
broken and scratchy and a tear slid out from the corner of each of his eyes.
My chin
trembled at his words because I knew what he was doing and I hated it, I hated
every part of it. I shook my head, trying to get him to stop but he held my
gaze and just kept going.
“You
are. And you have made my life good, and worth living. You have made me love
more than any man has ever known how to love. I didn’t know this kind of
happiness existed in real life, Liz, and you’re the one that gave it to me. I
couldn’t be more thankful for the life we’ve shared together. I couldn’t be
more thankful for you.”
“Oh,
Grady, please-”
“Lizzy,”
he said in his most stern voice that he only ever used when I’d maxed out a
credit card. “Whatever happens, whatever happens to me, I want you to keep
giving this gift to other people.” I opened my mouth to vehemently object to
everything he was saying but he silenced me with a cold finger on my lips. “I
didn’t say go marry the first man you find. Hell, I’m not even talking about
another man. But I don’t want this light to die with me. I don’t want you to
forget how happy you make other people just because you might not feel happy.
Even if I don’t, Lizzy, I want you to go on living. Promise me that.”
But I
shook my head, “no.” I wasn’t going to promise him that. I couldn’t make
myself. And it was unfair of him to ask me that.
“Please,
Sweetheart, for me?” His deep, green eyes glossed over with emotion and I could
physically feel how painful this was for him to ask me. He didn’t want this
anymore than I did.
I found
myself nodding, while I sniffled back a stream of tears. “Okay,” I whispered.
“I promise.”
He
broke out into a genuine smile then, his thumb rubbing back and forth along my
jaw. “Now tell me you love me, one more time.”
“I love
you, Grady,” I murmured, leaning into his touch and savoring this moment with
him.
“And I
will always, always love you, Lizzy,” he promised.
His eyes finally fluttered shut and his hand dropped
from my face. His vitals remained the same, so I knew he was just sleeping. I
crawled into bed with him, gently shifting him so that I could lie on my side,
in the nook of his arm and lay my hand on his chest. I did this often; I liked
to feel the beat of his heart underneath my hand. It had stopped too many times
before, for me to trust its reliability. My husband was a very sick man, and
had been for a while now.
Tonight was different though. Tonight, Grady was lucid
and coherent, he’d found enough energy to stand up and dance with me, to tell
me he loved me. Tonight could have been a turn for the better.
But it wasn’t- because only a few hours later, Grady’s
heart stopped for the fourth time during his adult life, and this time it never
restarted.
Stage One: Denial
Not every story has a happy ending. Some only hold a
happy beginning.
This is my story. I’d already met my soul mate, fallen
in love with him and lived our happily ever after.
This story is not about me falling in love.
This story is about me learning to live again after
love left my life.
Research shows there are five stages of grief. I don’t
know what this means for me, as I was stuck, nice and hard, in step one.
Denial.
I knew, acutely, that I was still in stage one.
I knew this because every time I walked in the house,
I wandered around aimlessly looking for Grady. Because I still picked up my
phone to check if he texted or called throughout the day. Because I looked for
him in a crowded room, got the urge to call him from the grocery store just to
make sure I had everything he needed, and reached for him in the middle of the
night.
Acceptance- the last stage of grief- was firmly and
forever out of my reach, and I often looked forward to it with longing. Why?
Because Denial was a son of a bitch
and it hurt more than anything when I
realized he wasn’t in the house, wouldn’t be calling me, wasn’t where I wanted
him to be, didn’t need anything from the store and would never lie next to me
in bed again. The grief would cascade over me, fresh and suffocating and I was
forced to suffer through the unbearable pain of losing my husband all over
again.
Denial sucked.
But it was where I was right now. I was living in
Denial.
Chapter One
Six Months after Grady died.
I snuggled back into the cradle of his
body while his arms wrapped around me tightly. He buried his scruffy face
against the nape of my neck and I sighed contentedly. We fit perfectly
together, but then again we always had- his big spoon nestled up against my
little spoon.
“It’s your turn,” he rumbled against
my skin with that deep morning voice I would always drink in.
“No,” I argued half-heartedly. “It’s
always my turn.”
“But you’re so good at it,” he teased.
I giggled, “It’s one of my many
talents, pouring cereal into bowls, making juice cups. I might just take this
show on the road.”
He laughed behind me and his chest
shook with the movement. I pushed back into him, loving the feel of his hard,
firm chest against my back. He was so hot first thing in the morning, his whole
body radiating warmth.
His hand splayed out across my belly
possessively and he pressed a kiss just below my ear. I could feel his lips
through my tangle of hair and the tickle of his breath which wasn’t all that
pleasant first thing in the morning, but it was Grady and it was familiar.
“It’s probably time we had another
one, don’t you think?” His hand rubbed a circle around my stomach and I could
feel him vibrating happily with the thought.
“Grady, we already have three,” I
reminded him on a laugh. “If we have another one, people are going to start
thinking we’re weird.”
“No, they won’t,” he soothed. “They
might get an idea of how fertile you are, but they won’t think we’re weird.”
I snorted a laugh. “They already think
we’re weird.”
“Then we don’t want to disappoint
them,” he murmured. His hand slid up my chest and cupped my breast, giving it a
gentle squeeze.
“You are obsessed with those things,”
I grinned.
“Definitely,” he agreed quickly, while
continuing to fondle me. “What do you think, Lizzy? Will you give me another
baby?”
I was getting wrapped up in the way he
was touching me, the way he was caressing me with so much love I thought I
would burst. “I’ll think about it,” I finally conceded, knowing he would get
his way- knowing I always let him have his way.
“While you’re mulling it over, we
should probably practice. I mean, we want to get this right when the time
comes.” Grady trailed kisses down the column of my throat and I moaned my
consent.
I rolled over to kiss him on the
mouth.
But he
wasn’t there.
My arm
swung wide and hit cold, empty mattress.
I
opened my eyes and stared at the slow moving ceiling fan over my head. The
early morning light streamed in through cracks in my closed blinds and I let
the silent tears fall.
I hated
waking up like this; thinking he was there, next to me, still able to support
me, love me- hold me. And unfortunately it happened more often than it didn’t.
The
fresh pain clawed and cut at my heart and I thought I would die just from sheer
heartbreak. My chin quivered and I sniffled, trying desperately to wrestle my
emotions under control. But the pain was too much, too consuming.
“Mom!”
Blake called from the kitchen, ripping me away from my peaceful grief.
“Moooooom!”
That
was a distressed cry, and I was up out of my bed and racing downstairs
immediately. I grabbed my silk robe on the way and threw it over my black cami
and plaid pajama bottoms. When the kids were younger I wouldn’t have bothered,
but Blake was eight now and he’d been traumatized enough in life- I wasn’t
going to add to that by walking around bra-less first thing in the morning.
He
continued to yell at me, while I barreled into the kitchen still wiping at the
fresh tears. I found him at the bay windows, staring out in horror.
“Mom,
Abby went swimming,” he explained in a rush of words.
A sick
feeling knotted my stomach and I looked around wild-eyed at what his words
could possibly mean. “What do you mean, Abby went swimming?” I gasped, a little out of breath.
“There,”
he pointed to the neighbor’s backyard with a shaky finger.
I
followed the direction of his outstretched hand and from the elevated vantage
point of our kitchen I could see that the neighbor’s pool was filled with
water, and my six-year-old daughter was swimming morning laps like she was on a
regulated workout routine.
“What
the f-“ I started and then stopped, shooting a glance down at Blake who was
looking up at me with more exaggerated shock than he’d given his sister.
I
watched her for point one more second and sprinted for the front door. “Keep an
eye on the other ones,” I shouted at Blake as I pushed open our heavy red door.
It was
just early fall in rural Connecticut; the grass was still green, the mornings
foggy but mostly still warm. The house next to us had been empty for almost a
year. The owner had been asking too much for it in this economy, but I
understood why- it was a beautiful, stately colonial with cream stucco siding
and black decorative shutters. Big oak trees offered shade and character in the
sprawling front yard and in the back, an in-ground pool was the drool-worthy
envy of my children.
I raced
down my yard and into my new neighbors. I hadn’t noticed the house had sold,
but that didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t the most observant person these days.
Vaguely I noted a moving truck parked in the long drive.
The backyard
gate must have been left open, because even though Abby had taught herself how
to swim at the age of four- all by herself, the end result giving me several
gray hairs- there was no way she could reach the flip lock at the top of the
tall, iron fence.
I
rounded the corner and hopped/ran to the edge of the pool, the gravel of the
patio cutting into my bare feet. I took a steadying breath and focused my
panic-flooded mind, long enough to assess whether Abby was still breathing or
not.
She
was, and happily swimming in circles in
the deep end.
Fear
and dread quickly turned to blinding anger and I took a step closer to the edge
of the pool while I threw my silk robe on the ground.
“Abigail
Elizabeth, you get out of there right this minute!” I shouted loud enough to
wake up the entire neighborhood.
She
popped her head up out of the water, acknowledged me by sticking out her
tongue, and promptly went back to swimming. That
little brat.
“Abigail,
I am not joking. Get out of the pool.
Now!” I hollered again. And was
ignored- again. “Abby, if I have to come in there and get you, you will rue the
day you were born!”
She
poked her head back up out of the water, shooting me a confused look. Her light
green eyebrows drew together, just like her father’s used to, and her little
freckled nose wrinkled at something I said. I was smart enough or experienced
enough to know that she was not on the verge of obeying, just because I’d
threatened her.
“Mommy?”
she asked, somehow making her little body tread water in a red polka dot bikini
my sister picked up from Gap last summer- it was too small which for some
reason made me more angry. “What does
rue mean?”
“It
means you’re grounded from the iPad, your Leapster and the Wii for the next two
years of your life,” I threatened. “Now get out of that pool right now before I
come in there and get you myself.”
She
giggled in reply, not believing me for one second and resumed her play.
“Damn
it, Abigail,” I growled under my breath- not that I was surprised by her
behavior. She was naturally an adventurous child. Since she could walk, she’d
been climbing to the highest point of anything she could, swinging precariously
from branches, light fixtures and aisles at the grocery store. She was a
daredevil and there were moments when I absolutely adored her “the world is my
playground” attitude about life. But then there were moments like this, when
every mom instinct in me screamed she was in danger and her little, rotten life
flashed before my eyes.
Those
moments happened more and more often. She tested me, pushing every limit and
boundary I’d set. She had been reckless before Grady died, now she was just
wild. And I didn’t know what to do about it.
I
didn’t know how to tame my uncontrollable child- how to be both parents to a
little girl who desperately missed her daddy.
I
focused on my outrage, pushing those tragic thoughts down, into the abyss of my
soul. I was pissed, I didn’t have time for this first thing in the morning and
no doubt we were going to be late for school- again.
I
slipped off my pajama pants, hoping whomever had moved into the house, if they
were watching, would be more concerned with the little girl on the verge of
drowning than me flashing my black, bikini briefs at them over morning coffee.
I said a few more choice curses and dove into the barely warm water after my
second born.
I
surfaced, sputtering water and shivering from the cool morning air pebbling my
skin. “Abigail, when I get you out of this pool, you are going to be in so much trouble.”
“Okay,”
she agreed happily. “But first you have to catch me.”
She
proceeded to swim around me in circles while I reached out helplessly for her.
First thing I was doing when I got out of this pool was throwing away every
electronic device in our house just to teach her a lesson. Then I was going to
sign her up for a swim team- because the little hellion was very, very fast.
We
struggled like this for a few more minutes. Well, I struggled. She splashed at
me and laughed at my efforts to wrangle her.
I was
aware of a presence hovering by the edge of the pool but I was equally too
embarrassed as I was too preoccupied to look. Images of walking my children
into school late again, kept looping
through my head and I cringed at the dirty looks I was bound to get from
teachers and other parents alike.
“You
look hungry,” a deep masculine voice announced from above me.
I
whipped my head around to find an incredibly tall man standing by my discarded
pajama pants holding two beach towels and a box of Pop-Tarts in one arm, while
he munched casually on said Pop-Tarts with the other.
“I look
hungry?” I screeched in hysterical anger.
His
eyes flickered down at me for just a second, “No, you look mad.” He pointed at
Abby, who had come to a stop next to me, treading water again with her short
child-sized limbs waving wildly in the water. “She looks hungry.” He grinned at me, his mouth full of food, and
looked back at Abby. “Want a Pop-Tart? They’re brown sugar.”
Abby
nodded excitedly and swam to the edge of the pool. Not even using the ladder,
she heaved herself out of the water and ran over to the stranger holding out
his breakfast to her. He handed her a towel and she hastily draped it around
her shoulders and took the offered Pop-Tart.
A
million warnings about taking food from strangers ran through my head, but in
the end I decided getting us out of his pool was probably more important to him
than offing his brand new neighbors with poisoned Pop-Tarts.
With a
defeated sigh, I swam over to the ladder closest to my pants and robe, and
pulled myself from the water. I was a dripping, limp mess and I was frozen to
the bone after my body adjusted to the temperature of the water.
Abby
took her Pop-Tart and plopped down on one of the loungers that were still
stacked on top of two others and wrapped in plastic. She began munching on it
happily, grinning at me like she’d just won the lottery.
She was
in so much trouble.
I
walked over to the stranger, eying him skeptically. He held out his remaining
beach towel to me and after realizing I stood before him in just a soaking wet
tank top and bikini briefs, I took it quickly and wrapped it around my body. I
shivered violently, and my dark blonde hair dripped down my face and back. But
I didn’t dare adjust the towel, afraid I’d give him more of a show than he’d
paid for.
“Good
morning,” he laughed at me.
“Good
morning,” I replied slowly, carefully.
Up close, he wasn’t the giant I’d originally thought.
Now that we were both ground level, I could see that while he was tall, at
least six inches taller than me, he wasn’t freakishly tall- which relieved some
of my concerns. He still wore his pajamas: blue cotton pants and a white
t-shirt that had been stretched out from sleep. He had almost black hair that
appeared still mussed and disheveled, but swept over to the side in what could
be a trendy style if he brushed it. He seemed to be a few years older than me-
if I had to guess thirty-five or thirty-six- and he had dark, intelligent eyes
that crinkled in the corners with amusement. He was tanned, and muscular, and
imposing. And I hated that he was laughing at me.
“Sorry
about the gate,” he shrugged. “I didn’t realize there were kids around.”
“You moved
into a neighborhood,” I pointed out dryly. “There’s bound to be kids around.”
His
eyes narrowed at the insult but he swallowed his Pop-Tart and agreed, “Fair
enough. I’ll keep the gate locked from now on.”
I
wasn’t finished with berating him though. His pool caused all kinds of problems
for me this morning and since I could only take out so much anger on my
six-year-old, I had to vent the rest somewhere. “Who fills their pool the first
week of September anyway? You’ve been to New England in the winter, haven’t
you?”
He
cleared his throat and the last laugh lines around his eyes disappeared. “My
real estate agent,” he explained. “It was kind of like a ‘thank you’ present
for buying the house. He thought he was doing something nice for me.”
I
snorted at that, thinking how my little girl could have… No, I couldn’t go
there; physically, I was not emotionally capable of thinking that thought
through.
“I
really am sorry,” he offered genuinely, his dark eyes flashing with true
emotion. “I got in late last night, and passed out on the couch. I didn’t even
know the pool was full or the gate was open until I heard you screaming out
here.”
Guilt
settled in my stomach like acid, and I regretted my harsh tone with him. This
wasn’t his fault. I just wanted to blame someone else.
“Look,
I’m sorry I was snappish about the pool. I just, I was just worried about Abby.
I took it out on you,” I relented, but wouldn’t look him in the eye. I’d always
been terrible at apologies. When Grady and I would fight, I could never bring
myself to tell him I felt sorry. Eventually, he’d just look at me and say, “I
forgive you, Lizzy. Now come here and make it up to me.” With anyone else my
pride would have refused to let me give in; but with Grady, the way he smoothed
over my stubbornness and let me get away with keeping my dignity, worked every
single time.
“It’s
alright, I can understand that,” my new neighbor agreed.
We
stood there awkwardly for a few more moments, before I swooped down to pick up
my plaid pants and discarded robe. “Alright, well I need to go get the kids
ready for school. Thanks for convincing her to get out. Who knows how long we
would have been stuck there playing Finding
Nemo.”
He
chuckled but his eyes were confused. “Is that like Marco Polo?”
I shot
him a questioning glance, wondering if he was serious or not. “No kids?” I
asked.
He
laughed again. “Nope, life-long bachelor.” He waved the box of Pop-Tarts and
realization dawned on me. He hadn’t really seemed like a father before now, but
in my world- my four kids, soccer mom, neighborhood watch secretary, active
member of the PTO world- it was almost unfathomable to me that someone his age
could not have kids.
I
cleared my throat, “It’s uh, a little kid movie. Disney,” I explained and
understanding lit his expression. “Um, thanks again.” I turned to Abby who was
finishing up her breakfast, “Let’s go, Abs, you’re making us late for school.”
“I’m
Ben by the way,” he called out to my back. “Ben Tyler.”
I
snorted to myself at the two first names- it somehow seemed appropriate for the
handsome life-long bachelor, but ridiculous all the same.
“Liz
Carson,” I called over my shoulder. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Uh,
the towels?” he shouted after me when we’d reached the gate.
I
turned around with a dropped mouth, thinking a hundred different vile things
about my new neighbor. “Can’t we… I…” I glanced down helplessly at my bare legs
poking out of the bottom of the towel he’d just lent me.
“Liz,”
he laughed familiarly, and I tried not to resent him. “I’m just teasing. Bring
them back whenever.”
I
growled something unintelligible that I hope sounded like “thank you” and spun
on my heel, shooing Abby onto the lawn between our houses.
“Nice
to meet you, neighbor,” he called out over the fence.
“You
too,” I mumbled, not even turning my head to look back at him.
Obviously
he was single and unattached. He was way too smug for his own good. I just
hoped he would keep his gate locked and loud parties few and far between. He
seemed like the type to throw frat party-like keggers and hire strippers for
the weekend. I had a family to raise, a family that was quickly falling apart
while I floundered to hold us together with tired arms and a broken spirit. I
didn’t need a nosy neighbor handing out Pop-Tarts and sarcasm interfering with
my life.
Love the new book and can't wait to read it all. I think you must have a wonderful husband to be able to write such tender hearted and inspirational books about love. You are lucky! I love all your books. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteWhen do we get more Love and Decay? Season Three?
ReplyDeleteWhen do we get Season Three of Love and Decay?
ReplyDelete