Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I glance behind me, wondering if Astaire can hear any of this.
Honor has never referred to her as her “mom” before.
“Oh, no thank you, sweetheart. I don’t want to intrude on your … family time.” Deidre speaks to my daughter but looks at me. Her hazel gaze is glassy, her tone overcompensating for the sting of rejection I imagine she’s experiencing.
Our hookups were never more than hookups—at least not to me. But I imagine there was always a misplaced undercurrent of hope on her end—one I chose to ignore.
I’ve been working on being sensitive to others’ feelings lately. It helps having a girlfriend who’s an open book and a little girl who experiences every spectrum of emotion at the drop of a hat.
“Thanks for stopping by, Deidre.” I place my hand on the door and make a mental note to delete her number. “All the best.”
When I head back to the living room, Honor’s already there. Knelt down in front of Astaire, she’s bouncing excitedly on her knees.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Honor just asked if she could call me Mom.” Astaire studies me. “I told her it’s something you and I would discuss later.”
“Okay!” Unfazed, Honor returns to her puzzle on the floor. A minute later, she’s grown bored with it, opting to skip down the hall to her bedroom.
“Would it bother you if she called me Mom?” Astaire asks when Honor’s out of earshot. “I mean, I’m fine with it if that’s what she wants … and if that’s what you want.”
I take the seat beside her, placing her papers on the coffee table and pulling her onto my lap.
“As far as I’m concerned, Astaire, you are her mother now.” I sweep a gossamer-soft strand hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “You tuck her in. You read her stories. You bathe her. You bandage her scraped knees. You sing her songs. You love her father unconditionally—more than he probably deserves.”
I manage a slow smile out of her.
“We’re a family,” I tell her. “The three of us. This is your family. You belong here. With us.”
“I know,” she says. She thinks I’m hounding her again about moving in. “My lease is up in June, remember?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Astaire lifts a brow.
“I want to make this official,” I say.
“You once told me you thought marriage was an outdated institution …”
“And in many ways I still feel that way—except when it comes to you.” I cup her face in my hands, taste her lips. “Call me old-fashioned, but the idea of spending the rest of my life taking care of you makes me feel things I never thought I was capable of feeling.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
I kiss her again, my mouth grazing hers. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
“I was numb before I knew you,” I say. “But with you, I’m alive for the first time. You make everything new and exciting and I know I sound like a greeting card right now but I don’t care because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Astaire Carraro. And I want you to know that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life. You’re my person. You’re my reason. You’re my whole damn world.”
Tears cloud her eyes and her palms rest against my chest. I’m sure my heart’s pounding a hundred miles an hour.
“Marry me, Astaire Carraro.” I don’t have a ring and this proposal wasn’t planned, but I’m nothing if not an opportunist. “Spend the rest of your life with me. With us.”
Her baby blue gaze searches mine and for a moment, I swear forever flashes before me like scenes from a movie.
Astaire in white.
Astaire holding a baby in her arms.
Astaire cheering on Honor at a basketball game.
Astaire forcing us to pose for pictures in front of some theme park castle.
Astaire lying in bed next to me as I quote Plato and we enjoy ourselves an intense rousing argument on ancient Greek philosophy before jumping one another …
“Yes.” She traces her fingertip along my jaw before leaning in for a kiss. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Bennett Schoenbach.”
Epilogue
Bennett
Three years later …
“How do I look?” Astaire runs her palms down the glimmering gold dress that hugs her body—and matches her soul.
“Gorgeous,” I bounce our son, Charlie, on my hip. His Schoenbach-blue eyes light when he sees his momma. “And late. We were supposed to head downstairs ten minutes ago …”
“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” She bends over the vanity, gliding a bullet of rose-pink lipstick over her full lips. “Is Eulalia here?”
“She’s with Honor in the playroom.”
Of course. Those two are inseparable. And Eulalia is practically family at this point, the closest thing to a grandmother our children will ever have.
Astaire gathers the hem of her gown in her hands and steps into a pair of crystal-studded stilettos before grabbing her faux-fur stole.