Page 79 of Kiss Me Tonight

Pointing the Manhattan in my direction, she says, “You left your sense of adventure behind the minute you saidI do.You’re thirty-seven, Aspen, not ninety-seven. Let’s face it, I know a lot more ninety-seven-year-olds who are living harder than you are.”

“I went swimming after midnight with the hot football player next door. I’m living, Wills.”

“Beforethat. I love you, so I’m just going to come out and say it . . . You’re a little boring, sis.”

My jaw promptly falls open. “Boring?”

“Boring,” she confirms after another sip. “Wicked boring.”

“I coach football!”

“Which you’ve done for ten years now. Maybe it was exciting and thrilling ten years ago, but at this point . . .” She fakes a yawn that has my eye twitching, I’m so flabbergasted. In a very unlike-Willow move, she swipes the back of her hand over her mouth, chirping, “Sorry, I think I caught some drool there.”

I don’t even know what to say. Is it true? Am Iboring?

Sure, Dominic swam me out to Frenchman Bay while I rode in the kayak, but I jumpedin, didn’t I? And, even before that, didn’t I hump him in a classroom? That’s a risky move, I think. We could have been caught and I could have been fired and—

“You’re thinking so hard your ears are steaming.”

I snag Willow’s glass and, pushing her dainty straw aside, take a large gulp of averystrong Manhattan. Spluttering, I cough into my bicep and shove her drink back in her direction. “What do you have in that? An extra shot?”

“Two,” she says smugly, “because I’m living, Asp. And you should be living it up too. You’re single, you have a great job, you’re backhome,and I’ve missed you.”

I eye her speculatively. “Have you really?”

“Well, I’ve missed you picking up the tab whenever we go out.”

At the humor in her gaze, I’m tempted to tug on her hair the way we used to do as kids. Life was so much simpler then. When I took a risk, it affected only me. Now I have Topher to think about. My baby boy means the world to me. In all those years of dealing with Rick, my baby boysavedme. He kept me going, he kept me strong, he kept me from leaping headfirst into a downward spiral of depression.

Sucking my bottom lip behind my teeth, I release the stiff set to my shoulders. “I know I’m not some wild rulebreaker or anything, but I don’t . . . Iwon’tregret Topher, even if getting pregnant changed everything for me.”

I murmur the words low, more for myself than for my sister, but she’s got the ears of a bat and hears me anyway. Settling a hand over mine, she clicks our glasses together in a quasi-toast. “No one said anything about regretting Topher. You’re single-handedly responsible for how well-mannered and caring he is.Youdid that, not asshole Rick. I mean, I guess that also means it’s your fault for turning him into a brat.” When I shoot her a look that clearly reads asreally?she scurries to add, “Kidding! Kidding. He’s a lovable brat, that’s what I meant to say.Obviously. Where is he tonight anyway?”

“A friend’s house.”

Bobby’s house, actually. Meredith was all too pleased to have Topher come over and spend the night. It warms my heart to know that my boy is making friends. Visiting London over the years has been something of a rare occurrence. More often than not, my family came to Pittsburgh or we met up in New York City or Boston for some sightseeing. Secretly, I always thought Rick’s aversion to coming back to Maine was because he regretted knocking me up and felt pressured to get hitched and put a ring on my finger. Mistresses may be easily tucked away and hidden from the public eye, but a baby? Not so easy at all.

And while Topher has none of Rick’s bad qualities, he did inherit his father’s charming personality. There’s not a soul my baby boy has met that he hasn’t befriended. Any other kid may have struggled with moving to a small town like London, but Topher . . . Well, he’s always found a way to fit in, even when the odds are clearly stacked against him. I like to think that’s a trait he inherited directly from me. More likely than not, it’s something that is uniquelyhim.

When Willow excuses herself to—and I quote—“stalk that guy down before he really leaves,” I check my phone, expecting to see a text from Topher. Okay,hopingto see a text from Topher.

Nada.

Figures. He’s been talking about this sleepover all week, ever since Bobby issued the invitation on Tuesday.

Though I promised that I wouldn’t bug him all night, I shoot off a quick text to him anyway:

Me: Kick Bobby’s butt in Fortnite, kiddo. After all those charges on my card, I expect you to be an expert.

I wait only thirty seconds before my phone vibrates with an incoming message, and it’s one that makes me both cringe and laugh out loud.

Topher: It’s teaching me about credit, Ma. Just think what I’ll be able to do in ten years. #PayUp

“Brat,” I mutter good-naturedly under my breath.

Me: Don’t stay up all night. Remember, you’re helping me in the garden tomorrow.

Topher: I’d never forget

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