Page 58 of Catching Mr. Right

Chapter Twenty-Three

CASPER

Goddamn it.

Thrusting my hands through my hair, I storm out into the yard. Mandy Pearce will be the fucking end of me. Sam Sweets this, Sam Sweets that, blah, blah, blah. Fucking hell, I did not sign up for every word out of her pretty mouth to be about him.

Did I know that Sam has great genetics?

Nope.

Did I know that he was once on TV in a commercial for vitamins? The same multivitamins he still takes daily?

No, I did not.

Did I know that he’s been in precisely three relationships?

Do I look like I fucking want to know? Do I look like I fucking care about the guy who’s going to take Mandy away from me? I swear to God.

Mandy follows me, stops right outside the blue door. “All I was saying is that Sam was the best in his class at Le Cordon Bleu. I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re both great chefs.”

Balling my fists by my side, I suck in a breath and push it out through my nose. It’s not the remark about my cooking skills that gets my goat. After all, I graduated from École Lenôtre before I settled in Manhattan. I’ve got more stars than her perfect Sam, and I can speak fluent French, the fucking language of love. Well, I could if I wanted to. It’s been a while since I’ve had any use for it. Or stars. Or Manhattan.

But that’s not the point. “I don’t give a fuck where he learned to cook, Mandy. Or what multivitamin he takes. Or how damn cute his babies will be.”

What did I think she was going to do? Forget all about him? Ask me to stay? Or to take her with me?

“Our babies,” she corrects.

Damn it all to hell. Where’d this sudden onslaught of baby fever come from? Most of the past five days has been spent in a haze of offhand comments about babies. And Sam. And Sam’s babies, which ended up with me cutting short her musings about the man’s cock.

Christ. I can’t do this with her. I can’t speculate on another man’s penis with the woman who makes me want the things she talks about having with him. Things I thought I forgot about after Juliette. Things I didn’t expect to want again, but I do. If she told me right now that she wanted me to make a baby with her I’d do it. Up against this door. No question. Not even a heartbeat’s pause. I’d do whatever it took.

Stalking toward her, I ask, “What if Sam’s not your Mister Right?”

Her eyes widen as she opens her mouth, but I don’t let her talk. Mandy Pearce can run circles around you, tie you up in knots and leave you wondering how it happened before you get a word in edgewise if you don’t beat her to it. “Have you considered that you’re wrong about him? Sure, he’s going to fall in love with you. The guy doesn’t stand a chance. But do you really think he’s going to live up to your expectations?”

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t fidget, doesn’t drop her gaze. “Of course he wi—”

“But what if he doesn’t? There’s no guarantee,” I huff. “You want kids with him? That’s why you’re carping on and on and on about them right now?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Of course I want kids with him.”

“What if he can’t have them?”

“We’ll adopt. I was adopted, remember?”

“What if he doesn’t want them at all?”

“He already told me he does.”

“Did he?” Have they gotten closer than I assumed? The thought almost physically knocks me back.

“He told me he thinks he should settle down and start a family. It’s what he’s said all along, even when he was telling me I was too young.”

Is there any point in questioning her decision? She’s so pig headed. So stubborn and determined. Sam Sweets will be bowled off his feet, and I can’t bear the idea that he isn’t enough for her. That it should be me. “What if you wake up one day and you realize that great guy has turned into a fat slob who always smells like kitchen prep, and he doesn’t actually leave you full of bliss?”

“That’s not going to happen. He takes excellent care of himself and his mother is a—”

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