Page 12 of New Year's Faye

“I believe a vibrator and my hand can take care of that.”

He leaned back in his chair, slipping his cell into his pocket. “Romance is wasted on you.”

“And the gravity of this situation is wasted onyou.”

My phone buzzed, and I hauled it out of my bra see my best friend, Hope's smiling face lighting up the screen.

"Don't freak out," I said by way of greeting.

"Too late." Hope's warm drawl practically dripped with amusement. "Your brother already text me—not that I needed the update, you’re all over the news. Married, Faye? To Sam? Really?"

I groaned. “I know, this is a disaster.”

"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting in Grandma's kitchen, it looks like you finally let yourself have something you wanted instead of something you planned."

I winced at the reminder. We normally spent New Years together, dancing off into the night. But her grandmother had experienced some health issues over the last year and Hope had agreed to move back to Peach Springs, a small town in Georgia, to care for her.

I missed Hope like crazy and despised that we didn’t get to hang out much anymore.

"That's exactly the problem! I don't do unplanned, Hope. I don't do spontaneous. I definitely don't do drunken Vegas-style weddings with my client!"

"First, it wasn't Vegas. Second, Sam's more than your client and we both know it."

More than my client? He was my friend, sure. A good friend. A great friend, even. But it was ridiculous of her to suggest he might be anything more. Absolutely positively ridiculous. He and I made no sense.

And yet…

I sank onto the bed, cutting him a look.

He raised his eyebrows, taking the hint. “I’ll just go get some coffee.”

I watched him leave, for some reason finding my gaze stuck to his ass.

Stupid concussion.

“Okay, I can speak. He’s stepped out.”

Hope chuckled. “See? He’s a good guy. You could have done worse.”

"He's my friend."

"Mmhmm. And how many 'friends' do you bake birthday cupcakes for at 3am because they mentioned once that a foster mom used to make them?"

My cheeks heated, memories of that night flooding back—me in my kitchen at an ungodly hour, exhausted but carefully measuring out ingredients because Sam had casually mentioned something nostalgic over lunch.

"That was... professional courtesy."

"Sure it was, sugar. Just like those late-night phone calls about his songwriting are 'professional development.'"

"Hope..." I didn’t have the capacity to consider this right now.

"I'm just saying, maybe this isn't the disaster you think it is. Maybe it's the universe giving you a chance to explore something new."

"The universe should mind its own business."

Her laugh was warm and familiar. "Love is the universe's business.”

“Says the romance novelist.”

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