Page 166 of Breathe Again

I snorted, amused and dismayed in equal measure. “Fat.”

He squeezed. “Prime.”

I laughed and rolled from our bed. We had our coffee on the bench in the backyard, sitting close, his free hand on my thigh. Olivia and I had worked hard over the past several weeks, the flower beds were lush and fragrant.

In this part of our yard, we had full shade in the morning. But by lunchtime, sunlight would flood the gardens, setting fire to the reds, and oranges, and yellows of my marigolds. The lowly marigold, so unpretentious, so willing to show its true colors, the little flowers spread like moss for me, not a corner of my gardens failed to boast their cheer. Their fire would be better displayed later when the sun rose higher in the sky. For now, the birds lined the feeders, dotted the yard, perched in the hedges, and flew from tree to tree, calling and singing to each other, brightening the summer morning like celebratory confetti.

The trees were those we had planted when Olivia was born, trees whose growth marked the passage of time. Sometimes I got the fearful sense that time was running out, but in this moment, standing straight and tall, their branches arching gracefully to spread across the sky, they represented growth, strength, and resilience, and that we had in spades.

“We should have everybody over here soon. I want to share my flowers, I want to get to know the twins better, and I want to start hosting again.”

He dipped his chin. “So long as you don’t overdo it. You want to have a barbeque?”

I nodded. “Next weekend? Saturday night? I think that will be good because the week after that is the twins’ birthday and we’ll be at Bex and Rhys’s place.”

“Come here.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close to his side. “It’s a plan.”

Bex and Rhys were just sliding into the bench seat at our table when Zale and I walked into the diner.

“You got a seat right away?” I raised my eyebrows at Bex.

“No, we got here about twenty minutes ago, so it would be ready for ten,” she answered as we took our seats across from them.

I’d been dying to come here, the locale of the infamous raincheck. On one of their earliest dates, Bex and Rhys went out for breakfast at the West End Diner and ran into Rhys’s ex-fling. She made a play, in front of Bex, to get him back, and Bex was pissed.

Bex’s mouth ran unpredictably when she was riled, and this occasion was no exception. She claimed Rhys right back and when he praised her for it, while still angry, she offered to let him fuck her against the side of his truck, to ‘seal the deal.’ He took a raincheck.

He claimed it, too.

“So, this is the place, right?”

“Shut up, Mara. Don’t remind me. Payback was a bitch.”

I laughed. “No, it was not, I distinctly remember you telling me just how much you enjoyed payback.”

She pursed her lips together and looked away from me. She swung her gaze toward Rhys to find him grinning at her.

“Sweetness,” his husky voice shook with amusement, “you talk too damn much.”

I looked around the table to find Zale rubbing his face, Rhys grinning at Bex, and Bex pursing her lips, fighting to stay serious. She lost the battle and laughed, too much joy in her heart to be contained. My heart bubbled over, and I laughed too, reaching for Bex across the table, happy for her.

She grasped my hand and snickered, then leaned back to get something on the seat beside her and passed me an Indigo gift bag.

“I got you something this morning.”

The heat hit my cheeks, always a little thrown off when someone did something sweet for me. The shame of unworthiness swept over me like a giant red wave, coloring my chest on its way up to my cheeks.

“What? Why?” I stalled for time, trying to acclimate to the assault.

“Because I want to see what you’ll do with it.”

I looked down, a chance to escape her gaze, and opened the bag.

“It’s for your novel.”

It was a journal, almost the same as the one Rebecca bought herself the year before, midnight blue with specks of silver, a silver ribbon embossed on the cover and an actual silver ribbon thread through the pages. Unworthiness warred with gratitude, and I chose to focus on gratitude.

“It’s beautiful, Rebecca.” I swallowed at her thoughtfulness, and against the exposure.

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