Page 91 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

I nodded. “Yeah, do you think it’s something you’d be interested in?”

“Does Howdy Doody have wooden balls?!” She threw her arms around me in a hug.

I hugged her back. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

My phone vibrated on the counter, and my heart skipped a beat. Lately, it had been the default whenever I got a notification because I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance it was from Declan.

I picked it up and when I saw it was Declan, I couldn’t help the automatic smile that spread on my lips. It was an involuntary response—a knee-jerk reaction. He was checking to make sure I got the paperwork and asking what I was wearing. The “what-are-you-wearing” question was a running joke…sort of. He’d asked once because he’d FaceTimed me when I was with Luna, and we were dressed up as beekeepers for a school science project she was working on. It was the first thing he asked, and now he asked as a joke every time he texted or called. Although I’d noticed that lately, he’d gotten a little bit flirtier than he had been. I liked it—a lot.

“Uh oh.” Nadia voiced the sound of doom as she mimed her hands playing a piano or organ. “Dun, dun, dun, dun.”

My brow furrowed. “What?”

“You are in love with him.”

“What?” I repeated.

“You’re in love with your husband.”

“No, I’m not.” I quickly denied the accusation.

Her head tilted to the side as her eyes narrowed. “Who just texted you?”

“Why?”

“Who texted you?” she demanded.

“Declan, but?—”

“No buts about it, baby. You have cartoon hearts floating around your head. You are in love with him.”

“No, I’m not?—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “There are worse things than being in love with your husband.”

“I’m not, and he’s notreallymy husband.”

“I hate to break it to you, but hereallyis. In the eyes of the law and the man upstairs.” She pointed up.

“You know what I mean. This is temporary.”

“Only if you want it to be.”

I never should have told Nadia that Declan had made it clear he would be open to staying married to me. It was a moment of weakness after we’d had a few glasses of wine at our last reality TV binge-watching session.

“I don’t love him,” I maintained. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince, myself or Nadia.

“Yes, you do, and it’s not a bad thing.” She extended her arms out like a showcase model onThe Price is Right.“He’s clearly into you; see exhibits A-F. He’s hotter than Georgia asphalt, richer than Scrooge McDuck, gives you better orgasms than your vibrator, and he put a ring on it, so he’s not afraid of commitment. I do not see what the problem is.”

“He doesn’t believe in love.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “In the immortal words of Ms. Tina Turner, what’s love got to do with it?”

Everything. I sighed internally. That was the problem. For me, love haseverythingto do with it.

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