Page 120 of The Love Losers

He gets as close to rolling his eyes as Anthony Rosings Smith is ever likely to come. “I can do it myself. I did a pretty good job of it yesterday.” He hands me the keys. “Here, you wait in the car.”

I do, and a few minutes later he slides into the passenger seat. He looks surprised but not pissed off, which is a relief. We’ve had enough trouble, thank you very much. “Good news?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “He accepted my offer. He’s going to take over the company and rename it.”

“And use your money,” I grump.

“I was hoping he would.” His smile is mischievous. “I learned from the best. Give them what they want so you get what you want. I didn’t want him to give us any trouble about the inheritance. He’s the executor of my father’s will.”

I gasp. “You stone-cold genius.” I pull him close so I can kiss his grin, and then I start the car. “We’re going on an adventure.”

Anthony checks his phone again, his lips pursing.

“What? You don’t have to work today, do you?”

“I’m going to help him with the transition, but not this week. You and I have somewhere to be at noon, though.”

“I can work with that,” I say.

And then I bring him to the paint and sip mimosas class I signed us up for to make up for the paintball debacle. Of course, I get us kicked out at the end for throwing paint at Anthony when he mistakes a building I painted for a dick.

After we leave, he takes my very shitty painting and arranges it in the back of his car, where it will almost certainly leave marks all over everything. The way he clearly doesn’t care tells me a lot about how much he loves me.

He wasn’t even going to bother to take his painting home, but I insisted I was going to hang it up in our kitchen someday.

“It’s perfect for the kitchen,” I insist as I nestle it next to mine. “Everyone has a bowl of fruit painting. It’s like something they issue to married people with the license.”

He grins at me. “Too bad it’s a bowl of paint ball pellets.”

“Even better.”

“You know,” he says, shutting the trunk of the car and wrapping an arm around my waist. “It’s truly a miracle you haven’t been arrested again.”

“I know, right? I’m almost tempted to try now that it doesn’t matter so much anymore.”

“How about you don’t?” he says with a smirk. “I’m going to make the executive call to dis-include that from any and all future bucket lists.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’d prefer never to spend another evening with Officer Nutman.”

I press a finger to his lips. “Not another word. He’s like Beetlejuice. If you say his name three times, he’ll appear.”

He kisses my finger, then nods to the car, his gray eyes serious again. “Get in. It’s almost time.”

My eyes widen, and giddiness spreads through my chest. Ilovegood surprises—bad surprises can go blow a big one, but good surprises are like ice cream sundaes for the soul.

“Anthony, what did you do?”

He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

He doesn’t tell me to close my eyes, but I do. Because I can feel the fun of it fizzing all the way through me.

He gives me updates. Five minutes. Three. Then he turns on “Time After Time,” and I laugh with glee.

“Does that mean it’s time? Can I open my eyes?”

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