Page 49 of Baby I'm Yours

How cold…

But I’m not cold. I’m not sure I’m even broken anymore, I’m just different. I was forged in a different fire than most people, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want a lot of the same things. I would like to have a partner, a lover, a best friend to come home to and plan a future with.

And if she didn’t want a family, maybe Elaina could have been that person.

But she’s not, and that’s okay. At this point in my life, I know better than to make “perfect” the enemy of good. Neither one of us is going to find our forever in each other’s arms, but we might find things that are just as important.

“Thank you,” I tell Elaina as I deliver her coffee.

She studies me over the top of her washcloth as she finishes wiping her face. “For what?”

“For seeing things other people usually don’t,” I say, finding it easier to open up to her than I ever expected. “It gives me hope that maybe I’m getting better at showing those things.”

She pushes up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, sending another wave of sweet tightness through my chest. “I think you are,” she says as she pulls back, gazing up at me with a soft smile. “You’ve got potential Mr. M. We here at Fake-Girlfriends-Who-are-Now-Real-Girlfriends-But-Only-Until-it’s-Time-to-go-our-Separate-Ways, think you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.” She widens her eyes, her tone taking on that familiar sarcastic edge as she adds, “It’s not too late to find love with some child-hating monster like yourself.”

I laugh, swat her bottom, and head into my closet to find something to wear on my first date with my bratty newgirlfriend, feeling more optimistic about the future of my love life than I have in years.

And it’s all thanks to the woman humming “Hit me with Your Best Shot,” as she gulps down an even more obscene amount of coffee in my bathroom.

fourteen

ELAINA

Four days later…

The Sunday morningsun streams through Hunter’s floor-to-ceiling windows, basking my yoga mat in a golden glow that’s giving serious main character energy.

Which is fitting.

I’m feeling very “main character” after spending the past few days being spoiled rotten by my sexy boyfriend.

I’m sure most people wouldn’t consider riding bikes in Central Park, hitting all the best hole-in-wall restaurants for Thai and Indian food, or spending an entire day at Coney Island taking cheesy pictures and riding roller coasters being “spoiled rotten,” but I do. Hunter cut down to the bare minimum at work this week so he could spend as much time as possible with me.

With.Me.

As we’ve both learned the hard way, time is our most precious, irreplaceable resource. He’s lavished me with his, and for that, I am appropriately impressed.

I was especially touched by the seven hours at Coney Island. Carnival rides and boardwalks packed with screaming, sweatykids are clearly not Hunter’s favorite thing, but he didn’t complain. And I’m pretty sure he enjoyed himself on the Ferris wheel, even if he did spend the entire ride pointing out all the parts of the neighborhood that would be underwater by 2050 if serious infrastructure changes weren’t made to mitigate storm surge.

Sigh…he’s so hot when he uses words like “mitigate” and “infrastructure.”

We’ve done a lot of talking about his business this week, and I think I finally understand what a private equity firm does. We’ve talked about my future business ideas, too, and Hunter’s been a great help when it comes to pointing out potential cash flow pitfalls for various start-ups. He’s bought, reconfigured, and sold so many different kinds of companies that he has a wide swath of expertise.

He’s also an expert at shooting holes in my exciting new business-idea balloons with alarming regularity. But I like that he’s challenging me to come up with a venture that will stand out in a crowded marketplace, have longevity, and withstand the AI revolution that’s on track to eliminate so many jobs in the coming decades.

I know if I earn a “you could have something there,” from my hard-ass boyfriend, that I’m not wasting my time continuing to study and research.

So far, I haven’t settled on any one thing—I’m still in the brainstorming phase—but I’m in no big rush. Sweet Pussy Café is still turning a profit, even after hiring staff, so I won’t be destitute anytime soon. And for now, Hunter is insisting on paying for everything.

Including the ridiculously expensive 1940s Dior navy silk cocktail dress that I slip into after my shower. He bought it from a collector who’d had it wrapped in acid-free paper in a windowless room for thirty years. It’s in perfect condition, andI’m sure the fact that I’m actually wearing it outin the filthy, light-polluted worldwould give the collector an aneurysm.

But clothes are meant to be worn, especially gorgeous ones like this…

I smooth the silk lovingly over my hips as I check my reflection in the floor-length mirror in the closet. I’m evaluating whether a navy pump or a sandal is the best shoe choice, when Hunter appears behind me, like some kind of sweaty ninja.

I jump and exhale a startled sound, laughing as I meet his amused gaze in the reflection. “You scared me. Again. How are you so quiet when you walk? You’re huge.” I tilt my head to one side, offering him my cheek as he leans in for kiss, humming as the salty musk of a man fresh from the gym hits my nose. I even love the way this man smells when he’s sweaty, proving this crush is probably getting out of hand. “How was your workout?”

“Good. How was yoga?”

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