Page 138 of Desperate Actions

I settle deeper into the plush couch, letting the warmth of their energy surround me, filling up the spaces inside me that have been restless and uncertain ever since I married Sammy.

This is good.

This is real.

And I love it.

By the time the last spring roll, garlic knot, and bao bun have been devoured, we migrate to the massive living room.

It’s a stunning space, no doubt about that—huge, round, and lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling brick patio.

The patio is clearly an extension of the kitchen’s outdoor space, a seamless flow between the two, but despite its beauty, there’s something clinical about the room.

Like it’s not lived in.

Like Sammy doesn’t really use it.

And I don’t like that.

I want this room to feel warm. I want it to feel likeours.

So, as I glance around, taking in the neutral furniture and the lack of personal touch, I start mentally decorating.

Plans take shape in my head. Cozy throw blankets, oversized pillows, some vibrant, hand-picked art pieces, a bookshelf stocked with stories Sammy and I can curl up and read together.

I will put my stamp on this place.

I will make this house feel like home.

For both of us.

Michaela flops onto the couch beside me and snatches up the remote, wiggling her brows mischievously.

“Okay, so here, I got you something,” she says, and hands me a small gift bag.

I know she was critical of me and Sammy getting together in Vegas and maybe this is her idea of an olive branch.

So, I take it, and I’m surprised when I see a fancy notebook and pen inside. The paper is special. Color-coded. The markers are fine point, but the ink is bold and black.

“Now, I know you like to do things your way, but I was hoping this would help you while you contemplate what changes you want to make to the house.”

“Oooh, is that like an interior design planner?” Leanna asks excitedly and I hand it to her.

“Thank you so much, Micky. I love it.”

She’s pregnant and emotional, but I’m still a little surprised when she pulls me in for a hug and sniffles.

“I’m so sorry I was an ass in Vegas. I am really very happy for you both.”

“It’s okay, Micky,” I tell her.

“Okay, no more of that. You’ll have me balling next then my nose will puff up like a freaking balloon,” Clem scolds and sniffs loudly.

“Okay, okay.” Micky grins. “Now, I’m a city condo girl,” she says, scrolling through the streaming services, “but I’m obsessed with this home improvement show.”

She quickly findsFrom Wreck to Stunningand hits play.

The second the intro starts, Andrea lets out a knowing snort.

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