Page 13 of First Love, Second Draft

“Oh my. Who can even remember that far back?” Shorty said with a chuckle.

Matt tugged on his hat, forcing a tight smile. “Not me, that’s for sure.” Especially when it came to one of his biggest regrets.

6

Gracie clutched her knees together beneath her robe and stared at the buttery rays of morning sunlight melting onto the living room floor as she mentally calculated the number of steps to the bathroom. Fifteen. Twenty, tops. “Pick up, Mona. Pick up.”

The walking wasn’t actually too bad. She could almost nearly completely handle that part somewhat entirely independently on her own. Sort of.

But the whole transitioning from a sitting position to a standing position and vice versa? Gracie couldn’t even attempt to come up with enough adverbs to fool herself about accomplishing that feat on her own. She needed help. Lots of help.

Which is why she really needed her sister to pick up the phone.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gracie said, starting to rock back and forth by the time Mona answered. “My bladder is two minutes away from bursting, so please tell me you’re less than two minutes away from the house. Otherwise there’s going to be a serious crisis situation involving my favorite undies.”

“Final boarding all passengers. Final boarding all passengers.”

“What was that?” Gracie pressed the phone hard against her ear. Her sister, not one to ever be at a loss for words, breathed into the phone like a woman at a loss for words.

“Mona, say something.”

“I’m not sure what to say. Other than I’ll be back sometime by the end of next week, and I really hope you get that undie crisis resolved by then.”

“What? You didn’t cancel your flight? You’re still going to that conference? I’m your sister. How can you leave me like this? I’m completely helpless.” Something she would never admit to anyone but Mona.

“You’re not completely helpless. Matt promised to stop by. Noah’s right next door. That FedEx lady that dropped off a package last week will probably be around again at some point too.”

“And none of them need to be pulling down my underwear and helping me sit on the toilet.”

“Gracie, listen. I know you don’t want to hear it, but this is exactly why I tried telling you to go into that rehab facility. The workers there love helping people pull down their underwear to sit on toilets.”

“I don’t need a rehab facility. I need my sister.”

“And I need this conversation to end. People are giving me strange looks. Grab some scissors and cut them off. I’ll be back in a few days. Love you.”

“Love you too. But for the record, I’m only saying that in case your plane crashes. I’m actually really mad at you.”

“Duly noted.” Mona gasped. “Oh, I know. Call the boys at the firehouse. I’m sure they’d—”

Gracie ended the call. She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, the pressure in her bladder filling.Gah.Was she seriously thinking about asking Noah to help her?

No. Absolutely not. Not when she’d decided her only means of survival around that man was to play the role of an ice queen.

And everybody knew the golden rule of playing an ice queen. Thou shall not let thy ex-husband anywhere near thine underwear even if a small part of thee still finds thou stupidly attractive. Or something like that.

The phone rang. Without looking, she tapped the screen. “Please tell me you changed your mind.”

“Not completely, but I might soon.”

Gracie gripped the edge of the couch. Not her sister. Simone. Her agent. “Did you get a chance to read my manuscript? I know it’s a little rough and the ending needs some work.”

“Oh, I read it all right.”

Gracie held her breath, her nails digging into the soft fabric of the couch.Please say it’s better than you expected. Please say it’s brilliant. Please say you love it. Please say anything but—

“It’s a disaster.”

—that.

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