Page 66 of Vodka and Chocolate Drops

“Are we dating?” she asked between kisses. She shifted her legs so they were in a sunny spot, folded over Scott’s.

“I want something real.”

This felt pretty real to her. Forever real.

“Isn’t this real?”

“Very real.” He kissed her again, the honey Dijon from the sandwich adding spice to their sweet, lingering kiss.

“So then?”

“Are you ready for forever?”

She tipped her head down, waiting for the tightness in her throat. It wasn’t there. Sunshine radiated from her core and she smiled. Scott brought her chin back up, his eyes watchful, his body still as though he might miss the most important moment of his life if he moved a single muscle.

“I love you.”

“Say it again,” he breathed.

“I love you, Scott.” Amber felt as though she’d just broken free of a decade’s worth of chains weighing her down. She trembled with relief. She’d said it! She wanted to jump up, lean over the railing and shout out to the town that she, Amber Thompson, was in love with her best friend, Scott Malone.

“As a friend?” he asked.

“As a forever friend.”

His shoulders fell before he caught himself, and she laughed. “I’m teasing you, Officer Malone. I love you as much more than a friend.” Her voice grew thick with emotion. “I can’t promise you forever, but I can promise you today and tomorrow and next week. Is that enough?”

“I want you, Amber. All of you.” His eyes were dark, a sign he was holding back.

“I know.”

He closed them for a moment, his jaw clenching. “But I’ll take whatever you can give me, as long as you give me your heart.”

“It’s already yours, Scott. It’s already yours.”

* * *

“Mom, we need to talk.”Amber closed her mother’s front door behind her, having completely missed catching her the day before. Gloria and Delia were sitting on the couch, bent over a magazine. “Delia, I need a moment with my mom. Actually, probably an hour. I’m sorry. I know I’m interrupting, but it’s important.”

“Can I wait in the other room?” Delia asked, rising from the couch cautiously. “Or…?”

“What’s going on?” Gloria asked, standing in turn, her brow furrowed as she watched Delia leave the room. “You’re being very rude.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Did I do something?” Delia asked from the kitchen doorway.

“No. I’m sorry, really. I just need to talk to Mom about Dad. Aka John Abcott. Please.”

Her mother paled, then sat heavily as Delia backed into the kitchen.

“We both know,” Amber said.

“I should have spoken to you sooner. Both of you.”

How could her mother have lived side by side with a man she loved, in a town this small, and never told him who her daughter belonged to? Amber couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to serve him regularly in the restaurant. Or to watch him be a father to Marisa. To keep such a massive secret from him. To deny so much.

“Is he really my dad?”

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