Page 110 of The Proposal
“Will do.”
“Later, goofy,” Gannon says.
“Bye, fucker.”
“Renn, I gotta go,” Bianca says. “Call me tonight if you want. I’ll be home around eight.”
“Thanks for letting me barge in here.”
“Anytime. Let yourself out.”
She pats me on the shoulder as she leaves.
I exhale a shaky breath and look at the tray ceiling. There’s so much to do, so much to work out … and all I want to do is go home to my wife.
Grinning, I get to my feet and leave.
CHAPTER23
Blakely
“That smells so good,” I say, taking the cake out of the oven and setting it on a rack to cool.
I feel like a character in a movie, bustling around the kitchen in the early evening. The ambiance is perfection. Enough sun hits the room to make it warm and cozy, but just shadowy enough to ease you from afternoon to dinner. The layout had to have been designed by someone who frequented kitchens because everywhere I turn to look for something—there it is.
And the appliances.I can be excited about appliances, after all.
The thought makes me laugh.
I sway to a honeyed voice coming from my phone, singing about flying them to the moon. The saxophones, trumpets, and piano fill the air with a soothing, sexy beat.
The day has been exactly what I needed. After Brock’s bombshell about the baby, I called Ella and named myself godmother before yelling at her for not telling me. Then I promptly started planning a baby shower. Is it too early? Yes. Am I excited? Also, yes.
I’ve always worried about how I would take this day—when my brother begins his own family. I was scared I’d be sad or lonely. Instead, I’m bursting at the seams.
I shut off the oven and start working on the chicken piccata.
After my call with Ella, I took a long soak with the best bubble bath I’ve ever used. The water felt amazing on my sore muscles, and I wound up falling asleep. I woke up to a delivery of clothes from Astrid. I felt like a princess.
I hope I don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.
A smile slips across my lips.I won’t. I know that won’t happen.
“It’s Renn,” I say simply, as if that explains my conclusion.
The music stops and is replaced by a ringtone. I set the salt and pepper down.
“Hello?” I ask, holding the phone to my ear.
“Is this Blakely?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Blakely. It’s Anjelica from Mason Music. How are you?”
Oh. I lean against the counter. “Hi, Anjelica. I’m great. How are you?”
“Not as good as you.” She laughs. “Congratulations on getting married. How exciting.”
