Holly’s hand covers her heart. “Aww, I love that for you, honey. Now that we have a kid, we’re usually exhausted by the time we’re finished, so I’m happy to get a smack on the ass and agood job, babe.”
I giggle because that sounds exactly like something my gruff brother would do. Holly covers a yawn with her palm, and I bring my face closer to the screen. “Why don’t you go get some husband cuddles and try to fall back asleep.”
Her eyelids droop a little, and she nods. “Sounds good. Thank you for talking me through my breakdown. You’re one of the only people who understands how it feels to have been there.”
“I know, sweetie. And you can call me any time.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “You know, one good thing came from Evie’s disappearance.”
Holly tilts her head in thought before a soft smile crosses her rosy lips. “I wouldn’t have met your brother if he hadn’t driven you to that TV interview we did after she went missing.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “And you know Evie would have totally taken credit for you two meeting and getting married.”
Holly’s smile turns sadly nostalgic. “She would be the best honorary aunt in the world.” She yawns again.
“Go,” I order. “Husband snuggles. Now.”
“Maybe I can wake him up and get him to wear me out to the point of exhaustion,” she suggests with an eyebrow wiggle.
“Go for it. Just don’t tell me the deets.”
“You loved hearing about my exploits when we were in college,” she argues with a teasing frown.
“That’s before your exploits includedmy freaking brother,” I point out.
“He is a freak,” she adds cheekily, and I groan.
“Go away, brother fucker.”
“Bye, Sir Forearms fucker.”
Once we disconnect, I stare at the blank screen of my phone, a sense of envy settling on my shoulders. Holly is probably curled up with her husband right now, taking comfort in not being alone.
And I’m here. By myself in my cottage.
Before I can think about it, my thumbs tap out a message to Reno.
Juliette: I miss you.
I immediately want to take it back.Shit! Stupid, stupid, stupid.That sounded so needy. My brain scrambles to remember how to unsend a message. My younger brother, Xander, showed me once. He’s the tech-y one in the family.
My thumb presses against the dumbass message I’d just sent, and a menu pops up. I’m about to hit theUndo Sendoption when a knock sounds on the back door a few feet away. My head whips around.
“Who the hell?” I murmur, but then I know.Or is that hope?
Setting down my phone, I cross to the sliding door and pull back the vertical blinds to reveal one very large hockey player standing on my back porch. In his goddamn underwear.
Disengaging the safety bar and lock, I yank the door to the side. “Reno…”
But he doesn’t give me time to say much more than that because he barges in like a bull, lifting me from the floor with his big arms before charging toward the bed.
“Fuck rule one,” he snaps before tackling me to the soft mattress.
Happiness fills my soul as Reno begins to rip my pajamas from my body.Oh hell yes.
Fuck ruleone, indeed.
Turns out the big bull is a cuddler. I awake at dawn on Saturday morning to the feel of a hard body plastered to my back, a tree trunk of a thigh draped over my hip, and a hand holding my left boob hostage.
At some point in the night—between rounds three and four, I think—Reno got up and closed the door, which he unceremoniously left open when he did the whole hot tackling thing. But he forgot to close the blinds, so the first gossamer strands of sunrise are now slinking into the dark room.
