Page 158 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Because this is where the dream began,” he told me quietly.
Then because neither of us had slept the night before—Gray because he was in an uncomfortable middle seat on the only flight he could get on such short notice, me because I was reeling from what I thought I’d lost—we’d lazed on the couch, action movies playing in the background as we napped the day away.
Now, our bellies have awakened, so dinner is in the oven and I’m doing what I do best— aside from writing, that is.
Baking.
“Yeah?” I ask, mashing the bananas.
“Thanks for not giving up on me.”
My heart pulses and I turn, weaving my free hand into his hair. “Promise to not give up on me back?”
“Never again, Red.” He brushes his lips over the sensitive spot behind my ear, murmurs, “You’re stuck with me.”
I lean more heavily against him, loving the scent of him in my nose, the feel of his body pressed to mine. “Sound like the perfect place to be.”
We stand there in peaceful silence until the timer goes. Then he pulls away, going to the oven to pull out the tray of lasagna. At the same time, my phone, which I only turned back on a few minutes ago, rings.
Since it’s Luna, I pick up the call. “How dare you?—?”
“Hush,” she says.
My formerly spent temper begins to boil up.
“Hush?” I ask. “Hush?”
“Yup.” Her tone is completely nonplussed. “Both of you were about to throw away the best thing you’ve ever had, so yes, hush. I did what I had to do.”
I blink.
Stare at my phone, expecting to hear something else. Like an apology.
Then—when I don’t—I blink again.
“Luna,” I begin. “You crossed a lot of lines.”
“Yup,” she says proudly. “I sure did. And I’d do it again. Because I love you, and you’re my family, and so is Gray, and I do what I have to do for my family.”
I still, fingers tightening around the fork I’ve been smashing the bananas with, her words rushing through me with all the force of a tsunami.
I’m not alone.
I won’t ever be alone again.
My throat tightens, eyes beginning to well up.
“Dammit, Luns,” I whisper, blinking rapidly.
“You both deserve to be happy,” she says, her tone going gentle.
God, I really love this woman.
I sniff.
She sniffs.
“Luna,” I begin, temper gone, love for her welling up. “I need you to know I?—”
