Page 175 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
When her boss found out, he lost his mind.
Turned out, B had earned their trust and respect. So much so that the thought of losing her drove them to put their thinking caps on and figure out a way to keep her.
And so, B became the first film rights representative for Rye Publishing, opening a small branch for them on the outskirts of L.A.
As for me? I was in the same boat. I thought I’d have to start at the bottom of a new accounting firm, work my way up again. And I was fully prepared to do it.
Until my dad handed me the keys to a small office space he purchased in Huntington Beach.
“It’s time to start a new legacy,” he’d told me, and just like that, I was in charge of our first expansion of the firm.
I was exhausted from unloading our U-Haul, back aching as I lowered myself to the laminate floor with a groan. I propped myself up against the wall, wincing as I tried to get comfortable.
B chuckled when she saw me. “You alright there, old man?”
I smirked, but before she could walk past me with that little attitude of hers, I reached out and captured her wrist in my hand.
“Get down here and I’ll show you old man.”
She laughed as I pulled her into my lap, and when she was seated, her arms wrapped around my neck like they belonged there always. I pulled her in for a long kiss, and then we sat there on the floor of our new house, boxes stacked all around us.
“So, we can get a big sectional and put it there,” B said, shifting in my lap so she could point out where she wanted the couch. “Mount the TV on the wall. I definitely want a record player. We can put it back in that little corner.”
She smiled, and I watched her tap her chin as she looked around pensively.
“We can clear out some space in the garage to put our surfboards and hang all our equipment. You can build a locker for us, can’t you?”
“Whatever you want.”
She smirked at me. “Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous statement.”
“It is. Sadly, I’m powerless when it comes to saying no to you.”
“Hmmm,” she mused, snuggling up closer to me. “Is that so?”
I kissed her nose in answer.
“Well, in that case, I want a bench built for under the big window upstairs,” she told me. “And I want to line the walls around it with so many books I’d never be able to read them all.”
I laughed.
“And… I want a rocking chair.”
“A rocking chair, huh?” I asked, surprised. “For the porch?”
She shook her head, suddenly shy as she looked at her finger and trailed it down the front of my shirt. “For the nursery.”
She peeked up at me through her lashes as I frowned, confused.
“The nursery? We don’t have a...”
I didn’t finish the sentence.
My heart thumped loud in my ears as B swallowed, her eyes searching mine, and she covered my hand as she moved it to rest on her stomach.
I let out a shaky breath, looking down at where I held her before my questioning gaze met hers, and I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe as I watched a small smile bloom on her lips.
“I’m pregnant, Jamie.”
The words hung suspended between us, and I blinked, over and over, not sure I heard her correctly.
And then I lost it.
I crushed B to my chest, wrapping her up so tight she laughed and made a joke about not being able to breathe. But I couldn’t let her go, couldn’t do anything but hold her tighter as I fought the urge to cry.
She was pregnant.
She was pregnant with my child.
It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, that realization, like being touched by an angel and thrown off a cliff at the same time.
“You look terrified,” B joked.
“I am.”
She laughed. “But wait, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” She grabbed my hand again, placing it on her stomach. “A wife, a house, and now… fill that house with kids?”
B smiled at me, waiting for me to tell her she was right. And maybe, had this been eighteen-year-old me, I would have.
But I knew the truth now.
“No,” I breathed, and B frowned, tilting her head to one side as I slid my hand along her cheek and into her hair.
“No?”
I shook my head, pressing a long, slow kiss to her lips before I whispered, “The only thing I’ve always wanted, B, is you.”
GOOD MORNING, MY BEAUTIFUL wife. And Happy Mother’s Day.
Today is all about you, my dear, and so I’ve taken the kids and run far, far away to give you peace. That being said, I know today is the last day I should be asking anything of you — especially since you run everything in this household, as well as the agency, day after day — but I have an assignment for you.
