Page 87 of Stud

I was a minute from having a stroke. This was my grand finale. My swan song. My chance to leave a positive mark in women’s lives. And my friends were analyzing it.

I could only hope my new business would bring me as much joy as learning about wine brought Rachel, as much fulfillment as working at the adoption agency afforded Gwen. I hoped when reality set in with Owen and me, we’d truly be able to move past this painful speedbump.

For now, I fidgeted as my friends studied my website. When their silence became oppressive, I said, “Tell me if it sucks, already.”

Gwen stood, nearly sending Rachel tumbling to the floor when her side of the desk chair dipped. She motioned me over. My friends flanked me as we studied my fledgling start-up.

CHERISH

It was the seven-letter word for caring for something dear, namely ourselves. Pushing through the hard times—whether personal or health related—and finding beauty again. It also paid homage to the queen of reinvention herself, Madonna, whose music inspired many solo dance parties in front of my bedroom mirror, thanks to my mom’s CDs.

The homepage had a collage of client images, including one of Sherise at her son’s wedding, beaming in the blue halter dress that fit her curves like a glove. I had tiered packages from full closet overhauls, to accent bundles—affordable options where key purchases could elevate a wardrobe. I also offered style consultations, facilitating hair and makeup appointments.

My favorite was our Screw the Ex Special: Let us melt down your wedding ring and turn it into the design of your choice! I’d also planned to give each client a personal gift from Aazam’s Sweet Treats.

All I had to do was hit Publish.

Rachel kissed my cheek. “It’s wonderful.”

“So proud of you,” Gwen said.

I inhaled deeply, then sent my business into the world.

The marching band I’d expected didn’t show. No fireworks exploded. We stared at the unmoving screen, tapping our toes.

I shrugged. “I guess that’s that. Now you two mother hens need to clear the way so I can get to my man.”

Gwen did that observant thing of hers where she basically looked into my soul. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes.” Not a lick of hesitation.

Rachel did a little bounce. “Are you ready for love?”

I snickered. “That’s an Elton John song.”

“And your point is?”

“Yes, I’m ready—for him, for it all. I’m sure I’ll have my freak-out moments. We’ll just have to work through them. But if I don’t get in my car soon and kiss his beautiful face and neck and his entire body, I will implode.”

Gwen raised her hands in surrender. “I’d rather not witness that.” She swatted my behind. “Be gone with you.”

My drive to the Habitat build was a tad loopy. I belted out the words to every song I knew, not caring when another driver could see me. I danced in my seat. I was high. Crazed. Filled to the brim with my life changes and the knowledge that a super sexy man would soon get attacked by moi. The sight of his truck near the Habitat build had me humming the chorus to George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.”

I nearly jammed my toe into the curb as I hurried out my door…but I paused.

I hadn’t visited the Habitat site in a while. People were milling about, none I recognized, but the first grouping of six townhouses had been freshly stuccoed in a mix of pastels, small patches of grass and bright green bushes warming up the exterior. I’d been coordinating the audio systems with Nick and Felipe, installation organized for a few weeks from now. Families would move in this spring.

I couldn’t believe my hands had helped build those walls, that I’d had a part in changing someone’s life. It also meant more knowing Anton had put his mark on the project. We hadn’t seen each other since becoming non-enemies, but we’d both contributed to the community, together.

Feeling swathed in warmth, I turned my attention to the playground at the end of the street. My wacky energy from the drive returned. Owen was over there. So close, yet so far.

I speed walked. I ran. I raced the blowing clouds up above. My first glimpse of him stole my breath. He was tall and broad and handsome, pacing restlessly in front of our picnic table. He must have sensed me. Or maybe he heard me call, “Get over here!”

His head whipped my way, then he was moving, too. His jog pushed into a run that had us crashing into each other as he crushed me to his chest and spun me around. “So fucking sorry.” His fingers dug into my ribs, his other hand tangling in my hair as he hugged the stuffing out of me. “I’m sorry as hell I let you walk out that door. Sorry I brought Tessa into your life.”

I pawed at his back and shoulders, wanting to touch all of him at once, but there was something I had to do first. Still clutching him tight, I said, “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I should have trusted you. I do trust you.”

“But I should have given you time. Not shut down.”