In the quiet moments of the day she returned to the magic of his passionate kisses and practically shoved herself into the impossible idea of loving him.
Standing at the kitchen sink, Gemma looked up as a clap of thunder rattled the windows. Since John had gone, it’d rained almost every afternoon. One inhale of the fragrant, dewy air and there she was, back in his arms, her head pressed against his sculpted chest.
She wasn’t the only one missing him. Last night she found a newly mobile Chandler and ole Blue lying on the prince’s bed, their noses pressed against the blanket.
“I know, sweet boys. I miss him too.”
She’d returned Chandler to his siblings and sat with Blue for a while. Finally, she stopped procrastinating and made him get up so she could store John’s bed in the loft.
“We all have to get over him.”
The first few days he was home, he’d texted her throughout the day.
“Mum’s feeling better. They’re not sure what she’s fighting. A virus or bacteria? It’s all rather confusing.”
“The puppies are moving about???? I’m missing it. Send more videos. Stat. (That’s hospital speak for right now!)”
“Do you miss me? Of course you do.”
“Buck says I took the truck keys with me. Ha! I must return to HB and give them back.”
She responded with her own brand of jesting and sarcasm, sending videos of Justin snuggling Chandler.
But she’d learned better than to text when she was punchy and tired. She sent this to him around 1:00 a.m. after caring for a sick Miss Frances.
“Since you’ve gone, I can’t breathe. Come home and be my oxygen.”
“P.S. That was a line from a horrible play I was in my second, maybe third, year in LA. I keep trying to forget but bad lines resound as much as good ones.”
She was mortified when she reread it the next morning. One, because she sent a line with so much subtext. Two, because she opened the door to talk about L.A.
But his reply eradicated her fears.
“I’m thrilled you didn’t come up with that ghastly line yourself. Your humanity is redeemed.”
“Sorry about that weird text. I was up with Miss Frances.”
“No worry.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you. Ran into Scottie in Java Jane’s. She said she was sorry she didn’t get to say goodbye. Maybe she’s softening to her royal roots.”
“Gemma?” Imani leaned against the kitchen counter. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Are you in love with the prince?”
She looked up and out the sink window. “What? No. We’re friends. Nothing more.” Gemma rinsed the spaghetti pot and settled it in the drainer.
“If you were, like, would you move to Lauchtenland? What about me?”
Gemma dried her hands and motioned for Imani to sit at the table. Opening the fridge, she retrieved two ice cream bars she’d picked up from Pops Yer Uncle on her way home. On her way out she’d snarled at their First Place Three-Legged Race trophy.
“First, let’s not invent a scenario to worry about. Second, you are my priority. Always. Any man who wants me has to love you.” Gemma peeled away the wrapper and bit into the chocolate and caramel swirl. Pops was the best. Simply the best.
“B-but what if he doesn’t? I’m not technically your daughter. I’d certainly not be his.” Imani stared at her ice cream bar without interest.
“Do you think I could love a man who would not love you? Imani, look at me. It’s not an option. We are a package deal.”
