Mrs. D blinks. “A nonprofit?”
“Yeah. Something for single moms who are trying to get back on their feet. My mom used to take me to help at shelters when I was younger—it stuck with me. I want to do something that matters.”
Her expression softens. “That’s wonderful, dear.”
“I figure if I’m going to be married for a year, I might as well do something good with it.”
She tilts her head. “A year?”
I nod. “That was the deal.”
Her eyes gleam. “Did he agree to that deal?”
“I—” I stop, replaying that conversation in my head. Langston, smirking, not answering, leaning in to kiss me instead.
Oh no.
Mrs. D bursts out laughing. “Oh, honey. You’re in trouble.”
I groan, grabbing a notepad and pen from the nightstand. “Then help me plan my escape route—or my nonprofit, whichever comes first.”
“Nonprofit first,” she says with a grin, settling beside me as Olga hops into my lap. “You’ll need a name, a cause, and a husband who doesn’t realize he’s funding it yet.”
I laugh, flipping open the notebook. “Good thing I married a man who loves a challenge.”
“Correction,” Mrs. D says, patting my knee. “You married a man who is one.”
It’s just after lunch when there’s a knock on the door.
Mrs. D and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor, papers spread across every available surface like a hurricane of ambition hit my apartment. Olga’s asleep in a sunbeam, snoring softly, and I’m halfway through explaining how “Operation Empower Moms” might sound too much like a yoga retreat when the door opens.
Langston steps inside, holding two brown paper bags. His eyes sweep over the chaos—and the two of us in the middle of it—and his brows lift.
“Well,” he says, voice low and amused, “I see all the packing’s going according to plan.”
I grin. “Perfectly.”
Mrs. D looks him over like he’s dessert and leans toward me. “You didn’t tell me he was this handsome.”
Before I can stop her, she stands up—well, more like unfolds herself—and Langston, ever the gentleman, steps forward.
“You must be Olga,” he says, offering his hand.
For a heartbeat, the room goes completely silent.
And then it happens.
I lose it.
The laugh bursts out before I can hold it back, loud and uncontrollable, echoing off the walls. Mrs. D’s face turns beet red as she starts laughing too, bending over like she’s about to cry.
Langston blinks, totally thrown. “What—what did I say?”
Still laughing, I scoop Olga off the floor and hold her out toward him. “Langston, meet the real Olga.”
He looks at the tiny dog, back at Mrs. D, and then at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I manage between giggles.
