“Luke,” I say with a laugh. “What is this?”
“I have a confession, Milly,” he begins, but he doesn’t look at all remorseful. “I stole Troy’s lingerie.”
“You stole Troy’s lingerie?” I repeat. It’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.
“Yeah. That box of stuff he gave you, in your closet? I hated the idea that you still had underwear that Troy bought you. So I took care of it last weekend, while you were sleeping. Took the box out to my car and got rid of it.” He hands me the Negligée bag. “This is to replace it.”
I stare into the bag, which is full of delicate tissue-wrapped packages. “What, did you buy out the store?” I ask in disbelief.
Luke grins. “The saleslady had a very good day.”
I unwrap a tissue paper packet and find an exquisite blue lace bra, then stare at the tag in disbelief.
“Luke,” I breathe. “This is Simone Pérèle.”
“I don’t know what that means, Melissa.”
“The brand,” I say with a laugh. “It’s ridiculously expensive?—”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it, but . . . Luke, you must have spent a fortune!” If everything’s of this quality, there are thousands of dollars of underwear in this bag.
“Worth it.”
“But, Luke?—”
“You know, Milly,” he says with a mischievous smile. “A lot of doctors buy fancy cars when they get their first attending jobs, but I kept my Honda from residency. So I can afford to buy you fancy lingerie, and I’ll get a hell of a lot more enjoyment from it than I would from a car.”
“Luke, this is . . .” I stare at the tag again and see it’s exactly my size. My current size, that is, unlike the stuff Troy gave me. “How did you know what size to get?”
“I borrowed some underwear from your drawer,” he says with a shrug. “If it doesn’t fit, we’ll buy more.”
How I love this man.
“It’ll fit. It’s perfect. Thank you, Luke.”
His smile changes from mischievous to hungry. “Will you model it for me, Melissa?”
And I spend the rest of the evening giving Luke a private lingerie show.
EPILOGUE
MELISSA
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
“Melissa!”
I turn and see Julie Schroeder, my former next-door neighbor. “Hi, Julie.”
“It’sso goodto see you!”
Her expression tells me it’s not only good to see me, it’s also a shock and a thrill. A shock, because she didn’t expect to see me at my ex-husband’s wedding, enjoying the sunshine outside the church as we wait for the ceremony to start. And a thrill, because the smile on my face has her wondering if I plan to make a scene. If she’s really lucky, she might catch me spitting into the chocolate fountain at the reception.
But Julie won’t get lucky today, at least not in that way. I’m not planning to make any scenes, and the smile on my face is real.
“Good to see you, too, Julie,” I say brightly.
