Being modern and mature enough to handle something unconventional?Now, that’s not too bad.
By the time I left the bar, I had a dozen voice memos on my phone and a plan forming in my mind.
Tonight, I’d tell Amelia about the promotion. About Paris.
And then I’d propose the arrangement that would change everything.
Temporarily, of course.
CHAPTER 2
Amelia
The kitchen table was covered in art supplies, homework sheets, and my laptop showing an order confirmation for twenty pounds of stoneware clay.
“Mom, I don’t get this one,” Noah said, tapping his pencil against his math worksheet with enough force that I worried about the pencil tip breaking.
“Let me see, buddy.” I leaned over his shoulder, scanning the word problems. “Okay, so if John has twenty watermelons—”
“I’m done!” Brook announced triumphantly, sliding her completed reading comprehension worksheet across the table. “Can I watch TV now?”
“After your dad gets home for dinner, sweetie.”
Brook groaned dramatically and slumped in her chair like I’d just sentenced her to a lifetime of homework.
I glanced at my laptop screen again, mentally calculating. Forty jewelry dishes and thirty vases for the PTA fundraiser next week. I’d already made about half, but that still left a lot of work. I’d have to pull another late night in my studio after the kids went to bed.
My pottery business started as a hobby three years ago. Just something to do with my hands while the kids were at school. But word had spread about my pieces, and now I had a steady stream of custom orders and commissions. Nothing that would put a major uptick on our income, and thankfully Mark was earning enough for us to live comfortably and luxuriously even if I didn’t work. But making pottery made me feel creatively satisfied and I loved the way I could transform a shapeless glob of clay into a magnificent work of art. More than anything, itmade me feel like I was more than just “Noah and Brook’s mom.” Not that being their mom wasn’t everything. It was. But sometimes...
“Mom!” Noah’s voice pulled me back. “Who even buys twenty watermelons? What’s wrong with John?” Brooke and Noah started laughing hysterically.
Right. John’s watermelons.
Twenty minutes later, homework was finally done, and I was updating my clay and glaze order when I heard the front door open.
“Daddy!” Brook shrieked, abandoning her coloring book and racing toward the entryway.
I looked up and saw Mark standing in the doorway, and I knew immediately.
The smile on his face—that particular smile, the one that oozes with mystery and boyish charm . The one that showed all his teeth, and made his eyes sparkle with joy—told me everything I needed to know. I still wanted to hear it from him.
“Did you get it?” I asked, already standing up from my chair.
Mark’s smile widened impossibly further. “Did I get what?”
“The promotion!” I laughed, moving toward him. “Come on, spill it!”
“Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air like a teenager who’d just scored a touchdown. “Head of Marketing!”
I ran the last few steps, and he caught me, lifting me off my feet and spinning me once. Our lips met, and I wanted to kiss him properly, deeply, the way we did when we made love, but—
“Ewwww!” Noah made exaggerated gagging sounds.
“Gross!” Brook covered her eyes dramatically, then reached over to clap her hand over Noah’s eyes too. “We don’t need to see that!”
Mark set me down, both of us laughing. That’s when I noticed the champagne bottle in his hand. It was the expensive kind with the gold foil wrapper that we only bought for special occasions.
He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “This is for later.” He squeezed my arm and we both smiled at each other knowingly. I felt heat creep up my neck. Later. Yes. It had been too long since we’d celebrated in theproperway.
