Page 124 of Flirting with 40

“How the hell did we get here, huh?” he asks and presses a kiss to the top of my head. I close my eyes and revel in everything he makes me feel: safe, loved, cared for, respected, and whole.

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell wouldn’t change a thing.”

“There was something about you that first night, you know?” he says, his voice thick with emotion that has me looking up at him. “It was like I walked in and saw this gorgeous woman drinking a whiskey, and I was intrigued. Then you had the gall to ignore me.”

“I was making you work for it,” I tease, remembering how pissed I was that he didn’t leave me be.

Thank god he didn’t.

“The funny part is this has been the most effortless thing I’ve ever had to work at in my life. It just is with you, Blakely,” he says as I press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Before you, I thought there would have to be a trade-off—either a woman or my job. It is a demanding one, and I didn’t think I could give one hundred percent to both . . . but I was dead wrong. What I didn’t realize is that having you beside me makes work even better because I have someone to come home to at night. I have someone to share things with.”

“Where is all of this coming from?” I murmur as lights in the grass between where we’re sitting and the lake start to flicker to life.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’m just realizing how grateful I am that you put up with my crazy, spontaneous ideas like taking a ride to the mountains when I know you hate them. Maybe it’s knowing that something I did put a smile on your face or feeling your kiss on my shoulder when you wake up and slide out of bed to let me get a few more hours of sleep.”

I repeat the same thing I tell myself all the time when it comes to Slade: he’s too good to be true.

And he is.

Thank god he’s mine.

“You know,” I say as more solar lights illuminate, “if you want to get in a tit-for-tat conversation about all the ways you’ve made me happy, I’d be more than willing to go there, but I think we’d be out here all night.”

“Perfect. The porch swing. Wine. A—”

“Mosquitos,” I say, and we both chuckle as a cricket to the right of us begins to chirp. “We could make a list then. Compare notes. You know, typical date-night behavior.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart, offering up list making as a romantic pastime.”

“What can I say, you’ve converted me.”

He clears his throat. “There’s only one thing left on my list right now.”

“Oh really? What’s that? Sex on the patio with the crickets watching?”

His smile pulls up one corner of his mouth. “Not a bad idea, but not the one I had forefront in my mind.”

“You’re turning down sex? Geez. Eighteen months and the spontaneity and passion are gone,” I tease.

“Not gone.” He chuckles softly. “They’re only just beginning, Blakely.”

“What?” I turn to look at him. There’s emotion welling in his eyes, and I see he’s holding something out to me. “What is . . .” but the words fade as my fingers hold the worn and tattered napkin from Metta’s all those months ago.

And I choke over a surprised sob when I see the last line item.

Blade’s To-Do List:

Make Paul regret he ever let you go.

Figure out our history: when we met, how long your legs really are, pet peeves, etc.

Make Horrible Heather see you differently.

Win your co-workers over by being fucking awesome.

Convince everyone we are madly in love and meant to be.

Get the promotion.