Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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I'd forgotten how much I like this city.
I'll always be a Carolina boy, but L.A. never felt like a road stop. Not really. Out here, nobody's paying close attention – half the city's famous, the other half acts like they are, and I get to disappear somewhere in the middle.
First time I pitched a major league game was here – against the Dodgers. Seventh inning, pitch count creeping higher, arm starting to feel it. I walked off the mound expecting nothing, and still – forty thousand people on their feet. Not for either team. For me.
Didn't make sense then. Still doesn't.
I glance over at Delaney as she leans into the open door, thanking the driver in that soft, sweet voice she uses when she's being polite but not trying. He's smiling like she just handed him something he gets to keep.
Trust me, buddy. I get it.
I shut her door and circle around, sliding into my seat just as the car pulls away from the curb. By the time I look over again, she's already turned toward me, absentminded, twisting the ring on her finger.
The same one.
I had to mow every lawn on Magnolia Lane to pay for it. Mrs. Calloway paid me extra because I edged her driveway without being asked. Mr. Jenkins complained the whole time that I was doing it wrong and still paid me ten bucks over my asking price when I finished.
Didn't matter. I would have done twice as much to see the look on her face when I gave her that ring.
Back then, it wasn't about how it looked. It was what it meant – I was asking her to stay. Not just then. Longer than that. Longer than we had any right to promise at that age.
She turns, catching me staring before I can look away.
I drag my hand across the back of my neck and shift in my seat. "So... spa day worth it?"
"It was. Thank you." Her whole face lights up as she smiles, and it's beautiful. "I had this exfoliation thing done. I swear my skin's never felt better."
She stretches her arm across the seat, resting her hand comfortably on my thigh like it always goes there, lifting her eyes just enough to look at me through her long black lashes.
"Wanna feel?"
I start at her shoulder, then slide my hand down her arm, slowly, until my fingers wrap around her wrist.
"Yeah." They tighten for a second before I ease my grip. "You weren't lying."
Her mouth curves like she knew what that would do to me, and she turns back toward the window, watching the city pass like she didn't just shift the temperature in the car.
My hand stays where it is a second too long before I let go, pulling it back to my own lap like I've got some kind of control over it.
