Page 12 of A Really Bad Idea

I can hear my mom’s vibrant voice, the one used for storytelling, as she weaves a tale about something that happened on their recent vacation. She’s leaning over and touching Mr. Romano’s arm as she laughs with her words. That’s my mom. She’s a toucher. And a busybody. And, while I’m kind of annoyed, it’s also impossible for me to be mad because I know she only pulls these little stunts because she cares.

When I turn back to Christian, he is standing with a rose against his chest. He must have snapped it from the nearby bush. He holds it out with a sincere grin. “Forgive me?”

The way he’s looking back at me with a sad puppy-dog expression has me tilting my head to the side and fighting a smile. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot,” he says with a devilish grin. “I came to save you. I can’t stay though. I have to be at the hospital in an hour.”

“You drove all the way here just to see me in my misery for twenty minutes?”

He picks a piece of lint off my shoulder. “Worth every minute in traffic.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I blurt, feeling a faint blush creep across my cheeks. “I mean, I could use a reprieve from my mother’s meddling. She brought me a pamphlet on egg freezing. Can you comprehend how mortifying that is? I’m turning into a washed-up, old hag who’s going to live with a house full of cats.”

“You’re not going to live with cats.” He sways his head from side to side. “Dogs maybe but definitely not cats.”

“I’m serious. I’m almost thirty-three years old, and now, I feel this rush to pick a suitor or else my eggs will disintegrate, and I’ll never be able to have children.”

“You know better than anyone that you have plenty of time to think about kids. Modern medicine lets women conceive well into their forties.”

“I know. But I would like to meet someone and start a family. That was the point of being married—until Brock had to be a prick and stick his dick in other women.”

“Hey now.” He pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and tucking me into his chest.

I wrap my arms around his body and inhale his scent through the crisp white button-down he’s wearing.

His chin rests on my head. “There’s someone out there for you, Meadow.”

From his mouth to God’s ears. “You sound so sure.”

Pulling back, he levels his eyes with mine. They’re soft and filled with purpose. “I promise, there is someone out there who will make all your dreams come true.” Christian glances over my shoulder toward the party members. “Maybe not any of these tools. Seriously, what was your mother thinking? These guys are the worst suitors for you. She should never play matchmaker.”

“Um, Christian, you’re here, too.” I wince.

With a pointed finger, he declares, “Case in point.”

I turn my face to the side, my long hair falling over my eye. As I run my fingers through the tendrils, pulling it back, I catch my mom and her friends watching Christian and me. “They’re staring.”

He places a knuckle under my chin, raising my gaze to meet the friendly expression shining back at me. “Do you know why they stare? They can’t stop looking at the brave woman who, despite having a fucking douche bag as a husband, stands here, beautiful, smart, and confident. They’re impressed. And that, my friend, is why they brought their sons here to see you. You’re quite the catch.”

His words caress over me like a ray of sunshine, and that dark cloud floats away. “I needed that.”

He gives me a warm hug, and I melt into it. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

We walk back to the deck where I join in and listen to my mom finish a story about the new restaurant she went to. When Dad comes back over, he’s holding a glass with a cute little umbrella resting against the rim.

I glance over to see Christian talking to Brian and Beth. His hand is inside one of the pockets of his slacks as his other hand skims his masculine jaw while he listens to Beth as she speaks. His tall frame towers over my brother, who is nearly as tall. There’s just something about Christian and the way he holds himself that makes him seem larger than life.

There’s a nudge at my shoulder as my dad leans into me. “Too bad you two are just friends. I’ve always said you’d make a fine pair,” he whispers into my ear.

I shake off the notion. “We’d make the worst couple. We’d probably kill each other.”

“I remember a day when you used to have a crush on that boy.”

“I never—”

“You were thirteen and followed him around like a puppy dog. Even convinced him not to date a few girls that year if I’m correct. I believe that was the year you told him Sally Romano had herpes.”

“I did not,” I say, hoping Frank and his parents didn’t hear that, but my dad is just glaring at me with an amused brow as he sips his Tom Collins. “Fine, I did, but I didn’t make that up. A very reliable source told me. That was two decades ago. My tiny crush on Christian Gallagher has long ago dissipated.”