Make Me Bad (Page 45)

“I don’t know…probably 50% about the mail and 50% about how this is a really big step in our relationship.”

“Seems completely reasonable. Do you want me to stop the mailman today and see if he can walk us through the procedure? Change of address, that sort of thing?”

“What?!” Her eyes are huge. “Oh my god, you can’t just initiate something like that. I haven’t even said yes. No, don’t—and don’t smile at me like you think I’m funny.”

She’s striding toward me now, finger wagging.

“I’m not.”

“You’re grinning. It’s ear to ear. Any bigger and your cheeks will split.”

“I’d wipe it away if I could.”

Truly, I can’t.

She’s right in front of me now, hands on hips. “Try.”

“There. Is it gone?”

“No, and now with your dimple, I’m going to faint. I’ve got to cover it up. There.” Her hand covers my right cheek. “You’re not even remotely as handsome as you were just a second ago.”

I stare down at her big green eyes and wonder how I managed to find such a weirdo to fall in love with. “The children are waiting for us,” I say, reminding us both.

“Is it already time to start?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes rove down my outfit. Ah yes, she wasn’t going to let me off easy on my last day.

“I feel so bad forcing you into this Darcy costume again. Believe me, I don’t like seeing you in it any more than you like wearing it.”

I’d believe her if her eyes weren’t gleaming. “You organize the story time,” I point out. “You rented the costume.”

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head, letting her fingers drag along the buttons on the shirt. She shivers as if just the sight of them turns her on. “It’s done by the city council.” She waves a hand in the air. “Years in advance.”

“Wow. I had no idea it was such a serious undertaking.”

I reach up to wrap my hands around her neck and tilt her head back. I want a good look at her. I want those lips against mine. There are screaming toddlers in the multipurpose room, but in here, it’s just us.

“Madison, move in with me,” I say, staring at her mouth.

I love when she wets her bottom lip in anticipation. She knows I want to kiss her, but I’m holding back. I need an answer first.

“Fine, if only because I know you stole my coffee pot and I’d like it back.”

“Done. Today, after story time, we’ll thank Mrs. Allen for taking you in during your time of need and then we’ll pack up your stuff. I’ll make you a cup of coffee as soon as we get to my place.”

“I’ll miss that apartment, truly.”

I laugh. “It has no hot water, no windows. Last week you called me in the middle of the night because you found a rat under the futon.”

She gags at the memory then catches herself and smooths out her face. She’s the picture of serenity as she continues, “Yes. Obviously, it had its faults, but it’s where I became a woman.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I blossomed into the mature adult you now see standing before you, flapping my wings of independence, owning my worth and conquering the world.”

“Inspiring, truly.”

“Thank you. Now that I’ve said all that, I’d really like to move in with you and please still accept me—and do you think we can get my stuff packed in an hour? I haven’t even taken my clothes out of the duffle bags because there’s a weird smell in that place and I’m worried it’s contagious.” She lifts her forearm to my nose. “Here, smell. I feel like it sticks to me even after I leave.”

I sniff. “You smell like my body wash.”

She blushes.

I can’t help but grin as I bring her closer. “God you’re so in love with me. It’s written all over your face. You wanted to use me to make yourself into a bad girl, and now what? You’re stuck with me, Hart.”

“Ugh. You’re squeezing me. I can’t breathe.”

“There. Better?”

“You just tightened your hold. I’m going to die.”

“Say you love me and I’ll let you go.”

“I love you!” she groans, fake gasping for breath.

I grin and then plant one on her before we start our very last story time together.

Epilogue

Madison

Three years later

A week shy of our first wedding anniversary, Ben surprised me with a trip. No details, no packing list, he just told me to be prepared for a long flight. After a little needling on my part, I did eventually get him to admit I wouldn’t need a big winter coat or anything. I think his exact words were: “Just pack bikinis.”

Oddly enough, I tacked on a few other items too: sundresses and sandals and big floppy hats. I had four paperbacks, but Ben thought that was excessive, so I compromised by bringing three paperbacks plus my Kindle. A girl has to be prepared.

He did a good job of keeping the secret from me. Even at the airport, he kept me from looking too closely at any of the monitors by pushing me along. When we were on the flight, he covered my ears when the pilot announced our final destination. I knew where I wanted him to take me, but I didn’t dare hope that was where we were actually headed.

I forced myself to be practical. Maybe we were going to visit London or Paris. Those places are amazing! Great! Everyone says so! Still, I had my sights set on Vernazza, one of the five seaside villages in the Cinque Terre region of Italy, which Eli made me swear I’d visit at least once in my life. I wanted it to be our final destination so badly, I could hardly believe it when we actually stepped off the plane in Rome with the sun blazing overhead and tourists everywhere.

I looked to Ben, mouth agape. “Are you serious? Are we really going to Vernazza?”

He looked at me like I was insane. “Don’t you remember when you got your tattoo? How you rambled on about me taking you here?”

I kissed him, hard. “Yes, but that was all a lie! A dream! I was just rambling because I was scared of how much the tattoo was going to hurt. I didn’t think you were actually listening to me.”

Turns out, he was.

From Rome, we caught train after train, each one a little smaller than the last. My excitement grew. I don’t think there was a single person in our path that I didn’t smile at or try to drag into a conversation.

“We’re going to Vernazza!” I said to the vendor who sold me a soda at the airport.

“Have you heard of Vernazza?! We’re headed there now!” I said to the train attendant checking tickets.

“Hi! Where are you headed? We’re going to Vernazza!” I said to the elderly woman sitting across from us on the second leg of our journey. She didn’t speak a word of English, but I could tell she was happy for me. Maybe. She did get up and switch seats awfully quickly. Probably just didn’t want me to see how jealous she was.

I never thought we’d actually arrive. The journey isn’t for the faint of heart. It felt like we’d been traveling for seven days and seven nights before I finally got my first view of the ocean. I slapped my hand against Ben’s chest.

“The ocean! Ben! THE OCEAN!”

You would have thought Clifton Cove was a mountain town with the way I droned on. It’s like I’d never laid eyes on a wave before.

When the small regional train pulled up to our station and we rolled our suitcases out, I cried upon first seeing the village. Ben assumed it was mostly due to my hormones. I’m right in the middle of my second trimester and if I so much as see a sappy commercial, I cry for a solid fifteen minutes.

He was wrong, though—Vernazza’s beauty would have made me cry with or without this baby girl in my belly.

“I can’t believe I’m here. I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M HERE!” I repeated over and over again as we made our way down the cobblestone lane.

Ben had searched high and low for the bed and breakfast I’d mentioned to the tattoo artist.

“It wasn’t easy,” he said. “It’s not as if these places have websites or anything. Everything here is a little old school. I only found the phone number after hounding Eli about it.”

He found it, though, and it was just as I imagined. Small. Quaint. Tucked right in the heart of Vernazza’s main town square. The view was split between the rolling waves hitting the breakers and the countryside sloping up behind the stacked buildings, each one a different pastel shade: blue, yellow, red, orange. Their facades were cracked and old, but their age only enhanced the beauty of the square. I wanted to cry again, but I kept it together.

Il Mare was painted on the plaster above the door.

When we strolled inside, a young woman with dark brown hair stood behind the main desk, arguing with the tall man beside her.

“Julianna loves kittens. You have to let her keep it! You’ll crush her if you insist otherwise.”

“She already has a cat. She doesn’t need another.”

“But it’s Mopsie’s child!”

He threw his hands up, defeated. “Child. Georgie, these are cats you’re talking about!”

Just then, a large white cat hopped up onto the desk, wagging its tail tauntingly. The woman—Georgie, it seemed—pointed to it. “See, he knows we’re talking about him.” She reached out to pet him lovingly. “Don’t worry, Mopsie, I won’t let this old bugger win.”