The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,643

ours to the elevator.

“Thanks again for doing this,” she says after pressing the call button. “You’re a saint. Truly.”

I ignore her praise because I’m far from a goddamned saint. “So … was going to ask you … what do I say when someone asks who I am to you?”

The elevator arrives and we step inside. Love makes a gagging face. “Labels are stupid. Just tell them it’s none of their business.”

I smirk. “Seriously though. I can’t say that to your family. What do you want me to tell them?”

Love presses the button for the lobby and shrugs. “Just say you’re my friend.”

The doors close.

“Is that all this is?” I ask. “A friendship?”

She turns to me, her liquid hazel eyes resting on mine. “Honestly, I’ve been having way too much fun to even think about what I’d call this.”

We step off the elevator a moment later, and I follow her through the lobby and out the revolving door where we wait for our ride beneath the black awning outside The Jasper.

“We’ve been on several dates,” I say. “We’ve had sex more times than I can count. And I’m not seeing anyone else … are you?”

“No,” she says.

“I’m pretty sure that means you’re dating me.”

Love’s nose crinkles but her eyes shine. “Is that what that means?”

Releasing the handles of the bags, I slip my arm around her waist and pull her close. “That’s exactly what that means.”

Twenty-Three

Love

* * *

“You can park here,” I say to Jude as we approach my childhood home in our rented Chrysler. For some insane reason, my palms began to sweat as soon as we got off the plane. I have no reason to be nervous, though maybe it has something to do with the fact that just a few hours ago, Jude informed me that I’m dating him, which means I’m about to introduce him to my family as the guy I’m dating, and I’m not prepared for their eleventy-million questions. Putting people on the spot is what my family does. They have it down to a science.

Unfastening my seatbelt, I climb out and eye the front door.

“It used to be blue.” I frown as I try to determine if Mom painted it purple or magenta, because it’s hard to tell from this angle and in this sunset lighting.

“What’s that?” Jude asks as he comes around the front of the car and takes my hand.

“Nothing.”

“You nervous?” he asks.

“Nope,” I lie. “You should be though.”

He laughs.

“I told you. My family wrote the book on crazy. Yours’ll be a cakewalk. So relax,” he says when we reach the front stoop. Turning to face me, he gives me a quick and proper peck on the forehead before we head in, so unexpectedly respectable it makes me laugh.

“Hello … we’re here,” I call out once we’re inside.

A cocktailed fragrance of fresh flowers, fabric softener, mint, and cinnamon potpourri wafts around in the same entryway I’ve traipsed through thousands of times before. We kick off our shoes on the same multi-colored rug Mom’s had forever and I spot Jude leaning down to inspect a photo of my sister and me as gap-toothed kids posing with Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. Cameo’s pouting because she has to share the spotlight with me and I’m grinning ear to ear, just grateful to be there because I’d waited my entire life (eight years at that point) to meet my idol.

“That her?” he asks, pointing to the pigtailed girl with tear-stained cheeks and folded arms standing a good foot away from a costumed Mickey.

“Yup.”

“Awesome.” He takes my hand and we share a smirk … like he just gets it.

Voices trail from the kitchen, and judging by the cars parked out front, all three of my aunts are here as well as my Grandma Berta. And of course, I couldn’t miss Cameo’s shiny red Range Rover in the mix.

Heading for the kitchen, we find everyone gathered around our old oak dining table, gabbing away while they have some sort of centerpiece assembly line thing going on. Over at the island, Grandma Berta is making mints shaped like wedding bells.

As soon as they notice us, the commotion stops and Aunt Edie shrieks.

“Love!” Aunt Edie pushes her chair out and waddles toward me, arms open wide and the familiar scent of Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds perfume wrapping around me. She squeezes me so tight I can’t breathe and then she lets me go, only to hug me once more. “Look at you. I haven’t seen you in years. How have