The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,655

wasn’t getting shut off every other month.

Wagon Wheel comes on first, which historically has always managed to put some semblance of a smile on my face, only this time it never comes and I don’t find that temporary escape. I’m still here. Still staring at the reflection of a douchebag who sold his soul … for nothing.

The next hour passes in a hazy blur.

I’ve paced my apartment countless times, practicing what I’m going to say to Love and exactly how I’m going to say it. I’ve pictured tears in her honeyed eyes and trembles on those sugared lips, but imagining heartbreak playing out on her face will have nothing to seeing it in person.

The palpitations in my chest quicken when I hear the twist of the door knob and the soft pad of footsteps across my foyer.

“Jude?” she calls.

I make my way from down the hall, breath resting in my chest because it hurts too fucking much to breathe, and when I round the corner, I’m met with the widest smile and brightest hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.

Before I get a chance to say anything, she’s leaping into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and pressing her strawberry-flavored mouth against mine. When she pulls away, she’s still grinning.

“Where have you been?” I ask, focused on the killer smile I’m going to miss like hell when it’s gone.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, smile fading as she slides off me. Her hands wrap around the nape of my neck, her fingernails lightly dragging against my skin. “I woke up yesterday with a horrible migraine—I get those sometimes—and the only way I can deal with them is by taking one of my pills, turning off my phone, and shutting out the world until it goes away. I slept all day. I’m so sorry. I would’ve told you, but it hurt way too much to even look at my phone. Forgive me?”

Dragging in a deep breath, I press my lips flat and nod. “Of course. I was just worried, that’s all.”

“Let’s go do something. I want to get out for a bit.” She stretches her arms over her head before turning and walking back toward the door. Stopping, she glances back at me, waving her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

Her shoulders lift and she smiles. “I don’t know? Anywhere. I just want to be with you. I don’t care what we’re doing.”

My feet are still planted, my mind fixated on how and when I’m going to end this with her. The thought of that beautiful smile vanishing sends a shock of literal pain across my chest. And I sure as hell can’t have this talk with her in public.

“What?” she asks, half-laughing. “Why are you just standing there staring at me like that?”

Love hooks a hand on her hip, her nails still painted the same shade of dusty rose that she wore all week for the wedding, and I’m instantly taken back to the night of the reception, dancing until the very last song when her feet were so sore she had to carry her heels, but she refused to stop because she said it was one of the best nights of her life.

Dragging in a ragged breath, I run my hand through my hair and shrug.

One more day.

I’m a selfish bastard and I want one more day of this.

One more day to hold her, to hear her voice, to kiss those berry soft lips.

Love moves to my side, slips her hands gentle around mine, and pulls me toward the door. I grab my keys and wallet from the console in the foyer and follow her out the door. As soon as I’m finished locking up, Love wraps her arms around me from behind. The sensation of her cheek pressed against my back as her arms hold me tight nearly takes my breath away, and when she finally releases me, I turn to face her.

“Overcompensating much?” I ask.

She smirks. “Just making up for lost time.”

“It was just one day.” I pretend it didn’t matter to me, that I didn’t spend every waking second of those twenty-four hours wondering about her.

“Didn’t make me miss you any less.” Love slides her hand into mine and we head for the elevator, and within minutes we’re strolling along Fifth Avenue hand in hand like it’s any other summer day.

We pass one of Love’s favorite coffee shops and she pulls me inside, ordering my usual before I have a chance to protest. Caffeine is the last