Read the First 2 Chapters of Take Me Home to You!

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CHAPTER 1

Adam

The woman next to me in first class wore dark sunglasses, a Packers sweatshirt, leggings, and mismatched tennis shoes. The mismatched shoes, one white and one navy, should have been a warning that something was seriously wrong and definitely a clue to change my seat ASAP.

Her blond hair was askew in a way that seemed to indicate a bird had gotten stuck and flapped its wings hard on the exit. The first thing she did was reach over me, breaching my personal space, to flag down the flight attendant for a drink.

Was she high? On drugs? By the way she kept swiping at her eyes, she appeared to be seriously upset, but her Anne Hathaway à la Princess Diaries sunglasses obscured the full story.

The flight attendant brought her a Bloody Mary with a celery stick jutting out of the glass. She took a sip and choked, which made me turn quickly from the medical journal I was trying to read.

I was an ER doctor from a busy Chicago hospital, trained for emergencies. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t sitting next to one.

“Sorry,” she said, patting her chest until the spasm stopped and then sucking down the rest like she was pre-gaming for a frat party. “I don’t usually drink.”

Sure, you don’t, was what I thought, but I gave a polite smile and a quick nod and went back to my reading. Before I left, my mom had handed me a sack of food, which I was still holding, sort of like I was still in grade school even though I was thirty-five years old. Unfortunately, the bag she’d chosen featured Santa bending over to set a giant bow-tied present under a Christmas tree. And the sack was big. Did she think there was no food in Turks and Caicos?

Apparently, my aunts had been power cooking Mediterranean food this morning, and I could tell from a quick whiff or two that inside were homemade spinach pies, cheese pies, and also probably baklava. Their well-wishes for a nice trip. I shoved the bag under the seat in front of me.

“I’m glad you’re going,” my mother had said as she kissed me goodbye, “but I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Remember, no reading medical journals or listening to those educational podcasts, and don’t sleep with any strange women just because you’re lonely.” Final advice from a lifelong social worker on the brink of retirement.

“Thanks, Ma.” I’d kissed her on the cheek and taken the bag, even though it was embarrassingly large and also…the Santa. And did I mention that it was ninety degrees in mid-June?

I heard sucking sounds as my seatmate hit the bottom of her glass, which was suddenly being waved in front of me. “May I please have another?” she asked the flight attendant, who, in first class, was only an arm’s length away.

“This is my first time in first class,” the woman said, apparently to me. “How about you?”

I was afraid to make eye contact. I had my own stuff going on, and being functional over the past two years had taken every ounce of effort I could muster. “Yeah, me too,” I said without turning to face her.

This was adding up to trouble. And I was here specifically to avoid that. To have a peaceful, quiet week not working, the opposite of what I’d done almost constantly since my wife died two years ago.

Two years! How was that possible? It seemed like yesterday in some ways, yet in others, our entire relationship was all a dream. Much to my chagrin, I was forgetting—the sound of Liv’s voice, the way her hair used to fall forward, and she’d reach up to tuck it back behind her ear, the outlines of her precious face that I once knew so well. I felt like someone hanging off the edge of a cliff, clutching desperately at anything—rocks, branches, handfuls of dirt—anything not to forget.

“Why are you here?” my seatmate asked, the liquor clearly loosening her tongue.

“I—um, haven’t had a vacation for a while.” And I wanted the privacy and space. Which I clearly wasn’t going to get with her next to me.

“I signed us up for first class even though Tyler said it was a waste. But I told him that it was our honeymoon, so why not? I’m usually frugal, but I mean, honeymoon. Come on.”

Do not turn your head, my inner self warned. Do.Not.Turn.Your.Head. I made it a point not to get involved with women in general. Women on the edge were a hard no.

“I should’ve known from the way he was so predicable—no surprises, you know? Predictable isn’t good—it’s boring. And he was so careful about money.” She dropped her voice. “Did you know that I have my own Amazon Prime account, so he wouldn’t get on my case about buying too many pairs of underwear? ‘Do you really need all of those pens?’ he asked me once.” She smacked her head. “How could I have been sooooo stupid?”

If I hadn’t put two and two together before, I did now, even without seeing the big rhinestone Bride spelled out in scrolly letters on her bright white sweatshirt. Her hair was in some kind of fancy updo. Well, apparently it used to be, because half of it wasn’t, and there were a couple of random pearl pins holding that sad half up. Her earrings were dangling drop pearls—in our wedding pictures, Liv was wearing nearly identical ones.

I’d gone a whole fifteen minutes without thinking of her. I blew out a breath and tried to distract myself from the ever-present ache in my chest. While Liv used to accuse me of having a savior complex, I wasn’t about to swoop in and indulge it today. Because today would have been our five-year wedding anniversary.

Except she’d been gone for the last two. During the last few months of her life, she’d been obsessed with my getting to Turks and Caicos.

She’d visited there before we were married and once afterward with her friends. She made me promise to go on this anniversary. Even though we’d never been there together, and she knew she’d never make it back there herself.

I think she sensed what a train wreck I’d be and believed the trip would be good for me.

My best buds knew that I wasn’t going to handle this well, so they’d bought me this nonrefundable ticket and told me specifically not to come back until I got laid. I promised no such thing, but they practically forced me to go—even called me an Uber to make sure I didn’t back out.

I was about to Venmo them their ticket money back when something weird happened. I’d scrawled my Venmo password on a sticky note and stuck it somewhere—I know, dumb move—and was rummaging through my desk drawer when I found an old postcard. It was from the year before Liv died, from what turned out to be her final girls’ trip.

I don’t usually keep old things around, but I do of Liv’s. Photos, grocery lists in her handwriting, a bit of yarn she’d half-crocheted into a granny square. Little pieces of her I haven’t had the heart to let go of. The postcard was one of those things. The front showcased the aquamarine waters and the long stretch of pure white sand of Grace Bay Beach.

On the back she’d written, You’ve got to see this place! Promise me someday! It’s too beautiful to miss. xoxoxo

I don’t believe in omens, but this felt like one. Her gently nudging me to go and experience a place that had felt reviving and rejuvenating for her. Maybe she was telling me what I desperately knew—that I needed it. That I was leading a zombie life, dragging myself through, working myself to death to not feel the pain.

So I got on this plane despite being terrified about what I was going to do with myself for an entire week at the beach. All that time to be alone with thoughts I spent most of my waking hours trying to shut out.

I heard tiny sniffling sounds coming from next door. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would block out the noises. Seconds passed.

She was still crying. Aw, hell.

“Are you okay?” I asked my neighbor. This time, I fully turned.

I saw her swallow hard, as people do when they are trying hard not to cry but failing anyway. She had a nice, elegant neck. She seemed very pretty, despite the fact that most of her face was shrouded behind her big dark glasses. Big black mascara trails from her full wedding makeup scrolled down her cheeks.

Her straw made yet another sucking sound as she drained drink number two. She looked my way but didn’t answer. “I don’t know,” she said, then punched her call light. “May I please have another?” she asked another flight attendant who’d appeared as suddenly as a genie from a bottle and acquiesced to her request.

I cleared my throat. “We haven’t even taken off yet. Do you think you should—ah…”

A fine crease appeared between her brows. “Surely, you aren’t going to do that.”

I lifted my brows in surprise, taken aback that she would give me some pushback at a time when she was so…distressed. “Do what?”

“Actually tell me what to do when you literally just met me.” She frowned. “Are you like Tyler too? Are all men like Tyler?” She paused. “And if the answer is yes, I am going to drink that third drink. And maybe a fourth too. Whatever. It. Takes.”

“Whatever it takes to…?”

She shrugged. “To get drunk as quickly as I can.” To prove it, she worked hard on downing number three.

“Look,” I said carefully, “do you want to talk about it? I mean, clearly, you’ve been through something.”

“How do you know that?” she asked in mock surprise.

I pointed to her feet. “Because you’re wearing mismatched shoes.”

She looked down. “Oh no.” She smacked her head and looked back at me. At least I think she was looking at me. “Did you know that my almost-mother-in-law wouldn’t be caught dead with mismatched anything? And she refused to wear any of the colors I suggested. Guess which color she chose?”

“Um, I don’t know. Black?”

“Do you know her?”

“Just a guess.” Seemed to me that the woman was a whole lot better off without Tyler and his mother, but I decided not to share that.

She sniffed again. “My nose is running. You wouldn’t have a tissue, would you?”

I didn’t. But I was good in a pinch. I emptied out half my food bag, came up with a napkin, and passed it over to her.

She blew her nose loudly and pointed to my bag. “Do you own a restaurant? Whatever’s in there smells great.”

“My aunts made it.”

“Your aunts made you food? For your journey? Aww. That’s so sweet.”

I smiled. Mainly because she was right. I had a great family. “In my family, food is love.”

“In my family, our hometown is love.” She laughed.

“I’m not sure I understand.”
“My parents were retired, living in Fort Myers. My dad golfed every day and was thinking of buying a boat. My mom belonged to three book clubs.”

“And?”

“And then they moved back home. To Wisconsin. To be near me!” she said in an exasperated tone.

“Well, that’s nice.”

“My mom and I don’t see eye to eye.” She paused and gestured to herself. “I’m not the daughter she wanted.” She rubbed her forehead. “Obviously.”

“I’m sure your parents are very proud of you regardless of what happened today,” I said because…well, what do you say to that? Besides, it would be better for both of us if she stopped crying.

Just then, the loudspeaker crackled as the captain signaled our takeoff, and the plane began to cascade down the runway, gaining speed.

The woman, whose name I still didn’t know, clutched her chest. “Oh my goodness, I think I feel a little sick.”

I touched her arm. She felt cold, despite the sweatshirt. But even worse, her face had gone as white as her sweatshirt.

“Try deep breaths.” I went into ER mode. “Keep your head down.”

She inhaled deeply. “You were right,” she whispered. “Three was too many.”

Her hand came up to her mouth, which I recognized as the universal vomit sign. I quickly dumped out all my homemade goodies just in time to hand Santa over for his ultimate sacrifice.

And then she hurled.

People around us freaked out. “Ew, gross,” I heard from behind us. “Henry, did someone just puke?” came from the woman in front of me.

Despite being mid-takeoff, the flight attendant was on us in a flash, handing over wipes, tissues, a glass of cold water, and a brand-new barf bag. My seatmate’s face quickly went from pale to bright red as she wiped her mouth, shakily accepted the water, and thanked the attendant profusely.

All this before we hit 30,000 feet.

A minute later, my new friend sat back and lifted up her sunglasses. When she turned to me this time, I saw that her eyes were a clear, pale blue, lined like a raccoon with watered-down mascara, but still stunning. I immediately saw something in them that I was no stranger to—pain. “I’m really sorry,” she said. And then she started to cry.

* * *

Ani

On my way back from the bathroom, I paused in the aisle in front of my seatmate, crossing my arms to hide the fact that I was freezing. I also felt incredibly sober. “I want you to know that I’m normally a responsible person. I’m actually a pediatrician. I’m saying this because I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”

“What’s your name?” the man asked after I’d excused myself, climbed over his long

legs, and lowered myself back into my window seat. “I mean, I think we should be on a first-name basis after working together to avert a greater disaster, don’t you?”

He punctuated his statement with a winsome grin, which told me that with looks like his, he was probably used to being charming. The fact that he was joking did wonders for my embarrassment, which was painfully acute. He was nice and was clearly trying to help a woman who surely appeared to be losing it all around.

For the first time, I noticed that he had a head full of thick wavy hair and enough lean muscle to be an easy contender for a name-brand underwear ad. My looks were a completely different story. While I’d managed to finger-brush my teeth, it was impossible to make my hair look normal after the stylist had sprayed an entire bottle of intense-hold hairspray all over it this morning, giving it the consistency of frozen leaves.

“My name is Ani.” I handed him a clean plastic bag I’d procured from our saintly flight attendant. “For your goodies.” Which were now tucked into the seat pocket in front of him. Also, he’d taken off his black quarter zip and left it on my seat. Out of necessity, I’d pitched my sweatshirt in the bathroom trash and was now so cold I had to grit my teeth to prevent them from chattering. But surely he couldn’t be offering me, a complete stranger, his jacket. I picked it up as I sat down.

“Your name is pronounced Oni?” he asked. “Not Annie?”

“That’s right.” Why was he even talking to me? I looked like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. And I’d barfed in his Santa bag. Geesh.

“I’m Adam,” he said, extending his hand. When I grasped it, he squeezed with a gentle but firm pressure. Comforting. He had nice hands. And they were warm. Which I definitely wasn’t.

“Listen, Adam. I’m so sorry. I—I don’t usually drink and I—”

He scanned me, taking in all my disarray. And my white camisole. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest to hide what I was sure was even more of a show. “You’re clearly having a bad day, he said. “No apologies necessary.”

“A really bad day,” I emphasized. “I’m sorry about…Santa.”

“He was irreplaceable.”

“Oh no—” I stared at him in horror and pulled out my phone to make a note about searching for the bag on the internet.

He stopped me by touching my arm. “I’m kidding. I saved the food. Now that’s valuable.”

That made me smile a little. Then I remembered his jacket. “Here.” I held it out to him, secretly hoping that he’d meant to leave it there for me. Please, God, because this plane was now the temperature of Antarctica.

He pushed it away. “I don’t need it. Just put it on.”

With a grateful nod, I did and felt instant relief. It smelled clean and spicy, like guy soap or deodorant but not as nose-stinging as strong cologne. As a doctor, I noticed these things because in the hospital, we didn’t wear strong scents. No one wants to smell pungent cologne when they’re sick.

As I drank more water, my stomach rumbled loudly.

From the seat pocket in front of him, he pulled out a little plastic-wrapped triangle from his stash. “Try one.”

As I accepted it, I catalogued my diet for today. A cup of coffee over hair and makeup. Two mimosas. Half a bagel before I was interrupted for pictures. I didn’t even count the Bloody Marys. I bit into the triangular pie. It was wrapped in soft, homemade bread dough and stuffed with a lemony mixture of chopped spinach and pine nuts. And it was spectacular.

Wow. “How wonderful to have aunts who feed you.”

“I take it you don’t?”
“Only child, small family. No one cooks.” What I didn’t say was that we had staff for that.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

I snorted. “About my sad childhood?”

He smiled that nice smile again. I knew it would get to me if I were in any condition

to feel anything, which I obviously wasn’t. “Okay, fine. I didn’t really have a sad childhood. But I did stop my wedding. Literally a minute before I had to walk down the aisle. The boyfriend of one of my best friends had to go tell our two hundred and twenty guests that everything was off and to go home.” I rubbed my forehead, as if that would erase the memories. “It was horrifying.”

He was still looking straight at me, listening intently, which made me wonder what his job was. An air traffic controller, maybe, with that sharp focus? “But not as horrifying as marrying your fiancé, apparently.”

“Exactly.” The word came out in a choked whisper. “He’s not terrible. The worst thing he did was want a future completely different from the one I envisioned.” I lowered my head and sighed. “I don’t think I should have gotten on this plane. But I just…couldn’t stay. It’s all a blur.”

I’d left a mess behind—reception food that would never be eaten, gifts that would never be opened, and a man I should never have said yes to in the first place. Why had I waited so long to break things off? This was a pattern in my life. Talking myself out of the hard truths in relationships.

“Who thought it was a good idea to put you on this plane alone?” My seatmate’s tone made it clear that he thought that was the dumbest idea on the planet.

“I think—I think my parents were embarrassed. Maybe they thought it was best for me to escape all the questions, the people, the mess. I don’t really know. I’m not sure I knew exactly what I was doing.”

I’d said way too much. I pondered in a raw panic what on earth I was going to do in a tropical paradise alone for seven whole days? This really had been the worst idea ever. As soon as I landed, I vowed to book the first flight back the next day.

I needed to change the subject fast, before the tears started falling again. “You’re meeting someone?” I mean, he had to be. The guy was gorgeous. He was going to a coveted, romantic destination, definitely not one you’d associate with a typical guy trip.

“My wife passed away two years ago,” he said. “Turks and Caicos was one of her favorite places, and she’d always wanted me to see it. My friends bought me a ticket because they were worried about me.” He paused, but before I could ask why, he said, “I haven’t taken any time off since it happened. Frankly, I’m not so sure this is such a great idea either.”

I suddenly felt even more awful. It was one thing to dump someone at the last second, and another to lose the love of your life. Honestly, I cared for Tyler, even loved him, but not in the absolute way I should have to marry him. Now that things had gone down this way, my predominant feeling was not sorrow. It was relief.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” I said. “My problems seem very small compared to that.”

I thought of the hassles awaiting me on my return—the roomful of unopened gifts that needed to go back and all the wasted money my parents had spent on the reception. Additionally, I’d bought an adorable house with Tyler that I would now never live in and would have to put back on the market.

My bigger problem involved wondering if I’d made the right choice moving home to Oak Bluff. Now that my parents were back, I’d have to confront the issues my mom and I had that we both tended to sweep under the rug. I’d signed with a local pediatric practice to fulfill my dream of practicing in my hometown, where I could truly know and care for my patients. But my partners and I couldn’t have been more different.

All I’d wanted was to settle in, and yet everything I’d done recently had been very unsettling. Except my worst disasters were nothing compared to Adam’s.

He shook his head. “No. I mean, either case is—well, it’s giving up something that you thought would be forever.”

“Now that I’m actually thinking about it, I always panicked at the forever part. But I kept telling myself that it was just normal nerves.”

“My mom keeps telling me that recovering from any shock or tragedy takes time.” He had soft brown eyes that easily showed compassion. And while I didn’t exactly take comfort in his words, I gave him major points for trying.

“Do you think she’s right?” I asked before I stuffed the last bite of the tasty spinach pie into my mouth.

Maybe I’d recover, but I was never dating again. I would sell the house and do my job with my unusual partners until I could afford to return to Milwaukee, where I’d trained, and lead a quiet life off the radar. No Ani-you’re-just-too-much, which was what my mom was fond of saying.

“Not sure.” He held out another pie, but I shook my head, not wanting to risk adding to my still-queasy stomach.

I settled my head back against the seat, suddenly suppressing a yawn. “I’ve been up since five a.m.,” I said. “Hair and makeup.” I lifted my hand up to my hair, but feeling the hopeless scope of the disarray and the strange, crunchy texture, dropped it back into my lap.

“You should take a nap.”

I glanced sideways at him. Maybe he was an angel, sent here expressly to prevent me from completely losing my shit. In any case, he was the best thing that had happened to me on this awful day. “Thank you for the food. And for being nice.”

The soft, warm jacket, the good food, the kindness—it all helped to settle my mind and brought me to a place where exhaustion finally overtook me.

CHAPTER 2

Adam

“How long does it take to get a cab to the airport?” Ani, standing at the reception counter, asked the concierge.

It was the next morning, and I sat in an open lobby surrounded by potted palms, tropical-colored sofas, and bright parrot prints on the walls. As I sipped my coffee, I pretended that I hadn’t been hanging out waiting for her—Ani—to show.

I was not stalking her. Being the sole person who knew of her crisis, I felt a responsibility to check on her and make sure she was okay. But now, apparently, she was leaving and going back to face the chaos she’d left behind.

Good, I told myself. I was absolved of responsibility. Now go out there and get some sun.

I waited for relief to wash over me. After all, she was someone in the middle of a massive emotional crisis, and I was here for rest and relaxation, not to help a stranger who didn’t have anyone. Instead, I felt a strange twinge of disappointment.

Maybe I’d somehow gotten myself too wrapped up in her plight. Maybe I was sitting here because this woman, whom I didn’t even know, had done something for me that no one else had been able to do in the two years since Liv passed—woken me up from the dead in some supercharged manner.

Either way, I had no further obligation to help her. Even though that look in her eyes had haunted me, causing me to toss and turn all night. I sensed her absolute aloneness—because that was what I also had inside of myself.

The woman standing at the counter looked a lot different from yesterday. Petite in stature, she wore a navy sleeveless shirt, jean shorts, and sandals. She had a halo of blond curls—I never would have guessed that her hair was naturally curly—and no bird’s nests today. She looked appealing and pretty, like someone ready to enjoy a week in the sun.

Plus, she had a really cute butt.

Which really startled me. Because I’d been fairly dead below the belt since Liv died.

But I swear, I was not interested in her that way.

“Could I please schedule the cab for two p.m.?” she asked.

Okay, she was definitely leaving. My heart sped up as it often did in the ER, and I found myself reacting before I could think. I stood up and intercepted her as she turned away from the concierge desk.

That was when I saw her face. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were puffy. But she was stunningly pretty, far moreso than with the cakey, heavy makeup she’d worn yesterday.

I should have known right then that I was in over my head.

“Oh hi, Adam,” she said in a friendly tone. “You don’t have to check on me—I’m fine.”

She’d called me out in her first sentence. “Great to hear it,” I said. She’d been blunt, so I would be too. “You’re leaving?”

She bit her lower lip in worry. “I’ve got to go back and deal with the mess I made.”

“That’s the physician in you talking.” Be careful, I cautioned myself. Don’t interfere. You don’t even know her.Yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“What do you mean?”

“Responsible. Never giving up. That kind of thing. Most of us are like that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Those aren’t bad traits.”

“No, but maybe sometimes it’s okay to let other people take care of things. After what you’ve been through, some might say it’s okay to take a few days off.”

“Wait.” She flicked her gaze up at me. “Did you say us?”

“I’m an ER doc.”

“Oh.” She took that in. “Well, thank you for checking on me. But I’m absolutely fine.”

“You look much better than yesterday,” I said. She looked amazing, period.

“In appearance maybe.” She tapped her head. “But in here, it’s still pretty wild.”

I laughed. I liked her self-deprecating humor. And the fact that she was able to joke after all she’d been through. It spoke of resilience, something I always respected in anyone because of my own situation. “Hey, you’re dressed, and your hair looks really nice. I mean, not like a bottle of glue got stuck in it.”

She almost laughed at that. But not quite. Instead, she smoothed down her curls and

said, “Well…guess I’d better go pack up.” But she didn’t move.

Before I could think about what I was doing, I seized the moment. “Did you—did you have breakfast yet?” I could feel myself turning red, but I kept rambling. “Because I haven’t. You should have breakfast—with me. I mean, so that you don’t eat alone.” I couldn’t believe what I’d done. But something in me just couldn’t let her go.

Again, I heard that warning voice in my head. What the hell are you doing, Adam?

I didn’t really know. But before I could beat myself up more, she said, “I am a little hungry, now that you mention it.”

We walked toward an outdoor restaurant surrounded by palm trees and took a seat overlooking a sparkling aquamarine ocean. The water was calm, the breeze gentle, and the warm sun felt wonderful on my skin. I told myself I was doing this for her, but who was I kidding? Even knowing her such a brief time, I felt captivated, wanting to know more about her, not wanting to say goodbye forever.

Someone filled our cups with coffee. I looked over the menu but saw that Ani was staring off into the distance.

I shut I and set it down. “Not hungry?”

She smiled a little, but I could tell from her eyes that she was doing that on my behalf. “Coffee’s okay. Breakfast might be wasted on me.”

“Did you have dinner last night?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m going to order us some things. And you can eat or not eat.”

“Honestly, I hope you don’t feel responsible for me—your basket-case seatmate on the plane.” She flicked her wrist dismissively. “I’m fine, really.”

I studied her carefully. “My guess is that you don’t like being fussed over.”

“Normally, I don’t need anyone to fuss over me.”

Independent. Strong. Those traits were coming out despite her crisis. But I needed her to understand something. “Look, I—I feel a little lost here. Helping you is giving me a little bit of purpose.” Or I’d be headed straight back on that plane today too. “So I’m just going to go for it, okay?”

She flashed a real smile this time, and it was a stunner. “Go for it.”

I went ham on breakfast and ordered crepes, eggs, fruit, yogurt, and a banana protein smoothie that she took a couple of sips of. I distracted her by telling her random stories about how I chose medicine, how my mom raised me as a single mom, and how all I wanted was to see her retire and enjoy herself.

Ani looked at her watch. “Almost time to go.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d just met her—who was I to want her to stay? But I did.

“I see it both ways,” she said.

I frowned. “See what?”

“I see a lot of chaos when I get back. And crying—not only from me. And friends trying to help me. Which means I’ll have to think about everything all the time. But here I have a lot of time to think too. So I don’t know what to do.”

“Exactly my problem.”

She assessed me carefully. “You’re really nice, but how do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

I opened my wallet. Handed her my hospital ID, my Fellow of the American College of Emergency Physicians, my driver’s license, my Giant Eagle card, and my library card.

She flipped through everything until she found the bright orange one at the back. “You have a library card?” She flipped it onto the table. “Then you must be okay.”

That made me wonder what kinds of books she liked. I found myself wanting to ask and felt guilty about it. Because I hadn’t been interested in anyone since Liv. But also because I shouldn’t be interested, of all women, in a runaway bride in the middle of a crisis.

“If I stay,” she said, “I don’t want to talk about Tyler, but I want to say one thing. He’s not a bad person, and I do love him. But he wasn’t my person. And he didn’t share my idea of a happy life.”

“What’s your idea of a happy life?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Happy chaos—you know, like, kids and dogs and…everything. That’s what I want someday—to be in the middle of the fray. Tyler envisioned our life as the kids having nannies and babysitters so we could have couple time over drinks every evening before we kissed our freshly bathed children goodnight.”

A cold sense of remorse hit me because I used to want that kind of happy chaos too. But not anymore. I could never give myself to anyone like that again, much less to a child. I was dead inside. Empty. I wasn’t exaggerating—that was the truth. But of course I kept that horrible fact to myself.

“Did you and Liv have any kids?” she asked.

“We were trying for a baby before Liv got sick, but it never happened.” Month after month when Liv found out she wasn’t pregnant, she’d cry. That was heart wrenching, but even worse, the very day she was diagnosed with cancer, she’d looked up at me tearfully and said that it wasn’t ever meant to be. That was an awful moment, the first of the heartbreak. With a bitter taste in my mouth, I couldn’t help thinking that all our dreams and plans—our life together—was never meant to be.

I thought I was managing to keep my expression neutral, but Ani saw right through it. She reached over and squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with compassion. “I’m sorry.”

Her touch felt so good. No one had touched me in a long time. People comfort you, but no one touches you—it’s just a line that most people don’t cross. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. “It’s funny, how you believe you know how life is going to go. You fall in love, you get married, you expect things without even thinking about it. A house, a dog, kids. You don’t expect that the girl you knew since eighth grade would be gone forever by the time you were both thirty.”

Ani nodded and added, “Or you meet someone, and you decide to get married, but for whatever reasons, something feels off. And that feeling keeps eating away at you. Except in my case, I kept pushing those feelings away until it was almost too late.” She gave a thoughtful pause. “I don’t know what that must feel like—to love someone so much that it rips you apart to lose them.”

“Yeah.” I looked out over the water. “It would have been our fifth anniversary this week. Liv made me promise to take this trip. Somehow, she knew I’d try to work myself to death after she was gone.”

“We don’t have to talk about this anymore.”

“No—I—it’s okay.” I blew out a held-in breath. “I haven’t talked about Liv to anyone—I mean, after a certain point, you start to feel like you’re dragging people down, taking advantage of your friendships. You’re afraid that everyone will label you as a downer and avoid you, so you don’t talk about it. And everyone is sympathetic, but no one can really know what you’re going through. So you keep it to yourself and keep going. But it’s felt really good to say her name.”

Ani smiled. “Thanks for telling me all this, Adam. It’s made me feel less alone. I’m eternally grateful for your kindness.”

That pleased me far more than I could admit. “I have an idea. Let’s explore and see things, get moving. That way we don’t think about anything. That is—if you stay.”

She gave a little smile. “I’ll stay—for today. One day at a time, right?”

“Right.” I nearly fist-pumped. I had her for one day, and that felt thrilling. Honestly, I needed for us to get busy ASAP. Because despite all my good intentions and my rotten mental state, I found myself thinking about her.

* * *

Ani

On Tuesday, I said I’d stay until Wednesday, and on Wednesday, until Thursday. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was Thursday. By then we’d explored all the beaches and Chalk Sound National Park. We’d seen the underwater coral gardens at Bight Reef and taken an adorable Potcake dog for a walk at Potcake Place K9 Rescue. We ate at least two meals a day. I was starting to see the light of day. And I was feeling stronger.

We’d both booked flights to return home on Friday, which seemed reasonable if daunting. Except there was one problem—I was starting to really like Adam.

Which may have been turning into a bigger issue. I consciously tried not to look directly at him, because there were these strange moments when we just…connected. When our gazes would snag, and it was hard to look away. I know, I know, it was simply…hormones. Attraction, which I was pretty shocked to feel in my current state. I knew not to trust it, and did my best to steer clear of it.

Maybe our friendship was so raw and honest because I didn’t have the bandwidth for pretending. Whatever I felt, I said. I didn’t have the strength to hold back or cover anything up. While we didn’t talk about my wedding fiasco at length, Adam accepted my many silences, my sudden wanting to be alone, and my need to sleep like the dead. Once, he got emotional when we visited Grand Turk Lighthouse because he said Liv had described that iconic spot. In general, I felt that we could just be ourselves. The self that he got was probably close to me at my worst, but somehow, he made me feel okay with that.

By Thursday evening, I was also realizing that it would soon be time to say goodbye.

“We’ve seen a lot these past few days.” We’d hung out all day on Grace Bay Beach, and then drove to Providenciales for the iconic Thursday Fish Fry, which featured local food, music, and dance performances. It had been a feast of the colorful local culture.

And here I never thought I’d leave my room. I’d forced myself to get up and go each day because going was my lifeline. For that, I’d be eternally grateful to him.

“Today you ate breakfast, lunch, and supper.” He seemed very pleased with himself. And his nose was a little sunburnt, which was kind of cute. He looked healthy and happy and not weighted down with his cares, which I felt I’d had some influence on.

“I’m going to write your aunts and tell them you’re a natural auntie too,” I said. “A caretaker.”

“Ha. Maybe.”

“Well, you’ve made sure I’ve eaten and showered and kept me busy so I didn’t think about things. I’m starting to actually think I can handle going back now.”

Our eyes met, and I felt a sudden flush of heat. Improbable as it was with me being such a mess of emotion, I became aware that we were on a beautiful island with a gentle breeze and a full moon. He was nice and funny, and I loved his kind brown eyes. I also knew that it was past time to say goodnight.

I would not want to become swept away by the magical beauty of this place. To use it—and him—to forget what was really going on in my life.

Yet being with him these past few days had saved me—from loneliness, from despair, from myself.

I was at a sudden loss for words because I was thinking awkward things. We’d chosen not to say things like, “What do you want to do tomorrow?” We’d sort of made it a rule to live in the moment, not look too far ahead or too far behind. Except that I was noticing the way he walked, long-legged strides, confidently. I was noticing how big his shoulders were, how lean his waist was. He was naturally curious. He kept up with current events. He read books. We sometimes ran out of things to say, but the silence was never awkward.

In other words, I was liking him way too much. But I was wise enough to know that anything I was feeling couldn’t be trusted.

“I’m going to say good night,” I said.

“Good night.” He made a theatrical bow with accompanying hand motions. Then he reached down and lifted my hand. Held it. Brought it to his lips and gave me a quick peck. “We had fun today, Ani Green.”

“Imagine that.” Despite his joking manner, heat flushed through me. I felt alive, like I wasn’t dead. Which was a miracle. Even the past six months with Tyler, I’d done a lot of faking, a lot of trying, a lot of hoping things would get better. Somehow, these days away had made me feel like there was hope for me to move forward, away from this terrible time.

Adam was staring at me. Our gazes met and held again. The firm but gentle grip of his hand, the soft touch of his lips on my skin; it all awakened something deep inside of me. My heart began a slow knock in my chest that kept accelerating. I knew what was happening. I couldn’t believe what was happening. But the sensible part of me had to stop it.

My hand was tingling from where he kissed it. “I-I don’t do one-night stands,” I blurted, and immediately wondered if I was completely off base. Even if I was, I had to let him know how I felt.

He looked around. “Did…did someone ask you to have one?”

“No! I mean, I’m sorry.” I could feel my cheeks heat up. “I must be getting my balance back because it seems that I just now noticed that you’re really hot.”

That was a mistake. Why hadn’t I toned it down, said cute or attractive or good-looking? At least I hadn’t said perfect, which he totally was, with those warm brown eyes and that strong jaw and that I-need-to-shave-twice-a-day five-o’clock shadow thing going on.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a slightly crooked smile that was very endearing, “even if it was questionable whether or not there were live birds involved in your hairstyle the other day.” I rolled my eyes at that. “I don’t either,” he added, “have one-night stands, that is.”

“I’m in no condition to do something I’d regret. I mean, I can barely deal with putting one foot in front of the other. I can’t add another bad decision on top of everything else I regret.” Although it was questionable if I could ever regret him.

“Agreed,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll say goodbye before we catch our planes.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling my keycard out of my purse. “Thanks for walking me back. The day was fun.” I opened my door and turned to him. “Can you believe I just said that? ‘It was fun.’”

“It was fun. Everything these past few days was fun.” He paused, his gaze controlled and neutral. “Good night.”

Maybe it was staring in at my bungalow and suddenly feeling so heartbreakingly alone. Or the fear of returning to reality, only a day away.

Or maybe it was the feelings that had been awakened out of nowhere that kept tugging on me like the tide. Or the warm, salt-tinged breeze. Impulsively, I turned and grabbed his hand. “Don’t go.”

He took a sharp intake of breath. He stared at where I clasped his hand, then up at me, his eyes full of struggle.

My pulse pounded out a quick, steady thrum. My hand was still tingling. Heck, all of me was.

“I’m sorry.” I released his hand. “I—I guess I’m a little afraid of being alone. You know, saying goodbye. You were a nice person to lean on these past few days. I guess reality is just hitting me again.” I turned back to my door to go in.

This time, he grabbed my hand. With a gentle tug, he pulled me to him. I landed in his arms, staring up at him, his arms wrapping around me. We were so close, I could see the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. The arch of his brow, the set line of his jaw. A warm breeze teased us, ruffling his hair. The moonlight emphasized the heat in his eyes.

He let go of my waist and said in a throaty voice, “Ani, I think you’re really fun and really special. But I don’t want—I don’t think this is a good idea. We’re both too—”

I don’t know who kissed whom first, but I found his soft, warm lips on mine. My arms tangled around him, my hands skimmed the long, elegant planes of his back, his neck, the thick silk of his hair. Our kisses grew deeper, more fervent, desperate. He traced a trail of them down my neck, making me gasp, before we both somehow managed to stumble through the doorway. We ended up against the wall, his body pinned against mine, all hard muscle, soft murmurings, and featherlight touches as he reached his hands under my blouse and stroked my back.

We made love on that bed, under the beamed ceiling, with the A-frame glass overlooking the full moon and the ocean, and it was tender and passionate and playful. Maybe I was trying to make a quick, impulsive decision mean something deeper, but that night, Adam made me feel like I was worth loving.

That despite my mistakes and missteps and whatever I’d done or hadn’t done that had led me to that preacher in front of all my friends and family before I’d finally found the courage to say no—despite everything—I was going to be okay. He gave me understanding and comfort and acceptance. Support when I’d needed it most. Laughter over silly nonsense we shared that I’d never told anyone before. I trusted him completely.

And afterward, I fell into a deep, drugged sleep.

* * *

Adam

A phone was ringing and ringing. I startled awake, disoriented, taking in the room. Beams of moonlight slanted over the bed, the sounds of the tide entering through the windows along with the balmy air. Finally, my gaze landed on the woman next to me, covered by a sheet, her shoulders bare.

For a moment, it was a dream—the moonlit night, the surf, Ani next to me. And everything was good, it was happy, it was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

But as I became more awake, I remembered the frantic coming together, the act of comfort and caring—the desperation.

I rubbed my forehead. What had I done?

There was no further time to think. I groped around on the floor until I found the offending device. Ani’s phone told me it was 11:45 as I walked over to the bed and gently shook her shoulder. She lifted up her head from the pillow, her blond curls spilling everywhere.

“Someone named Mia’s calling,” I said, handing her the phone.

“Hello?” she said, sleep in her voice. “Mia, hi! I—um—fell asleep early. Wait—what?” She sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. “In this lobby?” More pause. “Oh my gosh, you didn’t. Sam too? I-I’m speechless.” She stood, sheet and all, and hopped around, gathering her clothes. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right down.”

She hung up the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. “My best friends are in the lobby.”

“This lobby? Like, here?” None of my advanced degrees appeared to be helpful in making the truth penetrate my thick skull.

“Yes, here. They somehow got time off. They flew in after work!”

“Oh.” I sounded disappointed, which, I have to be honest, I was. I rubbed my neck. “I mean, yeah. You have great friends.” But I didn’t mean it. Because those friends were going to make me give her up sooner than I’d expected.

“I do have great friends.” She grabbed my arm. Her touch was light and warm, and I wanted to grab her hand and kiss it, kiss her arm, kiss every part of her over and over again.

I grasped her hands tightly. Her gaze searched mine. I tried not to look agonized, but that was exactly how I felt. “Ani.” I took her in—her wide-open eyes, her heart-shaped face, her halo of hair that caught the light in so many different ways. My voice came out strained, serious. “We created a bubble here. One that we knew would eventually have to burst.”

She nodded in agreement. “We’d be fools to think that this was anything more than two people seeking comfort at a time when we both really needed it.” Then she smiled brightly. “Because of you, I reduced my uncontrollable crying from ten to five times a day. Big improvement. Huge.”

“And I’ve actually gone and seen this beautiful place instead of staying in my room reading my journals.”

“Neither of us is in a good place.” She was right, of course.

“I would never want to be a regret.”

I could feel both of us mulling that over. Tension lay heavily in the air, which smelled scented and tropical and felt like a warm caress.

A last one.

“You could never be a regret,” she said softly.

“You deserve the best.” We stared at each other for a few long heartbeats. I couldn’t breathe. My pulse was skittering. My body flooded with a warm heat that I recognized as desire. It felt wonderful because I was actually feeling something other than pain. And it felt bittersweet because we’d only just begun, yet it was time to end.

She teared up because we both knew that this was it. This was goodbye.

“Maybe we’ll meet again when—when things are different,” she said. “I mean, Normal Me is kind of nice. You’d like her.”

I tried to smile, but it was hard. I’d thought that getting to know her these few days was harmless, that it would leave no scars. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. “I like you now,” I said, gathering her into my arms one last time.

When she looked at me, she was tearing up.

I tipped up her chin, made her look at me. “No matter what happens next, you’re going to be fine. You’re going to go out there and make a huge splash in the world.”

She nodded, lips pursed, trying not to cry. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re not afraid to follow your heart when things feel wrong. You were bold enough to act.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she was smiling. “Your friendship these past few days has meant everything. You prevented me from drowning in my sorrow.”

“Same.”

She reached over and touched my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to remember her touch. I grasped her hand and held on.

“I’ll never forget you,” I whispered.

Then I kissed her one last time and forced myself to leave.

**~**

Hope you enjoyed the first chapters of Take Me Home to You, coming soon in ebook and print!

Take Me Home to You is the 3rd book in my Doctors of Oak Bluff series. They can each be enjoyed as standalone books, but are best enjoyed as part of the series.