I’m In No Mood For Love (20 page)

“Really?”

“Yes, and I hated every minute of it.” He took her hand. “But I love you, and if it makes you happy, I’ll watch teen flicks with you.”

“You don’t have to watch teen flicks with me.”

“Thank God.” He lifted his free hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I got you something, but it’s out in the car. I didn’t think Joyce would let it in the house.”

“What?”

“You said you wanted a husband and children and a dog. So, I’m here with one very carsick Yorkshire terrier puppy and a willingness to work on the kids part.”

Once again he’d looked into her lonely heart and given her what she’d wanted. Plus a dog. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“I just want you. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

The tears she wasn’t even going to try to hide spilled over the bottom of her lashes. She rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“Don’t cry. I hate crying.”

“I know. And shopping. And asking for directions.”

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. “I sold my condo and I don’t have a place to live. That’s what took me so long to get here once I decided where I needed to be.”

“You’re homeless?” she asked into the side of his neck.

“No. My home is with you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I never understood when my mother used to say that she’d finally found her home. I didn’t understand how one place could feel any different from another. I do now. You are my home and I don’t ever want to leave.”

“Okay.”

“Clare.” He pulled back and held up a ring. A princess-cut, four-carat diamond.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. She looked from the ring to his face.

“Marry me. Please.”

Emotion clogged her throat and she nodded. She was a romance writer, but she couldn’t think of one romantic thing to say besides, “I love you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He let out a pent-up breath as if there had ever been any doubt. “There’s one more thing,” he said as he slid the ring onto her finger. “I have an ulterior motive for buying the dog.”

The ring was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She looked up into his face and amended that to the second most beautiful thing. “Of course you do.” She wiped beneath her eyes. “What is it?”

“In exchange for the girly wussy dog,” he said, humor lifting the corners of his mouth, “no girly wussy lace on the bed.”

Since she’d already put away her lace bedding, that was an easy compromise. “Anything for you.” She rose on the balls of her feet and kissed Sebastian Vaughan. He was her lover, friend, and very own romantic hero, proving that sometimes a girl’s worst nightmare turned into her happily ever after.

C
lare poured a cup of coffee and looked out the back screen door into her yard. Sebastian stood in the middle of the lawn wearing nothing but a pair of beige cargo pants. The morning sun bathed his chest and face in gold as he pointed across the yard.

“Get your job done,” he said to the Yorkshire terrier sitting on his bare foot. The dog, Westley—named after the hero in
The Princess Bride
—stood and walked on short little legs to plop down on Sebastian’s other foot.

Westley loved Sebastian. Followed him around and worshiped him. For his devotion, most often than not, he got called Wusstley. But when Sebastian thought no one else was around, he scratched
the dog’s small belly and told him he was a “little stud.”

Sebastian had moved into Clare’s house two months ago, and within a week antique pieces had moved out. Which was fine with Clare. His sofa and chairs were more comfortable than hers, and she didn’t have a serious attachment to her great-great-grandfather’s gout footstool. The cherub pedestal was staying, though.

“Come on now,” Sebastian said as he looked down at Westley. “We can’t go back inside until you get busy.”

In May they’d stuck a For Sale sign in the front yard, and hoped to have the house sold by the time they married in September. Finding a new home was proving more difficult than planning a wedding. Melding both their tastes wasn’t easy, but they were determined to compromise and work it out.

Lucy, Maddie, and Adele were happy for Clare and thrilled to be her bridesmaids, although Adele and Maddie had made her promise that there would be no tulle this time.

Sebastian walked several feet across the yard, and Westley followed close behind. He pointed to the ground. “This is a good spot.” Westley looked up, barked as if he agreed, then sat on Sebastian’s foot.

Clare smiled and raised the coffee mug to her
lips. She’d met her friends for lunch just the day before. Lucy was still thinking about starting a family. Dwayne was still leaving random stuff on Adele’s porch, and Maddie was still planning on spending the summer at her cabin in Truly. But as they’d left the restaurant, Maddie had given a hint that perhaps something was unusual. Well, unusual for Maddie. With a strange look on her face, she said, “Digging into other people’s sordid pasts is a whole lot easier than digging into your own.”

There were things in Maddie’s life. Dark secrets she’d never shared. If and when she did, her friends would be there to listen.

Clare opened the screen door and walked out into the sunlight. “I see you’ve just about gotten that dog whipped into shape,” she said.

Sebastian put his hands on his hips and looked up at her. “Your mutt is worthless.”

She bent and scooped up the dog. “No, he’s not. He’s very good at barking at the mailman.”

Sebastian took the mug from her and dropped his arm around her shoulders. “And imaginary cats.” He took a drink of coffee, then said, “Dad and I are fishing Saturday. Wanna come along?”

“No thanks.” She’d fished with the two of them once. Once was enough. Worms and fish guts were something they would never compromise on or work out.

One of the biggest surprises about Sebastian, besides his attempts at being romantic, was his relationship with her mother. He didn’t take Joyce’s frosty, dictatorial nature personally, nor did he take any crap from her, and the two got along wonderfully. Better than Clare would have ever imagined.

“Once the dog does his business, let’s go take a shower.” Sebastian handed her back the coffee and added, “I’m in the mood to get you soapy.”

She set Westley on the ground and rose. “I
am
feeling a little dirty.” She pressed her lips to his bare shoulder and smiled. He was always in the mood, which worked out beautifully because she was always in the mood for him.

I would like to express my gratitude to those who took the time to answer my questions when writing this book. Journalism teacher at Texas at Arlington and
Time
reporter, Adam Pitluk. Gerri Hershey, contributing editor to
Vanity Fair
,
GQ
, and the
New York Times Magazine
. And a huge thank you to Claudia Cross, at Sterling Lord Literistic, for going above and beyond the call and providing me with names and contacts.

Rachel Gibson lives in Idaho with her husband, three kids, two cats and a dog of mysterious origin. She began her fiction career at age 16, when she ran her car into the side of a hill, retrieved the bumper, and drove to a parking lot, where she strategically scattered the car’s broken glass all about. She told her parents she’d been the victim of a hit and run and they believed her. She’s been making up stories ever since, although she gets paid better for them nowadays.

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