Page 304 of Trouble from Abroad
April’s eyes light up. “We’re saying ‘I love you’ now? Excellent. Debrief us stat. Who said it first?”
“Chronology, people,” Callie demands, clapping. “Tell us about the first kiss. The first time you two… oh God.” She gags theatrically, hand over her mouth. “Wait, let me convince my brain it’s not my best friend’s dick you'll be talking about.”
“Drink your water,” April says, unruffled. “And we are not talking sex in a public establishment where everyone knows us.” She nods with a plastered smile to a passing waitress.
Callie deflates, then perks. “Code names, then.”
“Bill, please,” I call, waving at Moe himself, who arches an eyebrow at the three-woman circus in booth four.
Callie flips a black Amex onto the table. When I reach for my purse, April lays a hand over mine and gives one small shake I translate asdon’t bother.
I toss my card anyway. Callie snorts. “Oh, sweet London child of mine, your money’s no good here. Don’t you know I’m an heir? I have more money than time left on this Earth. I’m not a Liam-level billionaire because I have too much integrity.” She shoots April a playful, but shady look. “I donate the surplus. And I work because cracked bones get me high. I freaking love it.” She hands me back my Visa.
“I gave up arguing bills years ago. Not worth it,” April says, standing, as the server taps Callie’s card. “It stops being weird after a while. You’ll get used to it, I promise.”
Of course I knew Callie was well off, but I hadn’t clocked she wasthatloaded. I pocket my card, then my phone—still warm from his voice. Lord, I’ve fallen that deep. I mentally facepalm myself.
The diner noise settles to a friendly buzz. Three mugs on the table. Two women who claimed my friendship without asking. It hits low and good. It isn’t just Preston and Lily turning New York into home. I’m feeling damn lucky today.
Callie steps between us and hooks our arms. “Fifteen minutes to the hospital, ten if we race.”
“We’re not racing,” April and I say together.
We step out, and cold air rushes in—city breath, people streaming both ways, a hint of pastry from next door. I tuck my scarf tighter and Pres’s cologne puts a smile on my face.
Callie squeezes my forearm. “Any idea what the news is?”
“No clue, but he sounded giddy.”
“Then move,” Callie orders, picking up our pace, arms still linked. “For romance. And curiosity. Put some pep in your step, ladies.”
* * *
Preston’s office smells faintly of antiseptic and him—cedar warming under the vent’s low whirr. He locks the door with a quick twist, and I spot a manila folder waiting on the desk.
“Come here,” he says softly, guiding me in. He opens the folder and slides out a single page. Embossed seal. Index number. Her name. His.Judgment of Divorce.
He doesn’t look at the paper; he watchesmeread it. My vision wavers once, confused as to what this means. I blink until the letters hold.
“It’s final,” he says, and I hear the relief. It’s bone-deep. “Signed and entered this morning.”
I touch the edge of the paper, then meet his eyes. “You look lighter.”
“I am.” He exhales as if breaking surface after months underwater. “I wanted to tell youfirst.”
My forehead finds his sternum. His palm settles at the small of my back, warm, sure. We stand there until my breath matches his.
“So… paperwork says you’re officially dateable,” I murmur into his shirt.
His laugh is lighter than air. Unapologetic.
“Paperwork says I’mmarriageable.”
“Always in such a rush.”
“To be with you? Yes.”
Heat climbs my throat. I tip my chin up, and he meets my lips—one slow kiss, sealing a promise that needs no translation. The world narrows to the warmth between us.
