Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to smile, to laugh, and to really live. Until I met him.
Heart-stoppingly handsome.
Totally forbidden.
Keats Matthews looked at me like I was something special.
He was escaping his past. I wanted to escape my present. Together, we fell hard and fast and knew we had found forever. Or so we thought …
Six years later, his shoulders are broader than I remembered, his charming smile thaws my frozen heart, and it’s so tempting to run my fingers through his hair like I did years ago. But it’s the tenderness and warmth in his brown eyes that remind me of the forever we almost shared.
It’s magic when we’re together again. Our chemistry has only magnified. Seeing him, confident and more irresistible than ever, has me falling for him all over again and hoping for a second chance.
But he still believes our timing was off before. He’s wrong. It was the secret I kept hidden that was our undoing. Time hasn’t healed old wounds, and not everything hidden has come to light. When it does, we’ll stand together or fall apart. Either way, we must find out
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
PRESENT DAY
KEATS MATTHEWS
The weather is as foul as my mood.
I should be home listening to the classics playing through a busted set of speakers, eating ravioli from a can, and wallowing in memories of better times, but Taylor insisted we meet tonight. Breaking my tradition should be a welcome reprieve. Instead, I’m left further annoyed.
It’s hot in here and surprisingly crowded, considering the holiday. I expected to walk into a quiet place to talk, not a bar bustling with partiers. Unwinding the wool from around my neck, I look around to see if I can spot Taylor, hoping a table has already been scored. No such luck. None seems to be available either, so that leads me to wedge myself through the horde to order a beer.
One drink. Maybe two if things go well, and then I’ll return to my apartment to pick up where I left off before I got the call. I take a long pull from the bottle, then lean against the wide wooden top to wait.
“Keats?”
I glance back toward the entrance when I hear my name, but I don’t recognize anyone coming through the door.
“Keats?”
Looking toward the far side of the large room, I see Taylor waving an arm. I nod and start across the room, slipping through a large group taking over the walk space, so I duck around a table. Taylor throws her arms around my neck before I have time to right myself to my full height. “We did it,” she says, holding me tight.
“Did wh—” My breath stops hard in my chest when my gaze lands on a pair of hazel eyes not five feet away from me.
Staring over Taylor’s shoulder, words are lost to thundering heartbeats as blood zips through my veins, making me feel alive for the first time in years. The revelry muted, and Taylor is forgotten entirely, causing me to almost lose my grip on the beer. Every thought and cell in my body is solely focused on her.
Her expression turns from confused to familiar. In her eyes, the browns shift to a brighter green, making me wonder if the past is playing out in her memory, as it is in mine.
The feel of the inlet from the waist to her hip.
Her uncontainable giggle when I told a bad joke in bed.
The freckle on her left hip bone.
For the first time in years, life comes rushing back. Heat colors my cheeks, and my fingers itch to hold her again. I lick my lips, then take a breath as my gaze shifts to the hand covering her perfectly bowed lips. And then I see it.
Emerald cut. Four carats or more, if I’m guessing.
On her left fucking hand.
CHAPTER 1
SIX YEARS EARLIER
KEATS MATTHEWS
“Alright. Alright, Sierra,” I reply, letting annoyance seep into my tone. I’ve been given a talk about that tone before, but damn, I’ve been hustling since I got here four hours ago. Ducking to the side, I avoid a tray of filet mignon heading out to the buffet table. “I’m getting a refill tray.”
“You know the rules, Keats. Get in and get out.” My manager points at the corner of the kitchen. “Grab the tray of micro-Wellingtons from the rack.” The strain in her voice has me moving faster in the chaos of the kitchen.
I scoot around a server headed in the opposite direction and drop my tray onto the marble counter of a kitchen that puts Michelin-starred restaurants to shame.
My stomach rumbles at the scent of savory foods, and I pray there are extra steaks left over for the crew to take home at the end. I roll up my sleeves, focusing on the money I’ll make. Sierra told us our tips might cover a month’s rent. I’ll trade Christmas Eve for getting that bill off my back.
I start chuckling when I retrieve the last tray of micro-Wellingtons. These were called pigs in a blanket when I was growing up. I’m not surprised by the name change. Rumor has it that an invite to this holiday party is the most coveted in Manhattan. The threat from management—not to fuck this up and keep our traps shut with the guests or we’d lose our jobs—gives the rumor weight. Easy enough. Money speaks louder than words.
With a tray in hand, I call, “Heading back out.”
“Take your break after this round,” Sierra says just before I exit the kitchen.
I hold the tray out for guests to take what they want, weaving through the black-tie affair. My tray tips, but I’m quick to save it before it falls as sausage-sized fingers grab two of the hors d’oeuvres. I steady it for the guest, then make eye contact by mistake. An older man with an alcoholic’s red nose glares at me. I remember my dad sharing the same characteristic. Barely remember, considering he didn’t stick around much past me turning six. The man says, “Seems like a simple enough job. Can you manage it?”