Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I do it. I sprint to the table and pick up both of the bright red dice on the table. I scoop them up and shake my palm. “Now what?”
“Now, grab your suit jacket,” she orders.
I do that, too, yanking it from the back of one of the chairs before folding it over my forearm. “Next?”
“Next, we go to your place to play a game.”
I’m all in for any game she wants to play, so I start toward the exit of the bar, stopping to kiss her cheek. “What’s the name of the game?”
She opens my palm to remove one of the dice. She tosses it back toward the table. It sails right past it, bouncing on the floor.
I move to retrieve it, but she stops me with a pull on my tie. “We only need one.”
“Just one?”
A slow, sexy smile slides over her perfect lips. “We’re going to play One Roll to Bliss.”
Laughing, I shove the dice in the front pocket of my pants before I grab her hand and kiss it. “Count me in. I’ll play that game any day of the week with you.”
EPILOGUE
Opal
Six Months Later
I turn to look at Myra. She’s behind the bar, smiling brightly. I’m about to wipe that look off her face because I’m in boss mode right now, and she screwed up big time.
I glance around Turquoise Crown. As usual, we’re at full capacity. It’s barely past five p.m., and there isn’t an empty table in sight. I may have to consider opening up another location at some point.
Aunt Hildy has been pushing me to do it. She comes by at least twice a week to pick out a game to “borrow.” She always leaves a twenty dollar bill on the bar as a security deposit for the game. The problem is that she refuses each time I try to hand the money back to her once she drops the game off.
She takes the games to Louie’s apartment so they can play together. Every time she tells me that, she wiggles her eyebrows. I know better than to ask for details.
His diagnosis hasn’t changed, but he’s spending the last of his days with the woman he’s loved forever. He told her last week that he hopes he’s staring into her eyes when he takes his last breath.
“What can I do for you?” Myra twirls a strand of her hair around her finger.
I hate scolding her, but we have a standard list of items we need to cross off whenever we book the bar for a private function. Myra skipped the list completely when she agreed to close Turquoise Crown for a private event tomorrow night.
I noticed the booking in the bar’s event calendar this morning when I glanced at it while confirming a booking for a birthday party a month from now.
I tap the screen of my phone over tomorrow’s date in the calendar app that every employee of the bar uses to track their shifts, special events, and anything else that one of us deems relevant. “You booked an event for tomorrow night, Myra.”
She cranes her neck in an effort to glance at my phone. “I sure did.”
“You forgot to add any details.”
Her hand jumps to the center of her chest. “I did?”
Something feels off, so I press for more. “There’s no mention of who booked it or what the event is celebrating. We need to know the details so we plan accordingly. Can you update it with that, the size of the party, and any food they’ve ordered? Did they ask for any special beverages?”
She glances past my shoulder, so I do the same and spot a couple waiting to check in for a table.
“I’ll leave you to them,” I say because I need to head to the back room to handle some paperwork. “You’ll get those updates entered soon?”
“As soon as I can,” she confirms with another broad smile. “Leave it to me.”
I need to, because in addition to that pile of paperwork I have to tackle, I have to post a notice on the bar’s door that we’ll be closed tomorrow night for that private event. I like to give our regulars advance notice when we won’t be here for them.
As I turn to greet the couple waiting to play a game, I catch sight of my favorite person walking into the bar.
Wearing the same suit he was the day I dumped Dicey Dip all over the sleeve of his jacket, William holds up one violet rose.
I wave him toward me so we can go to the back room together, but he has other plans. He curls a finger to lure me to go to him, so I do.
How can I possibly resist him?
The single violet rose that William gave me yesterday at Turquoise Crown sits in a tall, thin vase on the nightstand next to our bed. It was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. I rolled over to find the man I love standing near the window of our bedroom, staring out at the city we both love.