Ayla

One Year Later…

“Are you nervous?” Rhett asks me as I set the table.

“Nervous for what, Mr. Carson?” I love calling him that because it usually gets him to call me Mrs. Carson in return, and I’m obsessed with my new name. Ayla Caldwell still graces my book covers, but legally, I’m his. I’m Mrs. Rhett Carson.

“Our dinner guests, Mrs. Carson,” he says with a wink. I smile. “These two haven’t seen each other since our wedding, and we know how well that went.”

I laugh. “I wish they’d just screw and get it over with. One of these days they’re going to see how absolutely perfect they are for each other.”

“I doubt Bostyn wants a guy with baggage.”

“Joa is not baggage. She’s a gift with purchase.”

I place the last fork next to the last plate and grab Joa’s high chair from the pantry. We watch her every chance we get, giving Locke a break because we can always tell when he needs it.

The doorbell rings and our German Shepherd puppy, Gruber, barks and runs toward the door. We’re not quite ready to start a family, so we decided to start with a dog. So far so good. We take turns letting him out in the middle of the night when he whines, and we’re constantly making sure he’s clean and fed and played with.

I’m pretty confident we’re going to rock the whole parenting thing someday.

The timer on the oven chimes, so I check on the chicken Piccata and Rhett gets the door. A second later, I hear Bostyn’s sing-song voice and the loud click of her heels across the brick-tiled foyer.

We moved to a nice house in a Philly suburb surrounded by a privacy fence and dozens of antique oaks, soaring evergreens, and weeping willows. The house reminds me of a small-scale castle, cozy and historic with stone galore. There’s a small pool in the back yard that gets plenty of use when it’s warm, a little writing cottage that’s free from pesky little distractions like the Internet, and a sexy husband who wants to jump my bones when he hasn’t got anything better to do.

“Hey, girl,” Bostyn gives me a hug from behind as I finish placing the dish on the stovetop.

“Bostyn!” I spin, giving her a warm hug. She still lives in the city these days, and I still don’t see her nearly enough.

“Smells good,” she says, peering over my shoulder.

Rhett carries her overnight bag upstairs. She’s staying in one of the guestrooms tonight, across the hall from Locke and Joa.

The entrance to the garage swings open a moment later. Joa toddles in first, followed by Locke with an armful of luggage and blankets and a stuffed elephant tucked under his left arm.

“Come in, come in,” I say.

“Hey, guys,” he says, gaze moving to Bostyn.

“What’s up?” she says, though you could cut the tension with a knife.

To say they can’t stand each other would be an understatement. The few short times these two have been in each other’s company have been a fire and ice extravaganza. I’m hoping that tonight, with Joa present, they’ll keep their insult hurling to a minimum.

When Rhett returns, he gives his brother a side hug. By the time we’re all settled and gathered around the table, Locke’s rambling on about his newest app.

“So, yeah,” he says. “This one lets you rate your dates. Kind of like how you can rate your Uber driver?”

Bostyn makes a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“No, it’s not. Wouldn’t you want to know if you were about to go on a date with some guy who ghosted the girl before you?” he asks.

“Yeah, but still. It’s unethical. What if people lie about you?” she asks.

“The reviews aren’t anonymous. If you want to leave a review, you have to post your photo and real name, which has to be verified.” He slices his chicken and places a few bites on Joa’s plate.

“Then nobody will leave any reviews,” Bostyn says.

“You’re not understanding. This could be a very good thing. People helping people find love,” he says. “Maybe you go on a date with someone who’s not your type but you know he’d be perfect for someone else. You could say you enjoyed your time together, but he’s not the one. Would be perfect for someone who appreciates the outdoors. An adrenaline junkie. A Steelers enthusiast. Whatever.”

Bostyn reaches for her wine. “I don’t know. Some people are jerks.”

“Yeah,” he says. “True. Anyway, it’s worth a shot. Have to innovate to stay ahead.”

“Locke just sold his fifth app recently,” I chime in.

“Oh, yeah?” Bostyn glances across the table at him. “Good for you. Another dating app?”

“Nope. Parenting app,” he says.

Her gaze softens. She so wants to keep hating on him, but I see her resolve weakening by the second. He’s really come a long way, and I hope someday she can give him another chance. Two people who fight like cats and dogs have got to be dynamite in bed.

And she needs that. She needs dynamite. Her last few boyfriends we nicknamed Bashful, Grumpy, and Dopey for obvious reasons.

For a dating advice columnist, she has the worst taste in men. I wish she’d just hand it over to me because I’m fairly confident I know how to pick them, as evidenced by the crème de la crème of husbands sitting across from me right now looking like he’s two seconds from carrying me upstairs and having his way with me despite the fact that we have company.

He always looks at me like that, and I hope he always does.

Locke tends to Joa, and I catch Bostyn watching, though I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I’ll definitely ask her later.

We finish dinner, clean up, and head outside to sit by the fire pit. Joa runs up to Bostyn, her arms outstretched, and Bostyn hesitates at first, as if she isn’t sure if it’s okay to pick her up.

Joa climbs up Bostyn’s legs, then turns around, settling in her lap. We laugh.

“Looks like you made a new friend,” Locke says to Bostyn. “She doesn’t usually like people she doesn’t know.”

Joa yawns, leaning back and reaching her hand up Bostyn’s arm until her fingers wrap around a long blonde tendril. Within minutes she’s out, and I see something softer in Bostyn’s eyes. A tenderness that wasn’t there before.

“How can she be yours, Locke?” Bostyn teases. “She’s so sweet. Should I carry her up to her bed?”

“Her crib is in the first guest room at the top of the stairs,” Rhett says.

Bostyn rises, Locke accompanies them, and we watch like hawks.

The second they’re gone, I toss Rhett a look.

“It’s happening,” I say, slicking my hands together like an evil genius.

Rhett smirks. “It’s not like you did anything. That was all Joa.”

“True,” I say.

When they come back, it’s quiet save for the pop and crackle of the burning logs in the pit.

“So,” I say, because I have to fill the awkward silence with something. “You two ever think about maybe going on a date sometime?”

Locke and Bostyn exchange looks, each of them protesting, their excuses layered on top of one another.

“Come on. You’re killing us here!” I say. “You two would be amazing together.”

“I could never date a girl who thinks she wrote the book on relationships all because she got her own radio show,” Locke says.

“Um. It’s a Sirius XM radio show,” Bostyn says. “And it’s kind of a big deal. I don’t think they’d slap a five-year, seven-figure contract in my lap if they didn’t think I knew a thing or two about dating.”

“Bostyn, when you fly to LA to do your show once a week, do they make you check your ego at the gate or can you stow it in the overhead bins with your carryon?” Locke asks.

Her face pinches. “You want to talk about ego?”

“Here we go,” Rhett mumbles under his breath. “Ayla, you want to head in? Let these two overachievers duke it out over who’s packing the biggest ego?”

“Gladly.” I rise, following my husband. “Night, guys.”

They ignore us, going at it and talking over one another, making digs and throwing lexicon punches.

We head inside to the family room, cuddling on the sofa, and I spin my gold wedding band around my ring finger. The date we met is inscribed on the inside, exactly the way it was in my book. He smells like fabric softener and cologne and I slip my hand inside his, draping his arm around me. I let him have the remote because I’m not in the mood to watch TV tonight. I just want to watch him.

Tomorrow the five of us are spending the day in downtown Philly and Sunday, after they leave, we’re heading to New Jersey, where Bryce is buried because it happens to be his birthday.

He would’ve been twenty-nine.

Rhett’s been working on forgiving Bryce over the last year, and he’s making progress. I’ve gotten him to open up a few times, telling me so many stories about my brother that I almost feel like I knew him.

One of these days, he says, he’ll tell me everything I need to know. Until then, he asks for my patience and understanding.

He doesn’t mention Damiana at all really, though her mother and father came to visit shortly after our wedding. I think he has forgiven her in his own silent way. Her parents are good people. Kind and compassionate. They wanted to meet me, and they seemed happy for him.

The sliding back door pulls open. Bostyn trudges in, talking a million miles a minute, followed by Locke, who is clearly defending himself over something.

“Guys, guys,” I say, sitting up. “How about we just relax?”

“You never should’ve brought it up,” Rhett says, nudging me.

“I couldn’t help myself. When you see something, you say something,” I defend myself.

“I don’t think that applies to this.” He chuckles.

Bostyn plops into one of the armchairs by the fireplace and Locke takes the one beside her for lack of seating options.

“The only way in hell I would ever consider going on so much as a coffee date with you is if you’d delete all those dating apps on your phone,” she says to him.

“Never.”

Her jaw falls. “I don’t date guys who are dating multiple other women.”

“I don’t have the apps on my phone because I use them,” he says. “I invented them. They’re like little trophies. And I check them from time to time when the people who bought them have questions about the code or want me to test glitches and stuff.”

Bostyn’s quiet, studying him.

“So you ... you actually want to take me on a date?” she presses a finger into her chest, brows lifted and forehead lined.

“Yeah,” Locke says. “I do.”

“But ... why?” she asks.

We all laugh.

“Because I think you’re pretty. And you’re smart. And Joa clearly approves,” he says. “And I also really want my sister-in-law to stop bringing it up every time you come around.”

Rhett elbows me, but I ignore it. I’m glued to these two. Mark my words, they’re going to be hitched in the next two years. I’d bet my next book on it.

“I’ll think about it,” Bostyn says.

I exhale, slamming my palm against my forehead and shaking my head. “For the love of God, Bostyn, just go on a date with him.”

She rises, and I spot a hint of a smirk on her mouth that goes unnoticed by the guys. When her gaze passes over mine, I catch a wicked little glint.

Ohhhh.

It’s crystal clear what she’s doing.

“I said I’ll think about it,” she says to me, giving me a wink as she heads to the next room.

I know exactly what’s going on: she does like him, and now she’s going to give him the chase of a lifetime.

Let the games begin.

Dear Reader,

I sincerely hope you enjoyed COLD HEARTED! As a special thank you, I’ve written a novella called LOCKE HEARTED, which I have included in this book … simply page ahead to begin reading!

Also, for a *limited time* I’ve included a copy of my book, PRICELESS because from February 4-7, 2017, HEARTLESS, the first book in that series, is free! That’s a combined savings of almost $8!!

xoxo—

Winter

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