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Phew.This left me with one more rule. I felt like a poor kid at a candy store. How could I possibly choose?
I peeked at my mobile. I needed to leave in the next ten minutes if I wanted to be on time for BJ.
Think, Duffy, think.
Then, eureka! Creativity struck. My fingers flew over my keyboard.
“You look way too pleased to be typing this one down.” Riggs had an indulgent smirk on his face as he leaned a shoulder over the wall, watching me from his vantage point of being seven foot four or whatever. “What is it?”
“No fraternizing with your spouse.” I hit the print button, then listened to the printer on the credenza spewing out our house rulessheet. “This means you absolutely cannot try to hit on me, flirt with me, or pursue me sexually. And vice versa, of course,” I said after a slight pause, realizing it was silly to assume this real-life Adonis was going to fancy me.
“I’m going to try, but I gotta tell you, everything in this place screams sex.” He gestured toward my decorative pillows, scented candles, and fresh flowers on the coffee table.
Rolling my eyes, I stood up and plucked the sheet from the printer. This was gettingdoublelaminated, just in case. “And another thing.”
“Hit me.”
Don’t tempt me.
I took my time getting the sheet sealed, then plastering it over the fridge, so he couldn’t miss it.
“This is not a rule, but a preference. Under this roof, you’re going to start eating your greens. You’re not so young anymore. You can’t eat pizza and cookies for eternity. There’s a veggie casserole in the fridge. I expect it to be gone by the time I come back.”
“Does that mean I can throw it straight into the trash?”
“If bytrashyou meanyour gut, then yes.”
“Okay, Mom.”
We both stood in front of the fridge, examining our list.
House Rules
No pets
No hookups
No fraternizing with your spouse
Nowthatlooked like a good marriage to me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DUFFY
“I can’t believe we’re saying goodbye.” BJ unbuckled himself in my neighbor Charlie’s prehistoric Toyota Camry. Charlie let me borrow it, even though I knew what he thought. BJ didn’t need a ride. He needed to jerk me around one last time to ensure I was truly and faithfully his. We were parked outside the terminal of JFK. The heat was still unbearable, perhaps even more so, because everything—the concrete, the trees, the streets—was already permanently hot.
“Me either,” I said hollowly. I wore my gray-checked Donna Karen dress, minimal makeup, and my hair up, the way BJ liked it. Now if only I could muster the courage to tell him I was marrying someone else in his absence.
“So. We agreed on no emails, no calls, no connection until I’m back, right, babe?” He gave me his puppy face. This was his idea, not mine. Something about making sure we had time to reflect. My pride wouldn’t let me tell him I wanted to keep in touch. Not that it mattered. BJ said he wouldn’t have access to a phone unless he traveled from the monastery into Kathmandu to an internet café, which he didn’t intend to do often.
“Right.” I smiled tightly. “I’m starting my love life detox, in which I’m going to lose a hundred and seventy pounds of boyfriend.”
“A hundred and sixty-eight. I’m still riding that clean-juice weight-loss high from June.” BJ chuckled. “I’m going to miss you so much.” He pressed his lips against my cheek. “My heart physically hurts from this.”
So don’t leave.
Stay.
