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We all sit around the table together, enjoying the delicious food. Warm, loving attention is on me as I answer questions about my new business.
A few weeks later, I stand in the doorway of my shop, barely believing my dream has become a reality. The walls, recently painted a bright white, are pristine and inviting. Large glass windows allow natural light to pour in, giving the shop a warm, sunny feel.
A large wooden sign hangs above the entrance, with bold black lettering that reads Betty Boo’s. It's taken months of planning and designing but we're finally ready.
The shop is stocked with the latest in automotive technology, from diagnostic tools to customized parts. A selection of car-care products lines the walls, adding a cheerful touch to the otherwise sparse space. I've chosen to offer products with prettier packaging, or softer scents, to appeal to my female customers.
Woman veterans will be receiving a twenty-five-percent discount on all services as well as an opportunity to sign up for an information session and playdate with a Bachman Buddy if they are in need of a service dog.
I've done my best to make the waiting space inviting and approachable, with pink velvet couches, modeled after the one I'd bought from the thrift store for my first apartment. Glass tables rimmed with gold metal are placed around the area, scattered with educational materials on autocare, as well as a few Hollywood gossip magazines.
I have a full coffee slash cocoa bar in the corner if you want to wait, or a female driver who can take you anywhere within a ten-mile radius to drop you off while your car is being worked on.
I feel a wave of satisfaction wash over me as I look around the shop. There's still a long road ahead, but I'm ready for the challenge.
All I have to do is wait for my first customer to arrive. I’ve only scheduled one for my first day, giving myself a little time to absorb and enjoy this experience. Ms. Grace will be pulling up right at two p.m. in her trusty Buick.
Hank gave me hell for stealing his best customer. All with a proud smile on his face.
Beckett gives me a goodbye kiss. “Good luck, baby.”
"Don't need luck," I say. "I already have everything I didn't even think to dream of."
After everyone leaves, quiet echoes through the peaceful room. I do a loop, the soft soles of my sneakers whisper-quiet in the huge space. I use the pretty, brand new silver machine at the coffee bar for the first time. The buttons light up electric pink as I make my choices. Hot caramel latte, extra foamy.
I take a seat on one of the pale pink velvet sofas, stroking the soft fabric, and I take in every inch of the space I’ve created. I lift the steaming paper cup to my lips. Delicious. The light hits my emerald engagement ring. It sparkles in sync with my diamond encrusted wedding band. Gorgeous. My phone dings with a text from Beckett. Sweet.
I’m so proud of you
Love you
Ur gonna kick ass
I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my face. Never in a million years, even if I’d dreamed big, could I have imagined this would be my life. Family, friends, a man who loves me.
I could have made it on my own. I did make it on my own, for a little bit, at least. But being with him…
It’s so much better than being without him.
I’m so happy I fought through the fear and finally accepted the gift that fate offered me in my mafia man.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Beckett
Leave it to the newest Bachman couple to show up with an entire suitcase of sex toys. Rhett wanted to go back to Greece for our honeymoon, loving our previous time there, and my wife gets whatever she wants. She also wanted to wait a few months until her business was underway.
I hated to say yes to that. I’m not a patient man and I wanted to get my wife alone as soon as possible, but I’m an understanding husband. I let her get her shop off the ground first.
So here we are, at the Parish, six months after we said our vows, me rolling an enormous hot-pink suitcase behind me. Rhett insisted we keep it with us, too shy to let one of the burly, tan, tattooed Greek brothers deliver it to our mansion with the rest of our luggage.
“What if it tips over and opens up or something?” she whispered as we made our way off the plane. “I would just die!”
I don’t bother reminding her the thing is not only zipped up but locked as well. I just grab the handle of the suitcase, rolling it down the ramp with a “Yes, baby.”
Rhett may work her ass off at the garage, but I never let her lift a finger when I’m around. The only thing she’s allowed to carry is Betty Cakes. Right now, the tiny brown and black Yorkshire terrier is cradled in Rhett’s arms, a sparkly pink diamond collar around her neck.
Rhett made me watch Legally Blonde on the plane ride over here and right now, she’s giving off serious Elle Woods vibes. Only a sexier, brunette version. She glides down the white cement path that leads up to the honeymoon suite, shiny pink, patent heels clicking as she moves.
