Page 96 of Elevator Pitch

“Let’s be clear.” Ross stands to his full height. “The only sleeping arrangement is me in your bed. Or you in mine. Us. Together. We’re more than some arrangement, Vee.” He lets out a loud huff. “So let’s have all the kids meet. Clear the air in one breath. We’re public.” His eyes narrow at me. “Exclusive. Monogamous.”

I swallow down his meaning. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Dinner. My place. Tomorrow night.”

“What?” I snap again, surprised by how quickly he wants to make us public with our kids. I also remind him, “Hannah is in Milwaukee.”

“That’s only an hour away. Ask her to come home. And Landon will be home tomorrow anyway. He’s going to the matinee performance of Harley’s play.”

“Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” It’s almost sad that I have his schedule memorized.

“Day game. I’ll cook dinner.” Then Ross leans forward, kissing me a little longer than a quick out-the-door kiss, and I’m left breathless and staring at the back of the shut door after his exit.

“Mom?” Laurel calls from the opposite end of the hallway, clearly confused by Ross’s presence.

Maybe even more flabbergasted by the fact he kissed me.

And now we’ve been invited to dinner at his place. As a family. So my girls can meet Ross Davis and learn that we’re together.

Is this even reality?

+ + +

Thankfully, Hannah isn’t put out by my last-minute request to come home for a night. My blonde-haired girl is even wearing a summery dress, unlike her typical wardrobe of athletic wear.

“I have somewhere special I want to take you.” Can I say I have someone special I want her to meet? Doesn’t that imply he’s my boyfriend or something? Can I have a boyfriend at forty-something? Calling him a man-friend sounds even stranger. And the truth is simply not an option.

I’m sleeping with Ross Davis.

I’d asked Laurel not to say anything to Hannah yet, but I’d been doubtful she could keep this secret to herself.

When Cassandra called me, I laughed, suspicions confirmed about my eldest daughter and her secret-keeping ability.

“Can’t keep a secret from Aunt Sassy, can we?” I’d teased Laurel after the call where Cassandra squealed with delight before admonishing me for not keeping her up to date on the Ross situation.

What was our status? Sleeping partners? Research assistants? Even I was confused. We’ve called ourselves an us, but what does that mean?

When we pull up in front of Ross’s house on the lush, tree-lined side street in a posh neighborhood, the girls gawk at the narrow, three-story brick home.

“Don’t be weird,” I warn them both.

“I don’t think this situation could get any weirder,” Laurel mutters. She’s disgruntled that I didn’t expand further about my relationship with Ross, other than mentioning that we’d met in Houston last year, reunited while I was in Arizona, and then bumped into one another again in Chicago.

“Is bumping some new term?” Laurel teased.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, kid.”

“You’re the one who taught me to have a dirty mind.”

“I did no such thing.”

But my girls read romance novels, following my love for them. Plus, I write them. Romance novels are full of life lessons, dirty minds appreciated.

“Where are we?” Hannah asks, interjecting into my memory of the conversation with Laurel.

“You won’t believe this,” Laurel mumbles, cryptic with her sister as we approach Ross’s front door.

I ring the bell although I know the code. When the door opens on a rush, Harley eagerly greets me.