Page 91 of Call It Serendipity

A click sounds, and my attention flickers upward, across the room to where Jake is closing the front door. The last of the guests meander down the front steps, their outlines moving out of the porch lights’ radius and into the dark night.

“Are Tad and Taylor headed to your place?” I ask as he turns back to face me.

“Yeah, should I feel weird about them staying there together?”

I shrug. “You have two bedrooms. Which makes me wonder, would it be a packed house at your place with three people and two dogs?”

He crosses the room slowly, a lazy, tired smile catching the corner of his mouth. “You bring up a good point. What could I do about that?”

“I’d be willing to take you in.” I smile as well, crossing my arms and leaning my elbows on the counter. “If you were interested.”

From either side of the peninsula, we tilt toward one another, the lone pumpkin pie between us. He drops a soft kiss to my lips before murmuring, “I am very interested.”

“Mmm, then it’s settled.”

“That’s a relief.” This time, his mouth brushes along my jaw. “Because it turns out I’m a greedy man, and I didn’t get a minute alone with you all night.”

“Greedy, huh?”

“So greedy.”

In truth, I’ve been waiting for this too. Specifically, time alone with Jake to tell him my news. Because at some point along the way, things stopped feeling as real until I shared them with him.

“I was hoping to get you alone too. I have news.”

He leans back and arches an eyebrow at me. It disappears behind that curl of hair that falls down over his forehead. “You’ve been holding out on me?”

My mouth twitches in amusement, the sudden urge to drag this out coming over me. I reach into the nearby drawer and pull out two forks. Holding one out to him, I plunge the other into the pie. Then I take a bite before continuing.

“Whitcombe called, they received the photos of my work.”

“And?”

His attention is unyielding, but I can’t help snickering at the way he holds his utensil upright in a fist, like a farmer’s tiny pitchfork. I nudge the pie pan towards him before remembering the Cool Whip in the fridge.

Turning, I take the four steps across the kitchen and withdraw the sweet topping. “And they said they loved the new series.” I set it down on the counter and pull off the lid with a crackle that pierces the quiet evening around us.

“Luce!” He smiles widely. “They’d have been fools not to.”

“They were so pleased, they offered me a contract to be an exclusive, reoccurring artist for the gallery.”

He tips his head to the side. “But you’re not pleased by that.”

I scoop my fork in the Cool Whip and drop a dollop on the pie. “Is it weird that I’m not sure?”

“I don’t think that’s weird at all. Take your time, then tell them what it is that you want.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?”

His smile takes a sly curve, his eyes crinkling in the corners in that I know better way. Then he finally reaches for the pie as well, digging out a bite heavy with whipped topping.

“If you really don’t know, then you’ll figure it out. But maybe you do know, and it’s not what you expected.”

“Nothing about these last couple months have been expected.”

He doesn’t need to reply. Instead, we both turn our attention to taking bites of pumpkin pie straight from the pan as a howling, late autumn wind echoes through bare tree branches outside. I know what we’re both thinking—the best things tend to happen by chance. Their unexpected nature makes their arrival that much sweeter.

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