Page 221 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I do,” I said. “And maybe together we can figure out ways to make sure our relationship doesn’t go off the rails in the future. I think therapy is a good start.”

He nodded. “Maybe we could even do therapy together—build from a strong foundation.”

I smiled, liking the sound of that and appreciating his dedication to making sure we were solid going forward. “I think it’ll help.”

He grinned. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“Thank you for not giving up on us.” I threaded my fingers through his. “And I want you to promise me that if you do start struggling with your feelings again, you’ll tell me. I don’t want you keeping things from me, leaving me to be blindsided later.”

“I don’t want that either.” He kissed my forehead. “I promise.”

“Good.”

“In fact,” his smile turned devious, “I promise to share all of my feelings with you.”

“Is that so?” I giggled at the growl in his voice.

“Yes. For example, I’m feeling like I need to kiss you here,” he said, stroking my collarbone before leaving a hot kiss in his finger’s wake. “And here,” he said, stroking his finger between my breasts. “And here.” He bent and pressed a kiss to my belly button.

“That’s a lot of feelings,” I said. “How will we possibly manage?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. His kisses trailed lower, and my eyes fluttered closed in response. “Together.”

33

AIDEN

The murmur of voices and the gentle hum of soft jazz echoed through the Red Lion as glasses thumped against wooden table tops and cutlery scraped against dishware.

“Your Hemingway Daiquiri, sir.”

Leaning up against the polished bar top, I smiled down at Cora as she passed me a glass filled with a pale pink drink. She was playing bartender for the evening. “Thank you, miss.”

“Enjoying the grand opening?”

“I am. Especially because there’s a lady behind the bar I’ve had my eye on for a while.” I winked at her, pleased that I could still make her blush as bright as her hair. “You think I have a shot?”

“Only one way to find out,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll have to make a move.”

“Right.” I leaned in, close enough that I could make out the glossy shine on her lips. “Should I just go in for the kiss?”

She smirked. “If you’re feeling that confident.”

I lifted my glass. “Liquid courage first.” I tasted the drink, pulling the glass away and frowning down at the contents.

“How is it?”

“Sweet,” I said, confused.

“I added some simple syrup.”

Ah. The corner of my mouth curved. “I thought Hemingway preferred a slightly bitter drink?”

“He did.” She winked at me. “But a little birdie told me you might prefer yours on the sweeter side.”