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“Twenty years is a hell of a long time to do something you hate.” And with those words, my own dilemma gained clarity. Did I really want to be miserable? Decades and decades of a barely-tolerable life?
“Oh, I didn’t hate NCIS.” Monroe’s dismissive tone pushed back on my conclusion. Maybe I’d been hasty there. And heck, now I was right back to my endless internal debate. “I love investigating, finding facts, carefully piecing together events, and coming up with conclusions. But I’m not sure I would have ended up there without the familial push.”
“Yeah. I get that.” I rolled my shoulders against the hard roof, accidentally moving closer to Monroe. “My dad is always going on about how the community college was his only choice because of me, how they had to scrimp and save, and how lucky I am to have options.”
“Options are only good if you want them,” Monroe said with a sageness I felt all the way to my soul. In fact, I didn’t need Monroe’s wisdom. I was drowning in options, and my yearning for simpler choices had plagued me over the months since the acceptance email landed in my inbox.
“Amen.”
“What do you want, Knox?” Monroe touched my upper arm, fingers brushing the bare skin at the edge of my T-shirt, contact making my skin spark like the stars above us. “Not what everyone keeps saying you deserve, but what do you want?”
“Frank and Leon of Measure Twice want to retire soon.” I sidestepped the question to get to the heart of my dilemma. “They’ve offered me the chance to take over the business. It’s the sort of opportunity that doesn’t come along very often. An established small business, loyal clientele, operating in the black.”
“Wow. But Ivy League graduate school is also a rare shot. The sort that might not come again.”
“I know.” I drew the know out into a long groan, heavily emphasizing the ow.
“Close your eyes,” Monroe ordered, and for a second, I could totally picture him as the commanding lieutenant. “Picture ten years from now. Where are you?”
Here. Right here. With him on this roof. But, of course, I couldn’t say that even if I could see it so clearly. A shiver raced up my back. Something had changed the night Monroe told me more about his mother and let me buy him silly ice cream flavors. I’d gone from wanting him in my bed to wanting him in my whole life. Apart from my never-ending lust for this man, I wanted to stay here, talking and sharing secrets. There was nothing I didn’t want to know about Monroe, and if hanging out with him delayed my inevitable decision, so much the better.
But Monroe was waiting on an answer, so I took another deep breath, this one full of his ocean-scented cologne. He’d looked nice for his quiz-night outing, light-colored polo and khaki pants, but his patience was possibly his sexiest quality, the way he didn’t press.
“I could be in a fancy condo, I guess. Chicago. Boston. Nice car. Maybe a hot boyfriend in advertising and a host of architecture awards on my loft’s walls. Or…” Eyes still shut, I relaxed my facial muscles, letting go of all the shoulds and coulds that had defined my last few years. “Or I could be here in Safe Harbor. The triplets would be almost in high school, and the surprise baby would be the perfect age for some of the summer rec league camps. Maybe I’d volunteer to help. And Frank and Leon would be retired and holding court at the senior center. I’d drop off their groceries and tell them about the jobs we had on tap for the week. There would be some college kids on summer payroll, maybe a big job at the nice homes over on the bluffs. Plenty of gossip to share. It would be a good life.”
“It would be,” Monroe said so softly the words felt like a caress, a brush against my cheek. No, wait. Those were his very real fingertips ghosting down my cheek. “You paint a damn pretty picture.”
“I do, don’t I?” I couldn’t keep the sadness out of my tone as I leaned into his touch.
And then Monroe, he of the honey-sweet voice and tender fingers, said the most seductive words I’d ever heard. “I trust you to figure it out.”
“You do?” Pushing onto an elbow, we were now nose-to-nose, faces mere millimeters apart. “You’re not going to tell me what to do?”
“As you seem to love telling me, you’re a grown adult.” His tone was as fond as the caress had been. “You don’t need permission or direction. I figure you’ve had enough of that.”
“I probably already know the answer,” I admitted.
“I know.” His eyes, always so expressive, were deep enough for a man to drown in. And then he kissed me, pulling me even further under his spell.
