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“Well, wow.” Not at all like the one delivered to their table at the restaurant, even though it had been wonderful and pricey.
Together they walked to the sunroom and took a seat next to each other, facing west to watch day turn into night.
“Hey, Jolly,” Frost said.
When there was no response, Kaylee and Frost exchanged glances.
“Jolly?” he prompted.
“I’m worn out. Too many knock-knock jokes.”
“Poor Jolly.” Kaylee smothered a laugh. But she too had worn down during the course of the week. The kids were a handful.
“Maybe you should babysit more often,” he fired back at the machine.
“Entering standby mode now.”
“No!” Frost protested. “Set the temperature to seventy-two first. And play my Frank Sinatra station.”
“I told you I’m tired.”
“Please,” Kaylee added. “Please play the Frank Sinatra station and adjust the heat.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Frost-to-be. Anything for you.”
“Jesus.”
The future wasn’t only bright. It was interesting.
She curled up under a blanket and regarded the man next to her. That they were to be married was still a marvel. “You tore up my resignation letter.”
“I did.”
“You should know something.” She pressed her lips together and blew a breath through them.
“Go on.”
They had to be able to talk about hard things, right? “Sylvia called.”
His eyes blazed, and his knuckles whitened on the stem of his glass, but he said nothing.
After swallowing another sip, she looked at him. “She’s been offered a job and is hiring her management staff.”
“I see.” That damnable tic was back in his temple.
“I’m planning to join her.”
“Is your heart set on it?”
It had been. “More money, fewer hours. And more vacation time.”
“Sounds like a strategic move.”
One he hated, obviously.
He put down his glass and crossed one knee over the other. “Look, Kaylee, I want you to be happy. If that’s working for Sylvia”—he drummed his fingers on his thigh—“so be it.”
“Thank you.”
