The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Done!” I laugh, sinking into his arms again, forever my safe harbor. “She can teach Hercules to tap dance for a special exhibit for all I care.”

“Just one day a week,” he says. “She can’t work much more than that because she’ll be busy enough at the B&B.”

I throw myself at him again so hard he loses his balance. We actually tumble over into the sand together.

“You have no idea how much I love you, dream man,” I say.

“Shit, just don’t start calling me that,” he says with a booming laugh. “And I know you love me. Without even trying, you make me feel like the luckiest dude in the universe.”

“Oh, good. Because you’re stuck with Mrs. Luckiest.”

“I’m stuck with a pig,” he grumbles, and I laugh because he can’t hide his affection for the third wheel of our family anymore. “You, I choose every damn day. You’ll be my first, second, third, and thousandth pick forever.”

Have I mentioned I love this man?

Later, we definitely both get luckier, back in our bungalow and surrounded with glowing candles.

Every naked kiss reaffirms our pact as the worst best friends.

We were never meant for longing, and now that we’re together, I’ll never want for anything else.