All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

I sit at her desk and take a sip of my tea before carefully placing it on a coaster and reaching for another stack of books.

Some of them are signed by the authors, so it’s not just a matter of donating the ones that I won’t read or don’t need. I have to look at every single one of them, check for a signature, notes or thoughts that Mom might have written in them, pressed flowers, you name it.

It’s become a long process.

I have two boxes nearby. One for donations and one for trash. I mean, who needs an encyclopedia from 1987? Not me. That’s what Google is for. And there are plenty of books that are empty and would be welcome at a library or the Goodwill.

Just as I toss a paperback into a box, my phone pings with a text.

What are you doing? It’s from Sasha, a former colleague and my best friend. She’s in New York, working on a new play that debuts in six weeks, but she texts or calls every single day, checking in on me.

Sorting books in the library. What are you doing?

I set the phone aside, take a sip of my tea, and glance out the window as a huge sailboat with a bright-blue sail soars past.

Having lunch before I head back to rehearsal. Are you ready to sort through your parents’ things? They haven’t been gone long.

I smile at her concern. She’s always been a mother hen.

I can’t just sit in this big house and do nothing. I might as well get something accomplished. It’s just the library.

Not their bedroom, or the kitchen, where Mom’s special dishes are. Those two rooms will have to wait for quite some time.

Don’t overdo it. When is your next PT?

Now I feel like Gabby when I roll my eyes and reply.

Tomorrow. Go to rehearsal and stop harassing me.

I grin and rub my thigh where it’s started to ache again. I’ll take more Advil when I go downstairs.

Fine. You’re so difficult. Call you later!

I shove my phone in my pocket, and now that I’ve gone through that stack of books, I decide to go downstairs rather than reach for more. They’re heavy, and I’m tired. One thing I’ve learned during this whole damn mess is to listen to my body and not push it too hard. If I’m tired, I need to nap. If I hurt, I need to take something. Being miserable isn’t worth being stubborn.

I hobble slowly down the stairs to the kitchen and take two Advil, and then wander to my favorite napping spot on the porch. I’ll let the ocean breeze lull me to sleep.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I’m standing in my driveway, the hood of my car open, and I’m staring at it as if it just magically holds all of the answers.

So far, all I see is a bunch of stuff that I know absolutely nothing about.

All I do know for sure is, the damn car won’t start.

“Don’t do this to me today,” I plead with the three-year-old BMW. “I have to go to PT today, and I’m already running late. Please start.”

With that, I march around to the driver’s side, prop my ass on the seat, and push the start button.

Nothing.

“What the hell?”

I get out and face the open engine again, frowning as if it’s scorned me on purpose.

“Okay, maybe Siri knows.” I pull the app up on my phone and speak into it. “Siri, my BMW won’t start. Can you diagnose the problem?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

I roll my eyes and try again.

“Why won’t my BMW start?”

She thinks for a second. “I can’t find that answer.”

I groan and then try again.

“Siri, please give me possible reasons for why my BMW engine won’t start.”

“You should seek a professional.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah, no shit. Why are you always such a bitch to me, Siri?”

I hear movement behind me and startle when I see Finn standing there, his hands on his lean hips and a smirk on that sexy face of his.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to hear you have an argument with Siri.”

“I thought this was a smart phone.” I wag it in the air. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t she know what’s going on?”

“In theory. Maybe someday they’ll be that smart.”

I sigh and turn back to the car. “I guess I’ll call AAA.”

“Well, hold on. What’s wrong?”

“It won’t start. It doesn’t even make a noise. Just . . . nothing.”

He steps up beside me and glances inside. Suddenly he reaches in and wiggles something around.

“Try it again.”

“Seriously, I can call someone.”

“London.” He looks down at me with hot brown eyes now and leans both hands on the car, as if he’s keeping himself from touching me.

Which is completely all in my head and wishful thinking because he’s a stranger and I’ve been without sex for way too long.