All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

“So he comforted you.”

“Yeah. And it was nice.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I want to meet him before I make any judgments. Because you could just be infatuated with his niceness and big dick, and maybe I’ll see that not only does he have a big dick, but he is a big dick.”

“You make me laugh so hard,” I reply, chuckling. “Of course you’ll get to meet him. We went for a walk on the beach this morning to see what the storm brought in and it was so cool. We found some garbage, of course, and a couple of animal carcasses.”

“Super romantic,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“But we also found a piece of a boat. It looked really old, and I think it was part of a shipwreck, and just got washed up.”

“Maybe it was a pirate ship. Did you see Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“You’re in a bitchy mood this morning,” I reply, and sip my drink, then notice the door to the playhouse open. “Who peed in your Cheerios today?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just jealous. You’re frolicking on the beach with a sexy dude and I’m working my ass off in the city. The weather has been shit, especially for summer, and the director of this new play is determined to kill me. I’m tired and bitchy, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. The first few weeks of a new show are always the worst,” I remind her. I remember all too well, and it’s one of the things that I don’t miss.

“I know. It’ll get better once I memorize all of the lines and the marks.”

“So, not to change the subject, but you’re going with me out to the playhouse in my backyard.”

“You have a playhouse?”

“Yeah, my dad had it built for me when I was a little girl. The door is open, and I need to check it out.”

“What if there’s a madman waiting for you in there?”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll need you to hang up and call 911.” I poke my head inside. “Hello?”

“I’m here.”

“No, I was calling out into the playhouse.” I laugh and step inside. “The storm must have blown the door in. Finn’s niece was out here the other night, and I must not have shut the door firmly when we left.” I glance around and sigh. “Damn, the wind did a number on this place.”

“Is it ruined?”

“No, but stuff is blown over, messed up. I think I’ll just shut the door behind me and pretend like it isn’t here for now.”

I do just that and walk back to the house.

“Maybe I’ll come to that house with you sometime,” Sasha says with a sigh. “It sounds so nice to get out of the city and relax for a while.”

“When you get a break from the show, we’ll definitely come here. And if I’m not available, you’re always welcome to use it without me.”

“Thanks,” she says. “When are you coming home?”

“Soon,” I reply, and sit back in my favorite chair on the porch. “I don’t know exactly when yet, but I’m feeling better and better every day. Recovery is finally happening more rapidly, and although I do love it here, I miss you and the city. But I’m enjoying Finn, so I’m not in a huge hurry.”

“I get it,” she says, and then yawns. “And I’m so glad you’re feeling better. You sound so good. It makes me happy.”

“I’m pretty happy,” I confirm. “Is that bad? I mean, my parents have been gone for less than four months, and my career as I know it may be over. Is it wrong that I’m happy?”

“What are you supposed to do, London? Be miserable for the rest of your life? You’re only thirty-two, with a lot of life ahead. So no, I don’t think it’s bad that you’re healing. Grief is a process, and you’re processing. I think you sound healthy.”

“Thanks.” My glass is empty. I pull my knees up to my chest and feel the pull of tired, sore muscles.

But not sore because I’m injured. Sore because I spent the night having sex with maybe the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life.

“Oh, one more thing about Finn; he’s almost forty.”

“That explains it,” Sasha says, and I can hear her snap her fingers in the background. “He’s older, so he has his shit together. Younger guys don’t have their shit together.”

“Most don’t,” I agree. “But not all men are like that. Finn thought that I might have an issue with the age difference.”

“Why? You’re not a minor.”

“That’s what I said. It’s not like I’m thirty and he’s seventy. That might give me pause.”

“Ew. That should give you pause. Does he have any gray hair?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I like a silver fox. That salt-and-pepper-hair thing is sexy.”

“Maybe you should date an older guy,” I reply with a laugh. “But no, he has dark hair, no gray that I’ve noticed, and dark brown eyes. Olive skin. I think his family is Italian.”