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Excerpt

I’m standing there in my full-dress uniform when Joe clasps my shoulder. He announces cheerfully, “I’ve been abandoned by my wife.”

A few months ago, I might be alarmed at the joviality in his statement, but Holly broke through. It’s good to know that for some people, there’s another side to this nightmare. Catching a glimpse of his father approaching, I lift my drink to my lips to hide my smirk before I ask, “Was it because you smell? Because really, you should have showered before you came to this kind of event.”

Joe shoves me, almost knocking me into an older couple, both of whom jump. I dip my head before apologizing. “I deeply regret Captain Bianco’s boorish manners during such an esteemed event.”

Joe’s eyes promise retribution as Chief approaches with his wife—Joe’s mother—Denise. “Do I need to separate you two?” He’s blinking rapidly as he tries to aim a beady-eyed glare at both of us. 

“Holly got you with her camera, didn’t she?” Joe guesses. 

Chief groans, making us all laugh. “I swear, your wife didn’t put that thing down during the delivery of our grandchildren, Joe. What on earth made me think she’d leave it home tonight?”

“Give her a break, she’s working tonight, Pop. I’m stag.”

Maybe it’s the highball I’ve been nursing, but I feel more like myself than I have in ages. Wrapping an arm around Joe’s shoulder, I snuggle up to my best friend like I was two and need to cuddle with my Teddy Bear.

“Get off me, you ass,” Joe laughs.

“And here I was going to offer to be your date,” I sigh dramatically.

Everyone in the small group breaks into laughter causing the ice around my heart to melt a little more. I recall what it was like when I was younger and I clowned around all the time, when laughter was a typical part of my day. Now, there’s a million miles between me and the man who felt the world crash in on him—literally. It’s no secret those days and that man are buried in the ashes of a building that’s been rebuilt.

If only there was something—someone—who gave a damn about me. Sure, there’s my family—my parents and my sister. And of course, Joe and his brood. But if I’d found that someone before the fire, maybe I could have been resurrected from the ashes instead of leaving my soul as footprints in the rubble and dust. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I’m drifting on the wind.

Like it’s answering me, a gust swirls around us causing women to lift their hands to their meticulously arranged hairdos. Men turn their backs as the front door is opened to admit a late arrival.

Their loss because they don’t get a glimpse of the smoke-colored vision that streaks into the room, her dress twirling around her like a Hollywood movie starlet. Dark hair lifts off her neck in a wreath of braids and swaths of messy strands. I swallow hard at the vast amount of creamy skin outlined in a dress that plunges almost to her waist. When she turns to say something to the woman she’s with, her cheeks flush—nerves or excitement? I narrow my eyes and catch as her teeth drag over her plump lower lip, enticing me to do the same.

My breath becomes a bit jagged as the two women begin mingling. Are they together? Friends?  Immediately, I become as intrigued as she engages in some small talk with the very recognizable Matt and Ava Barlow.  My body jerks forward intuitively toward her, like it has a mind of its own. Acknowledging how much I ache for the sweetness of a woman’s touch for the first time since the fire.

“Who is she?” I murmur aloud, entranced as she throws her head back and laughs at something the cantankerous cook mutters. Her surprise is visible from halfway across the ballroom as he catches her hand and spins her out.  I become hard as a rock when I glimpse more of her smooth skin though the crystal chains holding up the back of her gown.

Something inside of me is clawing at me to get to her before she escapes. “That woman who just walked in the gray gown—who is she?”

“Who?” Joe lifts his own drink.

My jaw falls a bit. “Gray dress. Just came through the door like she owned the room.” And me or any male she might want in it.

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About the Author

Tracey Jerald knew she was meant to be a writer when she would re-write the ending of books in her head on her bike when she was a young girl growing up in southern Connecticut. It wasn’t long before she was typing alternate endings and extended epilogues “just for fun”.

After college in Florida, where she obtained a degree in Criminal Justice swearing she saw things she’ll never quite believe and never quite forget, Tracey traded the world of law and order for IT.

Her work for a world-wide internet startup transferred her to Northern Virginia where she met her husband in what many call their own happily ever after. They have one son.

When she’s not busy with her family or writing, Tracey can be found in her home in north Florida drinking coffee, reading, training for a runDisney event, or feeding her addiction to HGTV.

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