It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

If you loved each other enough, and it was good enough love, marriage would work.”

“Now?”

“Better the devil you know. Marriage sucks. Being single sucks. Pick your poison.”

Sam looked at her like she was an errant school kid squandering her natural ability. “So you don’t believe in love?”

“I believe it exists. I see it every day: couples high on hormones, whose greatest test has been moving in together. But, it’s a delusion. And I’m done with being deluded.”

“That’s a shame.”

“You want to get married again.”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Of course you do. You’re a great dad with a cool job and who gets better looking with age, thank you patriarchy. You’ll probably end up marrying a twenty-year-old Pilates instructor who thinks Botox is a great investment and doesn’t know she’s supposed to come too.”

Sam cocked his head at her, a pleased smile on his lips. “You think I’m good-looking?”

And because he found the one positive thing in all her prickly words, something warm and wonderful rolled over her, sloughing off her bitterness like a layer of dead skin. I really like you Shit.

Now, standing on the brownstone front steps, late on a Friday night after the Fitzpatrick-Maple wedding, Sam’s eyes met hers. “I, ah, got you something. It’s in the car.”

Liv’s heart hiccupped as he opened the passenger door. Maybe it was just cheap candy. She hoped it was just cheap candy. She definitely hoped it wasn’t diamond earrings or, God forbid, a set of house keys.

Loping back up the steps, Sam handed her a brown paper bag. Too big for jewelry or keys. She peeked in the top. Cherries. A memory of asking him about them at Whole Foods, weeks ago, resurfaced. They’re not quite at their peak yet. But I’ll keep an eye out. He’d remembered. She laughed. “You are too good, Sam Woods.”

“Just trying to impress you, Liv Goldenhorn.”

“It’s working.”

Their smiles faded into something more serious as they stood, gazing at each other on the brownstone steps. Oof, he was cute. She’d like to kiss Sam Woods. Yes. That’s exactly what she’d like to do.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, I’d quite like to kiss you right now, and I know I shouldn’t ask because that isn’t manly, but I guess I am asking because I don’t want you to—”

“Shut up,” she said, tugging his T-shirt so that their lips met.

It was not a perfect kiss. It was awkward and too quick and Liv was still holding the bag of cherries, which sort of smushed between them. But it was still electrifying. Liv hadn’t kissed anyone except her husband for more than twenty years. Kissing Eliot was like speaking English. Kissing Sam was like suddenly realizing she was fluent in French. It left them both shy and breathless and smiling self-consciously.

“That was…,” Sam began. “You know, I can do better at that.”

“Me too,” Liv said. “I’m actually very good at that.”

“Guess we’re just a bit out of practice.”

“Well, we can try again sometime,” Liv suggested.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He checked the time. “Shoot, I gotta go.” He ran down the steps, then ran back up them again. This time, he didn’t ask for permission as he kissed Liv confidently on the mouth. Such a different mouth from Eliot’s. Solid and warm. Ooh là là. Her hand touched his cheek as he pulled back.

“Better,” he said, certain.

Liv watched him drive away feeling like a swoony teenage girl. She selected a dark red cherry and popped it in her mouth. Summer exploded on her tongue.

52

The following Monday, Savannah arrived early to In Love in New York, using the key Liv had cut for her. The brownstone was silent—Liv would still be dropping Ben off at day camp. She opened the blinds, made a pot of coffee, and set about responding to the email inquiries that’d come in over the weekend. Yes, we’d be thrilled to help you throw a Star Wars–themed wedding on May the 4th. But it was all on autopilot. Savannah’s mind was back in Bushwick, on a certain brunette with a gap-toothed smile.

After they spoke at the restaurant, Honey shared her personal Instagram with Savannah. Savannah didn’t know what was more surprising—that Honey was gay, or she had a private account. This small corner of the social media universe revealed the real Honey Calhoun. The Honey who drank coffee out of Pride-themed mugs and binged RuPaul’s Drag Race and hung out at girl parties and gay bars. Savannah assumed hardworking Honey spent every waking hour at the restaurant. But no, every now and then, her Stories showed her doing shots with women with green hair and nose rings, Hayley Kiyoko pumping in the background. It looked cool. Sexy and slightly intimidating.

Not that Savannah had a lot of time to party herself. They were still in high season: In Love in New York worked every Friday and weekend as day-of coordinators, while meeting new clients readying to marry the following year. Savannah didn’t want Honey to think there was anything off between them after coming out to her, so she made an effort with texts and popping by ’Shwick Chick when she could.

But something had changed between them. Their usual ease had sharpened. When their hands bumped as they reached for the hot sauce, electric heat scissored through Savannah. Their eye contact wasn’t casual. Everything felt… loaded.

Because of what Honey had said: I only liked it because everyone else did. She wasn’t talking about Alabama football; Honey had questioned Savannah’s sexuality. At first, this made Savannah angry. Wasn’t questioning your sexuality something you did yourself? What right did Honey have to make assumptions about her? She didn’t know her! She was not gay, or queer, or bi, or whatever—she just wasn’t!

But after the sting wore off, Savannah realized being mad was easy. Being self-reflective was harder.

Eliot wasn’t a typical alpha male—he looked nothing like the man in the center of her New York vision board. Maybe there was something queer, in both senses of the word,