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Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines #2) The Borderkind (The Veil #2)

An hour or so later, my plate was empty, as was my second glass of wine, and I had a terrified death grip on Logan’s shirt. I was scrunched up in a ball with my head buried in his chest, peeking out occasionally when the chainsaw stopped roaring.

I’m glad I ran into you I have something to tell you and please don’t be mad.Frowning, I turned my attention away from Caleb and his mimicking of sounds of a gorilla. I laughed. Well, it’s too early for you to be knocked up with Caleb’s love child, so what is it?

Speaks the Nightbird (Matthew Corbett #1)

Caleb hired a new guy at the restaurant. He’s really cute and nice and— She stopped, sucking in a deep breath.And? I sat up straight, realizing where this was going.He asked about you. I told him you’re single and…he wants to get together with you next Saturday night. Her words flew out fast as if that would help convince me to agree.

Night Lost (Darkyn #4)

Come on, he wants to have dinner at Haven, that’s all.I sighed, kneading the back of my neck. Hilary. I pouted.

You have to admit it could do you good. Maybe have a carefree night to release some of that pent up frustration? Her brows rose. It could possibly help put an end to your indecent dreams about Logan. Unless you’d rather… she leaned in, grinning, go to him for help with that. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

You’re terrible, you know that.The doctor was grim. He was a good man, and this was hard for him. He was younger than my youngest, and I felt my age in his presence.

We rocked to and fro, and Allie, my dream, my timeless beauty, told me she was sorry. I knew there was nothing to forgive, and I whispered in her ear. "Everything will be fine," I whispered, but inside I was afraid. I was a hollow man with nothing to offer.I remember only bits and pieces of Dr. Barnwell's continuing explanation.

Lucky Starr and the Big Sun of Mercury (Lucky Starr #4)

"It's a degenerative brain disorder affecting memory and personality… there is no cure or therapy… there's no way to tell how fast it will progress… it differs from person to person… I wish I knew more… Some days will be better than others… It will grow worse with the passage of time… I'm sorry…"Everyone was sorry. Our children were brokenhearted, our friends were scared for themselves. I don't remember leaving the doctor's office, and I don't remember driving home. My memories of that day are gone, and in this my wife and I are the same.

It has been four years now. Since then we have made the best of it, if that is possible. Allie organized, as was her disposition. She made arrangements to leave the house and move here. She rewrote her will and sealed it. She left specific burial instructions, and they sit in my desk, in the bottom drawer. I have not seen them. And when she was finished, she began to write. Letters to friends and children. Letters to brothers and sisters and cousins. Letters to nieces, nephews and neighbours. And a letter to me.I read it sometimes when I am in the mood and, when I do, I am reminded of Allie on cold winter evenings, seated by a roaring fire with a glass of wine at her side, reading the letters I had written to her over the years. She kept them, these letters, and now I keep them, for she made me promise to do so. She said I would know what to do with them. She was right; I find I enjoy reading bits and pieces of them just as she used to. They intrigue me, for when I sift through them I realize that romance and passion are possible at any age. I see Allie now and know I've never loved her more, but as I read the letters, I come to understand that I have always felt the same way.

I read them last three evenings ago, long after I should have been asleep. It was almost two o'clock when I went to the desk and found the stack of letters, thick and weathered. I untied the ribbon, itself almost half a century old, and found the letters her mother had hidden so long ago and those from afterwards. A lifetime of letters, letters professing my love, letters from my heart. I glanced through them with a smile on my face, picking and choosing, and finally opened a letter from our first anniversary.When I see you now-moving slowly with new life growing inside you-I hope you know how much you mean to me, and how special this year has been. No man is more blessed than me, and I love you with all my heart.

I put it aside and found another, this one from a cold evening thirty-nine years ago:Sitting next to you, while our youngest daughter sang off-key in the school Christmas show, I looked at you and saw a pride that comes only to those who feel deeply in their hearts, and I knew that no man could be luckier than me.

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