Back to You(27)

I press send, bouncing my leg up and down as the phone rings without an answer. Finally, just as I’m about to give up, she picks up.

After her polite greeting, I reintroduce myself, “Hi Margaret, this is Declan Murphy. You helped me with my reservations for the house I’m currently renting in Newport, Rhode Island.”

She quickly responds in a professional tone. “Oh, yes, Mr. Murphy, is everything alright with the accommodations? Is there some sort of problem I can help you with?”

“There’s no problem at all, Margaret. Everything is perfect so far—exactly how you described it—better, in fact. I was calling to see if you could help me out with something special I wanted to surprise my wife with. You were spot on with recommending this place and you sounded like you’re familiar with the area—you think you can help me out?”

She clears her throat with a little giggle. “Why, certainly, Mr. Murphy. What did you have in mind?”

I have a lot of things in mind. A picture perfect, second chance future spent with my wife. Another little one (or two) to share it with. Happiness, health, love, laughter and memories worth every ounce of hardship we’ve been through just to get to where we are. I want our life back and I know exactly how to start fresh.

“Do you know a minister that would perform an intimate renewal ceremony on short notice? I want to marry my wife all over again.”





Yesterday was emotionally draining. Not to mention that the wine and the heat really did a number on me and I hadn’t realized it until I was screaming my head off in the middle of the vineyard. But today, oddly enough, I feel refreshed and renewed.

I know our issues didn’t simply vanish overnight or disappear because of one heated conversation, but—I do feel good, better, more at ease.

I turn around to feel for Declan, but he’s not next to me. The sheets aren’t warm and his side doesn’t look slept in, but I vaguely remember feeling his arms around me at some point in the middle of the night.

“Dec?” I yell out, sitting up in the bed.

When he doesn’t answer, I swing my legs over the side of the bed to get up and look for him.

Before my feet even touch the soft, carpeted floor, the bedroom door swings open and I’m greeted with a shirtless Declan holding a tray of irresistible smelling breakfast. Scrumptious, good enough to eat—and I’m not talking about the Belgian waffles.

“Morning, baby. Sleep well?”

I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it over to one side, and then prop a pillow behind my back. “I slept a lot better than I have in a while, so yes. And to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

Declan walks over to the bed and places the tray over my legs. “Funny you should use that word. I have a few of them for you today.”

“What? Surprises?”

“Yup,” he sings, tapping my nose with his finger.

I pull his hand before he can retreat and bring it to my lips. After kissing his fingertips, I move his hand to my cheek and let his warmth caress me as I close my eyes so the moment can fill my senses. When I open them again, Declan’s smiling.

I pat the bed beside me, gesturing him to join me. “Come. Sit with me. I didn’t like waking up to find you missing.”

He hops onto the bed, careful not to tip over the tray. I reach for the coffee mug, steadying it. Don’t want to waste one ounce of that.

Declan kisses my bare shoulder and then whispers in my ear, “I was only downstairs. I’ll never be too far—ever.” He steals a strawberry from my plate and then leans his head against the headboard as he chews. His gaze trails off and I can tell there’s something on his mind.

I take a sip of the coffee—prepared exactly the way I like it—and give him a look. “Hey, you okay?”

“I need to tell you something,” he confesses.

My stomach lurches at that tiny sentence. For so few words, they usually precede something I don’t want to hear. “Should I be worried?” Doesn’t matter if I should be, I already am.

He picks up the fork from the tray and places it in my hand with a smile. “First of all, eat before it gets cold. Second—no. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Phew! Thank you! If it’s something he can tell me while I stuff my face, then it can’t be earth shattering. I pick up the knife and start to cut into the waffle when he says, “But you still might kill me for not consulting with you first.”

I drop the utensils and lift my hands in objection. “Seriously, Dec. What? Just say it!” This can’t be good.

Declan spins to face me, curling his legs underneath him. His muscles tense as he adjusts his posture, preparing to say what he needs to say. “Okay, before you go flipping out, just let me explain.”