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  Trouble is, a run is what I do to think.

  To sort through problems at work.

  To find solutions.

  And my brain has a brilliant idea as I finish my workout outside of Central Park. It’s telling me to go talk to a friend.

  But when I jog by the carousel in search of the food trucks, a long line snakes around the mint-green Luna’s Sweet’s vehicle. Despite my sour mood, I smile. I’m proud of my friend. I’m glad her business is thriving. And I won’t disturb her with my sorry story.

  I turn around, lower my shades, and make my way out of the park, wandering past packs of cyclists speeding by and families out for Sunday afternoon picnics.

  I’m half tempted to stop someone, anyone, and ask for help. Ask the harried mom wiping melted ice cream from her toddler’s hand what a note like this means.

  “Thanks for being my teacher.”

  I open the text once more, hunting for a hidden meaning as I walk down Sixth Avenue, weaving among the Sunday afternoon pedestrians.

  This is like a note that says: Thank you for not smoking. Of course I'm not smoking, and of course I was happy to be her teacher. But I don’t feel like a teacher. I don’t think of her as my student. She’s the woman who has my heart. And I know we could be so much more. We could be everything.

  But there’s no business book to tell me what the hell to do when you’ve fallen in love with your dead best friend’s sister who asked you to spend seven days seducing her. There’s no Forbes article on how to navigate that thorny situation.

  Nor is there anyone in this city of millions I want to ask.

  As I turn the corner on Fifty-Fifth Street, a familiar place draws me.

  The St. Regis.

  I blink, almost surprised I’m here.

  But not entirely.

  This is one of my places.

  This is an anchor, and maybe that’s what I need right now.

  As I head into the lobby, I picture the night with CJ. Only I’m not thinking of the stripping, though that was fantastic. I’m thinking of how we left together—as a team. How we found her brother’s cat. How we packed and returned to my place and fell asleep without screwing.

  My mind jumps to the next night, to dinner, when I told her I was glad I could show her what she’d been missing, and she said two simple words in reply—me, too.

  But it wasn’t the words. It was the way she said them. How she looked at me like there was more between us than just sex.

  Like how it’s been for me, too.

  I furrow my brow as I stand in the lobby, memories from the last week crashing into me, words I didn’t pay enough attention to at the time.

  Before we made love. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

  At the rink. “I do trust you.”

  In the town car. “I’ll miss this.”

  But more than the words, I linger on the look in her eyes. Was there more hidden there all along?

  I don’t know the answer, but there’s one person I need to talk to. I call Luna’s wife.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  CJ

  I find what I’m looking for at the bottom of a shoebox of cards from Sean’s funeral. The church had been full of gorgeous flower arrangements, and every one of them had been accompanied by a card. I saved them all—touched by the evidence of how many people loved my brother and would miss the light he brought to the world—but I’ve never gone back and reread them.

  It still hurts too much.

  Maybe it will always hurt too much.

  In my experience with grief, the weight becomes easier to carry, but I’m always aware of it, slung over my shoulder. Losing my mother so young, I’d made Death’s acquaintance before I lost Sean, but never so intimately. Never with an adult’s knowledge that forever without one of your special someones can be a very long time.

  From the moment I open the box, freeing the scent of cardstock, long-faded flowers, and a church filled with women’s perfume and musty winter coats, there are tears in my eyes.

  By the time I pull out the cards and the program with Sean’s smiling face on the front, two hot trails are leaking quietly down my face. But I don’t fight these tears. I gave myself permission to feel this hurt a long time ago. To deny it would be to deny Sean and to push the memory of him away, which I never want to do.

  I want him close, even if it hurts.

  I find Graham’s card near the bottom and pull it free, opening to the message written inside.

  Dear CJ,

  I don’t know what to say.

  I’m usually good with words, but they escape me now that I really need them. When I want so badly to make this easier for you, and for myself.

  But I can’t.

  All I know is that I will never forget him. Sean was one of the best of us. He was a true friend to me, and from now on, I hope you’ll let me be the same to you. I’m here for you. Anything you need. That means today, tomorrow, and ten years from now, because I’m not going anywhere.

  I know I can never take his place. I wouldn’t dare to try. But I’m here to hold your hand or be a shoulder to cry on or to take you for brunch the way Sean used to do. Whatever will help. I know it helps me to know that you’re still here. To know I’ll have someone to share memories with. I don’t want to lose those memories. Or you.

  Sending you all my love today, as we gather to honor your wonderful brother.

  Your friend for always,

  Graham

  With my throat so tight it’s hard to draw a full breath, I press the card to my heart. I knew he had said it before. And he means it. He wants to be there for me, and the last thing I want to do is push him away.

  Maybe it’s time to stop moping around my apartment feeling sorry for myself and take action. To fight for Graham’s heart as fiercely as I negotiated for a week in his bed.

  Sure, I could sit here with my hurt feelings and try to figure out the least painful path forward. But then I would be acting like a coward, like a woman who didn’t know how short life can be and how imperative it is to be brave. That may be the most important lesson I’ve learned, and I will draw upon all my courage to put my heart all the way on the line, no matter what. Graham is worth it, and I’m worth it, too.

  “I will,” I promise Sean, pressing a kiss to my finger and dropping it to his photograph. “I promise.”

  I box up the cards, tuck them way, then wipe my eyes. Time to be brave.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Graham

  Valerie opens the door to the arena for me with a stern smile and a wag of her finger. “You have five minutes.”

  “Thank you, Valerie.”

  “No, thank you. That Stellar Spa gift card was everything I needed. If it weren’t for you, Luna would be giving me forks and paperweights.” She shudders before jabbing her thumb down the hallway. “Okay, on second thought, you have ten minutes. I’ll wait here for you.”

  I thank her for doing me a solid and letting me into the arena.

  Maybe this is crazy, but it feels like the sanest thought I’ve had all day. Sean was my rock, the guy I turned to. He was steady, reliable, and quick with an answer. Almost always, the answer was an upbeat one. It was “seize the day” or “go for it.”

  And it was almost always delivered here.

  This arena is where we hatched some of our greatest plans.

  As I walk through the stands, closer to the ice, I swear I can feel Sean’s presence. That might mean I’m losing my mind. Or maybe that’s how it goes when you lose somebody you love. You can feel them in places that matter. In the things you shared.

  If he were here, I’d ask him what to do next.

  When you fall hard for your buddy’s sister, you need to man up and let him know.

  I take a seat then lower my head almost as if I’m in church, but I’m not asking God, or a saint, or even a ghost. I’m asking a friend, who happens to be on the other side.

  My voice is low, barely a whisper. “I miss you, buddy. I
miss you a hell of a lot. But we’re doing great things, and I know you’d be proud of what we built. You’d be proud of your sister, too. She’s an amazing woman, bright and beautiful and confident. She has great friends, and she knows what she wants in life.”

  I hope I’m part of what she wants.

  I heave a sigh then say the next thing, the hardest part. But once the words are out, there’s nothing tough about saying them. They are the truest words I’ve ever spoken.

  “I didn't plan on falling in love with her. But it happened. And you know what I think? What I hope, at least? That you would tell me to go for it. Even though you’d grumble. Even though you’d threaten me with bodily injury at first, warn me never to hurt her. But in the end, I think you’d say to go for it because you’d know I’ll treat her right. And I will, Sean. I will treat her like she’s the most adored woman on the planet, because she is, and I don’t want to lose this chance at forever.”

  Forever.

  The word clangs in my brain.

  CJ used it last night in the kitchen, while I hunted for the sushi menu.

  “Do you think romance can last forever?”

  I answer for myself this time.

  Yes. Yes, I do. But only if you have the guts to tell the woman you want forever to be with her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Graham

  I run.

  I run through the city. I cruise past couples enjoying Sunday evening dates, past families turning in after a day outside in the gorgeous spring weather. I race by guys heading to office buildings to work late on a weekend.

  That’s been me.

  That was me just last night.

  But it’s not who I am now.

  I run with more energy than I had when I started this morning. She’s not far away, but walking is for guys who don’t know they’re in love.

  I don’t bother heading home to shower. I don’t stop to buy flowers.

  CJ doesn’t want or need flowers. This isn’t about that kind of gift. This is about something new, something different. That’s what this has been about all along. She’s the one. She’s always been the one, never been far from my thoughts, even before this week together.

  This time I have to go in naked, so to speak. Venture into unfamiliar territory without my usual tool kit of gifts and goodies, of lingerie and flowers. The arsenal of seduction isn’t what I need right now, not tonight.

  As soon as I reach her building, I run up the steps, powered by pure adrenaline and a mad need to make sure she knows I love her. I grab my phone and stab my finger against her name, calling her.

  My breath comes in harsh pants as I wait for her to answer.

  Her voice is shaky, a little surprised as she asks, “Hello?”

  “I’m outside. I need to see you.”

  There’s a pause. “You’re . . . outside?”

  Breathless, more words come. “I’m here at your apartment. I need to see you. I need to see you now, Butterfly.”

  Seconds later, the buzzer bleats, and I slam my hands against the door, pushing it open. I take the steps two by two up to the third floor. I turn at the landing and into her hall to find her standing in the doorway of her apartment, looking beautiful and vulnerable, and something else, too.

  Hopeful.

  I know the look because it’s how I feel. Hope fills me up and overflows.

  I don’t waste time. I’m ready to give her my heart, and I pray, dirty and sweaty and empty-handed as I am, that she’ll want to keep it. I close the distance to her. “I didn’t give you a complete answer last night.”

  She lifts her chin, her gaze locking with mine. “What was the question?”

  “Do I think romance can last forever?”

  Her eyes widen, and she nods as if she’s telling me to keep going.

  “I said I didn’t know because I’ve never felt anything like that before.” I cup her cheeks. “Until you.”

  A sweet, small gasp escapes her lips.

  “I was asleep before you. Asleep without even any decent dreams.” I shake my head. “But now I’m wide awake. And the world is beautiful because I’m in love with you, CJ. I’m crazy in love with you. And I was wondering if you might possibly feel the same way?”

  Her lips part, but for a long moment, she says nothing. My life, my heart, my future hang in the balance as I wait. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

  The moment she finally smiles up at me, love clear in every curve of her face, is better than all her orgasms. It’s her, giving me her heart to take care of.

  And I will handle it with so much care.

  She nods, her voice soft at first. “Yes, I might possibly feel the same way, Graham. I might possibly be so crazy in love with you that I’ve spent every moment since I left your place either in the depths of despair, or plotting ways to bring you back to me.”

  A weight lifts from my shoulders, banished by her words. I tug her close, needing the connection, savoring her warmth. “I thought you only wanted me for my sexy body,” I say, laughing with relief.

  She shakes her head with a huff. “I thought you only wanted a week, and I was so scared of losing your friendship. But then I decided I couldn’t let you go without a fight. I was writing down all the reasons we’re meant to be when you called.”

  “I like it when you fight for me.” I stroke her cheek, smiling because I can’t stop. “I want to read your list.”

  Her gaze lifts to the ceiling. “I didn’t get very far. I’d just started when this guy I really like showed up on my doorstep and said he loved me.”

  “What a jerk that guy is,” I tease.

  She shakes her head, playfulness vanishing. “No, he’s not a jerk. He’s a wonderful man with the kindest heart and the most generous spirit, who doesn’t care for emojis either, and who also happens to be incredible in the sack.”

  I laugh, grateful for the joke. It came just in time, before I started tearing up right here in the hallway.

  “He taught me how good it feels to fall in love,” she continues, running gentle hands up and down my back. “So good, I want to keep learning it over and over.”

  My heart thumps hard against my chest. “Butterfly, we’ll keep learning together. You’ve already taught me so much more than I could ever have taught you. Turns out falling in love is pretty amazing.”

  She swallows hard, and her eyes shine with tears. “I’m so glad it was me.”

  And just like that, she reminds me again why I love her, how she opens her heart and brings me in out of the cold.

  “And I’m so glad you woke me up.” I dip my mouth to hers, this kiss a promise. A vow to never take her heart for granted.

  Her lips brush against mine, and everything in the world feels right and true.

  When we pull apart, I glance inside her place, where Stephen King is rolling around in front of the television, gnawing on her remote control. “What do you think about ditching the seven days to seduction and turning it into an always?”

  “You are my always.” She wiggles her eyebrows, tugs my sweaty shirt, and yanks me into her apartment. “And right now, I want all of you.”

  “Have me, woman,” I say with a growl as the door falls shut.

  In seconds, she’s locked us both in her bedroom, pulled off my shirt, pushed down my shorts, and is whispering in my ear that we can do it without protection since she’s on birth control.

  I didn’t come to her home expecting a gift, but that might be the best present of all. When I slide inside, feeling all of her, I know. I know it’s only going to keep getting better.

  That’s another thing she’s taught me, and it’s a lesson I can’t wait to keep learning every single day.

  Chapter Thirty

  Graham

  It’s Monday afternoon. Go time. The board members are gathered inside the boardroom with their beverages of choice, the glossy marketing preview our ad agency prepared, and all their preconceived notions.

  Som
e of them want to sell.

  I know that.

  And I know there’s a chance that nothing CJ or I say will change their minds.

  A week ago, the thought would have turned me inside out.

  But now, I have this woman, this amazing person who will be on my team—and in my heart and my bed—no matter how the vote goes today.

  I’m going to be okay. Better than okay, because everything that matters is right here next to me.

  “You ready?” I give her hand a quick squeeze outside the heavy brown door.

  CJ looks up at me, her eyes warm and sure. “I am. And so are you. You’ve got this. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  I grin, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss her.

  Later. After the vote. I’ll do it the very second we’re alone, because I will need her kiss, no matter which way things go.

  I swing through the door, holding it for CJ to enter before me. We take our seats as I smile at the familiar faces—even Bill and Betsy, who are wearing twin “I will not be moved” expressions. Well, too bad, guys. I’m going to move you or die trying . . .

  Quickly, we run through the standard business matters. Then we move on to the key topic. I stand at the head of the table.

  “So, as you all may know . . .” I pause, building the suspense as I take a moment to make eye contact with each person at the table. “I’m a bra man.”

  I’m rewarded with chuckles from most.

  “Yep, I'm a bra man, a panty man, a baby doll man,” I continue. “I love underwear, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I love underwear, I love women in underwear, and I love this company. Adored is more than a name to me. When Sean and I started this venture, we wanted to make sure every person who slipped into our product felt special, valued, irreplaceable. Sometimes that means they’ll look in the mirror and love how a certain item of clothing makes them feel. Sometimes it means they’ll blow their lover’s socks off in lingerie that brings out the kind of woman they want to be.”