Page 109 of Just The Way You Aren't

"Medium is perfect, sir."

"Call me Jack," my dad says, turning back toward the grill. "And grab a beer from the cooler. Sounds like you've had quite a day."

Just like that, the spell is broken. My mother bustlesforward to introduce herself, followed by a wave of siblings and nieces and nephews, all talking at once. I watch as Damien is enveloped by my family, fielding questions and handshakes with surprising ease.

"Looks like I was right," Summer sidles up next to me, bumping my shoulder. "I guess different doesn't mean incompatible after all."

I smile, watching as my youngest niece shyly offers Damien a slightly crushed dandelion, which he accepts with all the solemnity of being presented with a medal. "No," I agree with my sister. "I guess it doesn't."

As if sensing my gaze, Damien looks up and catches my eye across the yard. The love in his expression is so clear, so undeniable, that it takes my breath away.

Different worlds, maybe. But the same heart.

And in the end, that's all that matters.

EPILOGUE

DAMIEN

The following week, after taking Willow out for an elegant dinner in the city, I make a detour from the usual route to my townhouse and instead pull up in front of The Retreat. She glances at me from the passenger seat, looking stunning in a black cocktail dress and the diamonds-and-pearls necklace I never tire of seeing on her.

“What’s this?” Through the windows of my Mercedes, the impressive old building with its limestone facade is lit up against the evening sky, its classic architecture hinting at the wealth and power concentrated within. “Is this where you used to disappear to on poker nights with your friends?”

I merely smile in confirmation. “I need to make a quick stop to settle a debt.”

“A debt?” She frowns, giving me a curious tilt of her head. “Does this have anything to do with a certain wager Wyatt teased you about the night of the Silver Hearts fundraiser?”

“Smart girl,” I reply, chuckling under my breath. “I’ll have to remember there’s no getting anything past you.”

She arches a delicate brow. “You better not even try.”

Leaning across the car’s interior, I wrap my hand around her nape and pull her toward me for a kiss. “Never.”

I could have gone on kissing her, but the uniformed doorman steps forward and I draw back. “Shall we go inside?”

“If you think it’s okay for me to be here,” she jokes. “Poker night at The Retreat sounds like a sacred thing. You sure girls are allowed in there?”

“You’re not just any girl. You’remygirl.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I like the sound of that.”

We get out of the car and I hand my key fob to the doorman for the valet. He takes it with a polite nod. "Mr. Langley. Good evening."

"Bernie, this is Willow Harper."

If he's surprised to see me with a woman, he hides it well. "A pleasure, Ms. Harper. The gentlemen are already assembled in the card room."

We step into the hushed elegance of The Retreat, with its dark wood paneling, oriental rugs, and oil paintings of stern-faced men from another era. The lighting is deliberately low, the atmosphere one of old money and carefully guarded tradition.

"I feel like I should whisper," Willow murmurs as we pass the main lounge where a few older members read newspapers in leather wingback chairs.

"Don't worry. They're mostly deaf anyway," I whisper back, guiding her toward the private card room at the back of the club.

I pause before the closed door, my hand resting on the handle. The weight of the cashier's check in my inner pocket feels significant in a way I hadn't anticipated. It’s not about the money. It’s about the fact that tonight I’m closing a dooron my old life in favor of a new one. I know I’ll still see the men I consider my closest friends, possibly even on the occasional poker night here at The Retreat. But in a lot of other ways, I’m leaving them behind starting tonight.

"Having second thoughts?" Willow asks, noticing my hesitation.

"Not at all," I answer truthfully. "Just enjoying our last moment of peace before they start their insufferable gloating."

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