Page 24 of Once Upon A Second Chance
"It wasn't—" My face ignites. "We got carried away in a post-tornado adrenaline crash! That's a documented phenomenon!"
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking unfairly good for someone who spent half the night rebuilding the town and the other half rebuilding our sexual history. "Uh-huh. And what's the scientific term for when you—"
"Moving on." I clap my hands. "If we're doing this—"
"If?"
"—then we're doing it right. No love-bombing. No grand gestures. And absolutely no showing up at my job with—"
"—a boom box over my head. Yeah, yeah, you've made the Say Anything references very clear over the years—"
"—because," I steamroll over him, "the last time we tried this, you left for New York and married a human icicle in couture."
The second it's out, I regret it. Richard's smilevanishes.
Shit.
Silence stretches between us, broken only by Bijou scratching at the back door. Even she wants to escape this conversation.
Richard exhales hard through his nose. "Rebecca wasn't..." He rubs his jaw. "It wasn't like that at first."
I wait.
He stares at my bookshelf like it holds the answers. "She was... fine. Smart. Ambitious. And when my parents loved her, I thought..." A humorless laugh. "Maybe that was enough."
My stomach twists. "But?"
"But then she threw out my Tennessee hoodie." His eyes meet mine. "The one you stole freshman year."
I blink. "That ratty thing? You kept it for twelve years?"
"Six," he mutters defensively. "And it wasn't about the hoodie."
The air changes. I know what he's saying without saying it.
I pick at a loose thread on my shirt. "...So your marriage failed because you have a weird hoarding problem?"
He barks a laugh. "Yeah, Pen. That's it."
We're both quiet for a beat. Then—
"Slow," I say firmly. "Dinners. Movies. Actual dates where we wear pants for more than five minutes."
Richard's grin turns wicked. "What if the pants are optional after—"
"Consistency, Hogan. No love declarations before month three."
"Three? What is this, a corporate probation period?"
I throw a couch pillow at him. "Take it or leave it."
He catches it with one hand, the other pressing dramatically to his heart. "Fine. But I get to pick the first date location."
"Within reason!"
"Define 'reason.'"
"No skydiving. No flash mobs. And if you ever hire a mariachi band—"
