My Rules (Kingston Lane, #2)

by T.L. Swan

There’s Henley, Blake, and Antony. Henley is an engineer, Blake is a doctor, and Antony is a lawyer. Then there’s Juliet—she’s a nurse and engaged to Henley; they met when Juliet moved next door. Chloe is Juliet’s friend who I’ve also become close to; she’s a nurse. And then there’s Taryn. Taryn moved in with her mother when her marriage broke down. At the beginning she drove us all mad, but her weirdness and wild ways are infectious, and she’s become a friend.

if you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.”

If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.

They say that everything comes into your life for a season or a reason. Maybe the reason is that I have to find the girl I once was. To feel whole again. So what . . . my marriage failed. Millions of marriages fail every year. I didn’t fail. He did. This is on him; I don’t know why I’m feeling guilty and beating myself up about it when he sure isn’t. Honestly . . . I’m done with this crap. Tomorrow I start working on trying to get back to the real me. The old me . . . the fun me, the girl I was before I met him. If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.

She doesn’t deserve any of this. She never did. I want her to be happy. I want her to find the man of her dreams. I want someone to love her as much as she loves them. I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, and I know what I need to do. I’m going to find her a good man . . . even if it kills me.

“I’ve had the worst ten days feeling like absolute shit because you won’t speak to me, and I’ve missed you, and yet all you’re worried about are the feelings of your toxic ex.”

“You know, sometimes I wish I didn’t live on Kingston Lane,” he says softly. “You do?” I frown. “How come?” “Because then . . . we wouldn’t be friends.” My eyes search his. “And . . .” He pulls my spaghetti strap back up onto my shoulder. “And what?” I whisper. “And . . . we could have just met as strangers.” Everyone else in the street disappears as we stare at each other. “And I would have asked for your number.”

“And we would have drunk a bottle of red wine and ordered dessert, and then by the end of the tiramisu . . . I would have known that you were the one.”

“I don’t need to wait for the tiramisu,” he whispers. My eyes search his as my heart free-falls from my chest. In slow motion, he leans over and kisses me, his lips barely brushing over mine, and huge butterflies swirl deep in my stomach. Oh . . . “Why not?” I whisper against his lips. “Because . . . I already know.”

“I’m already in love with you!” he yells so loud that the paint nearly peels off the walls. “And the fact that you don’t know that is a fucking red flag.”