Walk of Shame (Love Unexpectedly, #4)

by Lauren Layne

You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

YES SUPER HEINOUS.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend, and you’re already planning my divorce?”

“What are you looking for?” I ask. “Garbage bags.” I blink. “Can’t take it anymore, huh? Going to off me and drag my body out of the building in a big black bag?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.” There it is. “You’re small enough that I could just put your body down the trash chute. Far more practical.” I laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”

“No Oz detour today?” “No time. I’ll have a tagalong slowing me down.” “Don’t let me stop you. I love poofy dresses. I can totally be the Glinda to your Dorothy.”

“What can you possibly say that you haven’t said a million times already with every scowl, with every eye roll, with every you’re ridiculous? You think I’m stupid and worthless. I get it.”

“You don’t send flowers to someone you’re going to kill.” “Maybe they were for your funeral.” I beam up at him. “So are we doing this?” “Your funeral? God, I hope so.”

“What exactly did you do for exercise, Georgiana?” he says, giving me a skeptical look. “Twirl your hair?” “If I do it vigorously, it counts as cardio.”

“See you in an hour!” I chirp, spinning on my heel to retrieve my bag and get pretty for the day. “An hour?” he calls after me. “What can possibly take you an hour?” Oh, Andy. How adorable.

“Hey, Andy!” He sighs. “I don’t go by that.” “Well, I don’t go by Georgiana, but it doesn’t seem to stop you from calling me that.”

“So what’s it going to be?” I ask, trying to distract myself from how good he looks in pinstripes. “The deli and I call you Andy forever, or…” “I don’t suppose I could exchange a steak lunch for you calling me Mr. Mulroney?” “I’d rather die. But speaking of that, you should tell Shel to call you Andrew. She’s been with you for four years. Her first day of work was also her birthday, by the way.” He gives me an incredulous look. “How are you best friends with my assistant already? Exactly how long did I leave you alone with her?” “Long enough, Andrew. Long enough. Also, I bought her a PSL, so, girlfriends for life.”

“What do you want to know?” “Your brother. How much older?” “Six years.” “Name?” “Peter.” “Where does he live?” “Jersey.” “Is he married? Do you have any nieces or nephews?” “Yes, to Pam. They haven’t been able to conceive.” “I’m sorry,” I say. “Do you see them often?” “Christmas or Thanksgiving. Birthdays.” “What’s Peter do?” Andrew sighs. “He’s a mechanic. Should I get you his social security number?”

“Do you ever let loose?” I ask. “Order french fries? Unbutton a button? Have a one-night stand?” “That an invitation?” “Of course I’ll share my fries,” I say, reaching across the table and giving his hand a little pat, deliberately misunderstanding his question.

“You want my advice?” “Sure.” “Forget him,” my dad says. “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you’re fun. If he doesn’t see that—doesn’t appreciate that about you—from the very beginning, he’s not the one.”

I was wrong, I realize. First kisses aren’t always a disappointment. Sometimes they’re perfect from the very start.

Dealing with this man is basically the mother of all migraines.

“You said the other day you were going to kill me, and you have. Death by flu, transmitted by kiss.”

“Didn’t have a candy-striper outfit, but I figured this was better than the suit for playing nurse.”

You know how when you want to cry but you hold it together right up until the second some kind soul asks if you’re okay, and it’s like those simple words are all it takes to summon the tears?

“You know why I didn’t reply to your text, Georgiana?” His fingers press against the back of my head, a gentle, insistent pressure. I shake my head. “Because when it comes to you, I seem to make a mess of everything. Because saying nothing at all seemed better than saying the wrong thing. And forgive me if I’m wrong here, but the one and only text you sent me wasn’t exactly earth-shattering, am I right?”

“What time do you have to leave for brunch?” he asks, his voice so hopeful, his motives so purely guy, that I laugh. “Too soon to make time for what you have in mind,” I say, setting my coffee on the dresser and stepping into the leggings. “Besides, I’m a tiny bit sore.” “Sorry about that.” I snort and pull the top over my head. “See, your words say sorry, but your tone is just the tiniest bit self-satisfied.” He takes a sip of coffee. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Favorite color?” “Don’t have one. I’m not a child.” He felt a sharp nudge against his shin. “Did you just kick me?” She smiled serenely. “Favorite color?” “Red.”

“You know what I like best about this whole situation?” she said with a smile. “I like that you haven’t changed even a little. I like that you’ve seen all my bits, and you’re still crusty.” He stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure which is more disturbing: the word bits, the word crusty, or the fact you used them in the same sentence.”

“See?” I say, looking at Andrew and pointing at Pam as I walk backward to the front door. “Georgie. Your sister-in-law got it right on the first try. By the way, Pam, did you know Andrew and I both like the color red? Don’t you think that means we’re soul mates?”

I blink. What is this? Did he just use Ramon’s first name? Am I…rubbing off on him? He stands in front of me, and my heart pounds, as though I’m seeing him for the first time. His eyes roam my face. “You have sugar on your lip.” His expression tells me that if we were alone, he’d lick it off himself, but apparently he’s not so reformed that he’ll indulge in a PDA. I lick it off, deliberately slowly, and his eyes narrow.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. You have any idea what it’s like to try to mentor someone who’s thirteen years your junior only to find out he’s ahead of you in just about every way? Let me be your Yoda, just once.”

“What do you do when you’ve got information that can and will hurt someone, but it’s not yours to tell?”

I feel like Georgie's mom got him as her divorce lawyer that's why her mom is kinda sketchy lately.

“Women don’t like secrets, Mulroney,” she said kindly. “Even the ones that we logically know are necessary. They break our heart.”

“Georgie. Honey. Your father and I have decided to get a divorce.”

I knew it!

Andrew had known this moment was coming. He’d thought he was ready for it. But seeing the heartbreak written all over Georgiana’s face… There was no preparing for something like this.

Yup. I knew it, too!

“To think that just as I was starting to believe in love, you were busy destroying it.”

“Promise me you won’t give up on your lovey-dovey version of love. You’re the most optimistic, happily-ever-after person I know. If you can’t achieve that, none of us can.”

“You don’t get it, Andrew. I don’t want the guy with the pretty, planned-out speech. I want the guy who’s not afraid to be spontaneous when he needs to be, who’s not afraid to get messy, because love is messy.”

A couple of hours later, happy on coffee, hash browns, and the love of my life, I realize why Andrew was stalling. It was so that he could slide a perfect solitaire on the fourth finger of my left hand in our apartment building’s lobby with Ramon and Charles and the rest of the staff waiting with mimosas. And in case you’re wondering… At five A.M. on the dot, I said yes to being Mrs. Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.

That is so fast.