Of Happiness (28 page)

“There are too many similarities here to not comment,” I tell him with a raised eyebrow.

In an effort to keep me quiet, Harris tosses his arm around my shoulder, squishing my face into the rigid wall of muscles that make up his chest. “Mom, I promised Edith some time for just the two of us.”

“She’ll want to spend time with me too,” she huffs.

They squabble back and forth lovingly and we make the journey up into their, easy enough to guess, penthouse apartment. Inside their spacious condo, a brunch spread waits around an elegantly made table.

Harris and I agree that we’d like to eat right away, instead of his parents showing me around their home. We settle around a glass-top kitchen table. It sits next to floor-to-ceiling windows (the Grants love their views) with a stunning backdrop of the Opera House.

Once we’re eating, I notice that Madeline has hardly touched the plate of food before her. Her eyes glitter with excitement, her finger tips making a beat on the glass tabletop.

“What’s going on?” Harris noticed her odd behavior, too.

“We’ve made a decision,” she informs us.

“Mad,” Bob groans, sitting back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I thought we said we’d wait until they at least got over their jet lag before we dropped this on them.”

“Dropped what?” I wonder.

“Your father plans on retiring.”

Bob grunts.

“Not working full time,” Madeline amends. “And, that didn’t drive this decision, but actually it was a decision we made because it’s time to go back home.” She gives a self-depreciating smile. “I don’t think I can go another day living far from you both and Claire.”

I catch Harris’ eye. He’s stunned into a trance, so I jump in.

“That’s wonderful news! Actually, you’re the second person this week to tell me they’re moving back home to Chicago. My friend Sarah and Greg, the wedding I told you about, are returning at the end of this year. When will you make the transition?”

Underneath the table, I reach for Harris’ hand, squeezing it. The pressure jolts him out of his trance, and he shakes his head as if to clear it.

“End of the year,” Bob says. “Son?”

We wait in collective silence. They seem uneasy, but I know how he’ll respond. We’ve discussed it because we both hypothesized that they would return eventually.

“You’ll have to get your own office,” he tells his dad with a smirk.

The tension melts away, and the breakfast resumes. But now we have an interesting topic to discuss: where Madeline and Bob will live.

Once breakfast is through and I’ve received a tour of the impressive home and freshened up with a quick shower, Harris steals me from his mother’s grasp. Again, I’m unable to pay much attention to the scenery, because he whips us through the city in his father’s car to a secluded beach.

Though the temperature hangs in the low sixties, we leave our shoes in the car and roll up the bottoms of our pants to walk barefoot in the sand. We pause in front of the water, waves gently crashing a few feet away.

Exhaustion hits me. And I let my eyes slip closed as I inhale the salty air.

Harris’ hands circles my waist. I sense him dipping down to my level, then his teeth nip at the shell of my ear and obvious shivers erupt over all my body.

“I’ve still got it,” he whispers in response to my very physical demonstration of affectedness.

I can’t fight that smile that comes, and my eyes open languidly. With my palm, I playfully push his shoulder. “And what about me? Do I still affect
you
?”

He falls to his knees, lifting my tank top and pressing a kiss next to my navel. “Still bringing me to my knees.”

Laughing, I stretch my hand out. “Get up, handsome Harris.”

He fishes a hand into the pocket of his pants, and my breath catches.

“Edith,” he rumbles huskily, eyes shining with what I can only describe as deep, endless love. “I’m like my mother in that I can’t hold on to a good secret for too long.”

But I don’t hear the rest because I’m too busy crumbling to my knees while tears trickle down my cheeks.

“Yes,” I whimper when his arms curl around me.

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I’m still whimpering. “Whatever you have to offer, I’m accepting.”

“Let me just say it, baby. You know I’ve got a thing with control.”

Laughter breaks through my tears, and I shake my head at him.

“Edith Neff, will you officially end my quest in pursuit of happiness? Will you be mine for all of time?”      

“Yes, yes, yes.”  

New Point

Imagine the worst day of your life. Immerse yourself in the details. How did you feel? Who were you with? What were the consequences?

Recalling my darkest day is as simple as typing a few search terms into a web browser. It only took thirty minutes for me to become the center of a media frenzy that caught the attention of an entire country.

So I hid.

Nine months later and I'm getting better. Moved two hours from home, landed my dream job, and met a delicious new guy.

Healing is that simple, right?

Wrong.

First and foremost, I must thank my family who has supported and encouraged my journey from the day I casually mentioned I’d like to self-publish.

To M and S who listened patiently and told me they were proud, I’m endlessly grateful for your friendship.

Sigal, what can I say to my kindred spirit, personal Yoda, guidance counselor, and all around favorite person? You’re the most unexpected and delightful friend.

Lots of love to the fabulously talented indie authors who offer unending support. It’s my pleasure and honor to be in your company.

Readers, what a privilege it has been to befriend you. Thank you for taking this journey with me and loving my characters as much as I do.

I’m immensely thankful to the beta readers who patiently read
Of Happiness
, calling out plot snags and questionable comma usage. You’ve given me your time, energy, and thoughts, and for this I am deeply appreciative.

A very special thanks to Christine. Working with you has been one of the highlights of writing. Your insight and thoughtfulness help more than I can express. Thank you for the late night chats and every piece of feedback.

Bloggers, reviewers, tour hosts, contest hosts, contest winners—your support has been unyielding and momentous. It’s only the beginning of my gratitude, but thank you, thank you, thank you.

Special thanks to the brilliant editors and proofreaders who combed through
Of Happiness
.

Ari, your creativity continues to astound me.

Lastly, dear Jade, thank you for your formatting genius, patience with endless questions, prompt responses to emails, and your kindness.

Olivia Luck lives in the middle of America with her loving husband and her obsession with writing. She wrote her first romance novel at age eight. When she’s not reading, editing, or writing, you can find her in the kitchen learning to cook. Olivia loves to travel and spend time with her family.

Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: [email protected]

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