Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined #2)(18)

“No. Knowing Jesse, she is already baking muffins for your ‘Welcome to Chicago’ basket.”

“Ohhhhh, I get a welcome basket! Even more reason not to miss my flight on Thursday.”

“Hey, am I not enough to keep you from missing your flight?”

“Caleb, are you searching for reassurance? Wait, do you have a secret welcome present of your own for me?”

“Actually, I do.” He starts laughing, and I realize I walked right into that one.

“But the real question is, can it compete with Jesse’s muffins?” I say with a huge grin, knowing this will only making him laugh harder.

“Oh shit, Emma. I have laughed more in the last three weeks than I have in years.” He pauses for a second before finally responding to my earlier comment. “I can’t wait to see you, too.”

“Good,” I breathe.

“So Thursday at noon?” he asks.

“Yes, Thursday, but don’t think you are getting out of talking tomorrow night.”

“I would never dream of it. Goodnight, Emmy.”

“Night, Caleb.”





I TOSSED and turned in bed for hours thinking about Emma. Usually when I can’t sleep, I head to the box locked away in the closet, but that didn’t even feel right tonight. I’m excited to see her on Thursday, but at the same time, I’m terrified. Emma and I have been getting along really well. I’ve loved every second of our nightly conversations. She’s smart, funny, and witty. And as much as I want to see her and f*ck her senseless, I’m not looking forward to the shitstorm that will surely follow her arrival. She is Sarah’s little sister. Of all people for me to decide to start dating, it had to be her.

I know that there is only one place that will bring me any peace tonight.

“Hey, love.” I walk up to Manda’s grave and settle into my usual position next to her headstone.

I take the small black velvet box out of my jacket pocket and rest it on the ground next to me. My fingers glide over the indention of her name. I hate this f*cking headstone, and not just because it has the date signifying the end of her life. I hate it because it says ‘Manda Baker.’ No matter how many times I see it, it always burns.

Manda and I had a very tumultuous relationship. She was feisty as hell, always giving me shit about something. For the first year of our relationship, I swear we broke up biweekly. She’d storm out of my house and go back to her place. We wouldn’t speak for a full day, but one of us always gave in. We couldn’t stay away from each other. I showed up at her apartment more times than I care to admit with an apology, a.k.a. sushi and wine. When it was her turn to apologize, she always brought burgers and beer. The food was usually always cold and the alcohol always warm because the minute the door opened we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

This on-again-off-again process worked for about two years. Then one night on my way to pick up the customary sushi, after a two-day breakup, I finally broke. I was done with the bullshit games. I wanted to settle down and start a real life together. I was sick of the back-and-forth. We both knew we were in this for the long haul, even if we did fight like cats and dogs. Manda was my life, and I was more than ready for it to begin.

That night, I took a detour, and instead of sushi and wine, I showed up with a diamond ring.





“WILL YOU marry me?” I ask, kneeling on her front steps just as she pulls open the front door.

“Um, no,” she says shortly, staring down at me in disbelief.

“What do you mean, no? I’m not joking. This is serious, Manda. Marry me!” I give up on asking and start telling her.

“Yeah, still no,” she says as she turns around and walks into her apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

“I just proposed to you!” I shout.

“And I said no. You didn’t even bring any wine.” She frowns then gives me a smile and wink.

“Are you f*cking with me here? I brought you an engagement ring and you’re pissed I didn’t bring wine? Manda, I am very, very f*cking serious about this. So please, if you are joking, stop.”

“I’m not joking!” she yells at me.

“Manda, I love you. I’m sick of this on-again-off-again game that we play. I don’t want to do this with you for the rest of my life. I want more—I want you.”

“Caleb, we can’t get married,” she sadly whispers, suddenly becoming serious.

“Why not? I have a ring. I have you. I don’t need anything else.”

“We fight all the time! What kind of marriage is that going to be?”

“We fight. So what?” I let out a loud frustrated groan. What I hoped would be some f*cking magical moment has turned into the shittiest proposal known to man. I’m standing here, yelling at her to marry me. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. “Look, I’m sorry. I have no idea what we were even fighting about the other night, but I’m sorry.” I roughly run my hands through my hair.

“I’m not mad about that anymore.”

“Then come here, beautiful.”

She shakes her head, but I can see her resolve start to slip. I storm across the room and pull her into my arms.

“What if we get a divorce?” she asks, and it makes me stumble.