You and Everything After (Falling #2)(98)

“I can buy my own lunch, thank you,” I say, starting to resent being ordered around. I shake his grip from my hand and hold out my card. He takes it and swipes it hard along the register, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.

“Damn, you mean that * can tell you to do something and you just obey, but me—an actual nice guy—I can’t buy you lunch without getting your foot up my ass?”

“I’d like my receipt,” I say, ignoring him again. He rips it off and crumples it in his hand along with my card and throws it on the counter. “Thank you,” I say, stuffing it in my purse and clutching my sandwich bag in my other hand.

I can feel the force of his eyes on my back as I turn to leave, and my heart is kicking the insides of my chest in anticipation of his voice. The closer I get to the door, the stronger the sensation is, and I almost make it outside when I feel his hand on my shoulder. I spin around, ready to lay into him now—my fire flickering.

“You can do better,” he says before I can open my lips to speak. His gaze is direct, and it halts me, if only for this moment. “That’s all I want to say. I just thought you should know. You. Can do. Better.”

His face is serious. There’s a part of me that wonders if this is flirting, if he’s flirting. But it doesn’t feel like a pick-up line. Houston—his being here today, his words—this feels more like a rescue.

I smile, perhaps a little indignantly, and spin back around through the exit. When I round the building, I tuck my purse higher on my arm, and I clutch my sandwich and tea to my chest, running my hand along the cool spot on my skin where Houston touched me seconds ago.

Save your rescuing for someone else. I have a plan. I’m sticking to it. And I don’t need rescuing, I think to myself.

No, I don’t need rescuing…





Acknowledgements



You And Everything After is my sixth book. Six. This number blows my mind. Finishing my first book was a dream for so long. And not a day goes by that I don’t stop, for at least a moment, and wonder at where I’ve arrived. When This Is Falling went live, I held my breath—as I always do—and crossed my fingers that someone…anyone…would love it. Just a little. Or almost as much as I did.

And then someone did.

This book—book two in the series—is for you. It is for the readers and book bloggers out there who have graciously given their time to my words. It is for those of you who have left reviews, posted about my book, tweeted me, sent me emails, messaged me, told a friend to give me a try or cheered me along the way. And it is for those of you who found me, stumbled upon This Is Falling, and decided to take a chance. I am blessed to have connected with each and every one of you, and you have no idea what your support has meant to me.

Writing a book is such an incredibly personal journey; sharing it with the world is borderline terrifying. I took a leap, and you caught me. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

There are so many people I owe thanks to for helping me tell Cass and Ty’s story accurately and with heart. First and foremost, I must thank Ashlea Miller for schooling me on multiple sclerosis. An awesome beta reader, your medical knowledge and personal experience kept me honest, and your time on this story was truly a gift. I must also thank Kathy from Love Words and Books as well as a good friend (you know who you are) for answering my questions on spinal cord injuries and nerve damage.

My amazing beta readers: Shelley, Bianca, Jen, Debbie and Brigitte—thank you for always opening your inbox to me, for meeting me with piles of paper and Post-It notes, and for reading and telling me exactly how my words make you feel. May you never close your inbox to me!

Thank you, Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson, for being more than editors. You are the safety net into which I fall easily. I am so glad to have you!

A special shout out to my boys, my husband and son, who make me smile morning, noon and night. You are the reason I live. You are the good in my life, and you are real men who deserve stories that prove you exist. Thank you for making me believe in love, hope, romance and joy on a daily basis.

And last, but not least, thank you, baseball. I love you, and I’ll see you again in the spring.



About the Author

Ginger Scott is a journalist and writer from Peoria, Arizona. A proud Sun Devil, she is a graduate and associate faculty member of Arizona State University’s Cronkite School of Journalism. When she’s not typing feverishly on her MacBook during the wee hours or reading in the dark on her iPad, she’s probably at a baseball diamond somewhere watching her son or her favorite team, the Arizona Diamondbacks, take the field.