Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(93)

And he’d done it. For three hundred and sixty-five days, Porter came to me willingly, proud of his sobriety, his self-restraint. And with each passing day, I fell more and more in love with him.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, his eyes kind and unassuming. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I’m completely ready.”

“All right. I’ll meet you inside.” Porter grabbed his beer and walked inside the house. Stopping just before opening the sliding glass door, he paused for a second and smiled at me.

After finishing the rest of my wine, I rose from the table and entered the house. The walls were filled with framed photos of our first year together as a real couple. A year of healing, a year of second chances and new beginnings. The photos made me smile as I walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Porter stood behind one of our kitchen chairs, a pair of scissors in his hand, a pensive smile upon his handsome face.

“Are you sure? I can call Tiffany, I’m sure she could do a better job than I would.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awaiting my answer.

“Don’t be silly. I want you to do it. Only you.”

I walked to the chair and sat down, then released my hair from its bun so it spilled down my back. Gingerly, Porter took it in his hands, draping it over the back of the chair.

Porter turned me toward the mirror, then said, “All right. Here goes.”

I watched Porter in the mirror as he pressed his lips to the top of my head. This simple gesture solidified every desire I had to finally cut my hair. And it removed any doubt, any hesitation that remained.

I was ready.

My pulse quickened as Porter drew an invisible line just below my bust.

“Here?” he asked and I nodded.

Slowly and with deliberate movements, Porter opened the steel scissors and cut across my thick layers of hair. His tongue pressed against his top lip as he studied the angle of his cut, making sure the hair was lined up properly. I watched him in awe, at the lengths he’d go to take care of me, to nurture me, and to encourage my independence.

He’d never pushed me to do it sooner. He’d simply waited for me to be ready.

He snipped and snipped again and again at my thick head of hair. Soon the weight that I’d carried for twenty-three years was gone, pooled in a thick mass at my feet.

“Done,” Porter said, looking rather proud of himself.

I stood, inspecting myself in the mirror. “It’s perfect,” I said, running my hands through my hair, amazed by how thin, how airy it felt slipping through my fingers. “Absolutely perfect.”

“I’ve never seen you look so beautiful,” Porter murmured, then placed a kiss beneath my ear.

“Really?”

“This may sound weird, so bear with me, but you look like you. The you I always imagined you’d be.” He tilted his head to the side, then wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’ve always been beautiful, but now, now you’re . . .”

“I’m free.” I smiled, then turned to face him and kissed him gently on the lips.

“Yes. You’re free.” He lifted my hand and placed a sweet kiss on the back of it. “We both are.”

Porter took my hand and led me to the bedroom, our bedroom. The old Brinley would have insisted upon marriage before living together. But everything in me knew this was the right path for us. I was in no rush to marry. Porter knew it, and I knew it. But if we did marry . . . when we did, things would be different.

I would be Brinley Hammond.

I would be the first.

I would be the only.

And I would never share.



Acknowledgments

With each book I write, I am constantly reminded of the extraordinary support I have from fellow writers, readers, bloggers, friends, and family. This book was a long time in the making as the idea came to me over a year ago while driving to meet a friend for dinner. I pictured a boy and a girl meeting at a fence. The girl had a long braid and a traditional long cotton dress. The boy was angry and alone.

Thank you to Beth Ehemann who heard my idea months later when I was planning to start a totally different project and said (I have to paraphrase because my memory is not always the best!), “You need to write this book . . . now!” Thank you for all of the encouragement and awesome brainstorming that we did while this book was still an idea in my head.

A huge thank-you goes to Melissa Perea. MP was my muse, a brainstormer, a beta, a model, and a photographer! Thank you for everything you did to help me with this book—you truly went above and beyond. And another huge thank-you to Heather Bowser of Heather Bowser Studios for posing as my Brinley and for making all of the photos perfect!

Thank you to Regina Wamba at Mae I Design & Photography. I am so in love with the cover you have created with the photos taken by Heather. You made it absolutely perfect. I’m so in love with it and I loved working with you! You are creative, professional, and flexible! Thank you so much!

Thank you to Deb Bresloff for being a constant support—brainstorming, beta reading, and giving me so much encouragement through all stages of this book. I am so grateful!

For the rest of my awesome betas—I am so grateful for each and every one of you. You were each instrumental in helping me create this story. Pamela Carrion, Laura Wilson, Sally Bouley, Megan Kapusta, Allison East, Jennifer Merkley, Kim August, Jen Campbell, Lori Sabin, Erin Roth, and Sharon Cooper.