Did I Mention it’s 10 Years Later?

Anniversary Bonus Chapter

Estelle Maskame

INK ROAD

First published 2019 by Ink Road

Ink Road is an imprint and trade mark of

Black & White Publishing Ltd

Nautical House, 104 Commercial Street, Edinburgh, EH6 6NF

www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

This electronic edition published in 2019

ISBN: 978 1 78530 278 7 in EPub format

Copyright © Estelle Maskame 2019

The right of Estelle Maskame to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

To all my readers who have followed Tyler and Eden’s journey over the past eight years, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support. I truly hope you enjoy this final chapter of Tyler and Eden’s story, because at last it’s time to say goodbye to the DIMILY series.

Tyler

The board room falls quiet as our final applicant of the day leaves, and then I look over at my father. I’m already shaking my head.

“No chance in hell are we hiring that guy.”

Dad releases a frustrated sigh and rests his elbows on the table. In front of us, we each have a stack of applications for the role of our new financial analyst. We have yet to find a promising candidate, despite a long and grueling morning of back-to-back interviews. Dad looks as though he’s losing the will to live. “Well, we’ve interviewed everyone, so who’s your pick?”

“I’ll let you know first thing on Monday. Now,” I say, rising from my chair and gathering up the pile of resumés, “I need to get out of here. I’m already late.” The white marble clock on the wall is staring me in the face. That’s how I know I’m already seventeen minutes late.

“Tyler.”

I don’t even look up from my haphazard stack of papers. I’m too busy trying to get out of here as quickly as I can. “What?”

“Enjoy the party,” Dad says, his voice quiet. I pause and glance up at him, surprised the conversation has turned personal. Dad nervously fumbles with a binder, opening and closing the latch. He turns his eyes down to his lap when he adds, “I wish I could be there.”

Yeah, well, you can’t, I think. And I immediately feel like a dick for doing so.

Dad’s shoulders slump with guilt and his expression pools with remorse the same way they always do whenever he remembers that his actions have caused him to miss out on a lifetime of moments with the family he once had.

We rarely talk about this stuff. We mostly just talk about business, and sometimes he’ll ask how my mom is doing these days, and it’s unbearably awkward whenever he attempts to ask about my brothers. It’s easier to keep the family stuff off-limits, because Dad isn’t a part of my family. To this day, my mom still can’t bring herself to acknowledge him when she passes him in the street. My youngest brother, Chase, doesn’t even remember him. My other brother, Jamie, has made several attempts over the years to restart his relationship with Dad too, but it never works out.

All Dad has is this company and me. He has never remarried – the one woman he did date for a couple months left him when she found out he’d spent seven years in prison – and now he lives alone in his luxury apartment over in Burbank.

“Sorry,” is all I say. I give a feeble shrug, because there’s nothing I can do to change anything. What’s done is done, and Dad deserves the isolation.

I head back to my office, dump the applications on my desk to deal with on Monday, then grab my keys. The building is quiet today, because no one usually works Saturdays, and I yell one final goodbye to Dad before I head out the front door. And every time, every damn time, I glance over my shoulder at the sign as I leave.

GRAYSON’S.

Still kind of unbelievable. When I was a kid, I couldn’t think of anything worse than following in Dad’s footsteps. I didn’t want to be involved with his civil engineering firm in any way, but yet here I am, because when you’re a guy with no college degree and your father offers you a job, you would be stupid to decline. I took some courses and now I’ve been the HR manager for the past five years. Dad believes I understand people better than he does, and he’s definitely right about that. It gets tense sometimes working so closely with my father and being around him almost every day, but I enjoy the job. My plan is to stick around for a few more years and then branch out into a new venture, but my life is a little too crazy right now to worry too much about advancing my career.

I cross the street to the parking garage and jump into my truck, eyeballing the digital clock on my dashboard. Twenty-two minutes late now. Typical. The one Saturday I actually have somewhere important to be is the one Saturday Dad decides to conduct interviews, but I already gave Chase the heads-up that I might be late. I doubt he’s even noticed that I’m not there yet – he’ll be too swept up in the celebrations to care.

I drive across the city too fast, the late spring sunshine blazing through my windshield, and I already have my tie torn off and half my shirt unbuttoned when I pull up on my driveway. Sometimes I hate living on the outskirts of Santa Monica, but you can’t find nice neighborhoods like ours downtown. Mr. Presley is rocking back and forth on a chair on his porch – he’s too old to mow his own lawn these days, so I usually do it for him in exchange for a cold beer. We’ve grown quite friendly – and I give him a wave as I climb out of my truck. The driveway is missing our SUV, which only means one thing – I’m so late she couldn’t wait for me any longer.

Our lawn is freshly cut, but I zip across it anyway, leaving footprints in the grass, and jangle my keys into the front door of our two-story house. It still feels weird coming home here, mostly because I grew up two streets over, and I never thought I’d find myself back in this city. Like, ever. I always imagined myself living in New York again, but it doesn’t feel like the right place to settle down. Too fast. And I even imagined myself living a suburban lifestyle too, but it wasn’t for us, either. Too boring.

So, Santa Monica became a no-brainer when Dad offered me that job down here. It made sense for a lot of different reasons. And it’s really nice to step outside to sunshine every day, rather than the doom and gloom of Portland. I don’t miss that place all that much. Maybe just the coffee.

I trip over a toy fire truck as I open the front door, curse at it, then nudge it to one side. The house is silent now, but usually when I walk in I’m greeted by the sound of her voice. But today . . . Today she’s had to leave without me. We can’t both be late to such an occasion. At least one of us has to turn up on time so that we don’t become the self-appointed slackers of the family.

When I get upstairs, I find our bed perfectly made, as always, but with a fresh set of clothes laid out for me. It makes me smile, always grateful, as though she hasn’t done this for me a thousand times over the years. Honestly, I don’t know how I’d function these days if it weren’t for her. She keeps my life in perfect order, all the way down to the finer details.

Our room smells of the perfume she always wears, and I inhale the sweet scent of orange blossom as I change into the more casual dress pants and shirt she’s picked out for me. I’m thirty-nine minutes late by now. I stumble back downstairs while pulling on shoes, then lock up and jump back into my truck.

I head downtown, but the Saturday traffic around the oceanfront is ridiculously crazy. The beach is packed and there’s a wave of pedestrians heading toward the pier. I don’t come downtown often, but whenever I do, it brings back so many memories of partying on that beach, of hanging out on the boardwalk, of strolling down Third Street Promenade. It reminds me of when I was young. The world felt so different then.

For the first time in my life, I easily find a parking spot around the corner from the venue. I grab a bottle of cologne from my glovebox and spray myself, then make a hurried dash down to the cocktail bar that has been hired for this afternoon’s celebrations. It’s an intimate venue on Broadway, just off Third Street and smack in the middle of downtown.

My brother, Jamie, is lingering in the alley next to the building, smoking a cigarette. He raises it into the air to greet me as I pass. “How come you’re an hour late when you only need to drive across town? I flew in from Atlanta this morning and still made it here on time.” He shakes his head at me and takes another drag of his cigarette. His jaw is thick with unruly stubble that he hasn’t bothered to shave for the occasion.

“I got held up at work,” I say, though my cheeks feel hot when I say it. I know what Jamie is thinking – that I’m an idiot for letting Dad’s company impact my life all over again. But he just nods in understanding, most likely because we haven’t seen each other in months and it would be a real shame to get off on the wrong foot. “It’s good to see you. I bet Mom’s happy to have you home.”

Jamie rolls his eyes and tosses his cigarette butt to the ground, mashing it into the concrete with his foot. “Yeah, I have to escape out here just to get a break from all her hugging.”

We share a laugh and handshake. Jamie moved to Atlanta three years ago to pursue a career in IT, but he still makes the effort to fly home for any special occasions. The distance only seems to make our relationship more strained, though. For as long as I can remember, Jamie has never agreed with any of the choices I’ve made in life. But we’re brothers, and we remain civil. We head into the bar together, like two old friends who are catching up, and I am now fifty-eight minutes late to Chase’s engagement party.

Eden

There are three glasses of champagne in front of me. Three full glasses of champagne, and with every moment that passes, the more noticeable it’s becoming that I haven’t taken a single sip. I really wish Ella would stop bringing me more. I mean, I get it – it’s free booze and of course we should make the best of it. But, inside, I am begging for the champagne flutes to stop piling up.

We’re only one hour into my stepbrother Chase’s engagement party, but already the open bar has everyone tipsy. Suited bartenders are handing out champagne and bottles of beer as though there’s no tomorrow and the music – a breezy mix of pop and chart music – is loud enough while still allowing us to hold conversations. The venue has been set out with huge circular tables and everyone is mingling around them. There’s a lot of people here – mostly Chase’s friends.

I can see Chase, now, talking to some of his old friends from high school, champagne in hand and a dopey grin on his face. His new fiancé, Liam, leans into him. Neither of them has stopped smiling as they work their way around the room, talking to each guest. They got engaged while on vacation in Mexico City last month and Ella’s mind has already been running wild with ideas for the wedding.

“They should have a champagne fountain at the reception. Specifically, this champagne,” my stepmother muses, taking another swig from her glass. She was giddy before the booze even started being served, high on the excitement. I raise an eyebrow at her across the table. “What? I have three sons, Eden. I always assumed I wouldn’t ever be needed for any wedding planning.”

Oh, Ella. I laugh and instinctively reach out to grab my drink, but then quickly retract my hands to my lap instead. I anxiously twist my engagement ring around my finger, playing with my wedding ring too. I can’t stop tapping my foot beneath the table. The closer Chase is getting to our table, the more I’m worrying. I don’t want him to realize that his brother hasn’t shown up yet.

Where is he?

“Do you know this is making me feel incredibly old?” Rachael says as she returns to our table, two glasses of champagne in her hands. She sinks down into a chair and eyeballs me through thick eyelash extensions.

Our table is small – only Ella, Rachael and me for now. My other stepbrother, Jamie, slipped outside for a cigarette a minute ago, and God only knows where my father has disappeared to.

“Chase is getting married,” Rachael continues, as dramatic as always. It’s the one thing about her that hasn’t changed over the past decade, no matter how old we get. “The little kid who lived across the street from my childhood home, the one who used to run across his front yard naked in the summer. Do you remember that, Ella?”

“He was always such a streaker,” Ella says with a chuckle.

“And here I am, drinking this fine champagne at his engagement party,” Rachael continues, slowly exhaling as though she can’t believe it. She gives my collection of champagne glasses a pointed nod. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, I do. I just–” I swallow and grab a glass, then press it to my lips that are sealed tightly shut, pretending to take a sip so that they have no reason to question me. “I’m just distracted. I’m waiting for–”

“He’s still not here?” Ella asks, cutting me off. Her head swivels around fast as though she’s searching the venue for her missing son, like she totally forgot he hadn’t shown up yet. How many glasses has she drunk? She purses her lips in disapproval. “That job is starting to take over his life.”

“He said something about interviewing job applicants,” I tell her with a sigh, because at this point, I’m growing more agitated every minute. We were supposed to come to this party together. He promised he wouldn’t get tied up at work, but it seems like he has. Maybe I should call him.

“At least your husband is in the vicinity,” Rachael snorts. “Mine is working in Phoenix for the weekend, which only makes me look like some single childhood neighbor who’s about to get crazy drunk.”

Then, finally, out of the corner of my eye I see him.

With Jamie by his side, he walks into the cocktail bar, gaze already searching the crowd for me. He’s wearing the pants and shirt I looked out for him earlier and he rubs anxiously at the stubble that neatly lines his jaw.

My husband, Tyler, at last.

Tyler

My eyes meet hers.

Eden’s sitting at a table across the room, shooting me an intense look that appears to be a mixture of relief and frustration. She looks as stunning as ever as she stands from her chair to wave me over. Her dark hair is loosely curled, her lips are painted red, and she’s wearing the most gorgeous red satin dress that hugs her body in all the right ways. If I’d finished work on time and arrived home to find her looking like that, then we would have both been late to this party.

“This music seriously sucks. I’m gonna grab a beer,” Jamie grumbles from my side. “You want one? It’s free.”

I hold up a hand, my attention still fastened only on my wife. “I’m good.”

Jamie disappears to the bar and I realize that Eden isn’t alone at the table – she’s sitting with Rachael Rivera and my mother. I blink fast, shaking away the risqué thoughts running through my mind, and make my way over. I should probably catch up with Chase first, but Eden looks desperate for me to join her, and given that I’m an hour late, I owe it to her to get my ass over to that table ASAP.

When I reach her, I put my hands on her waist and pull her in close, my fingertips brushing against the silky satin of her dress. “I am so sorry,” I apologize, burying my face into the crook of her neck. I can smell that perfume again, the one that lingered in the air of our home.

Eden loosely wraps an arm around the back of my neck, hugging me back. “You had around thirty seconds before I started blowing up your phone.”

We pull away from one another and our eyes lock. I run my hand down her back, feeling the dip of her spine, and a smile toys at my lips. I miss those hazel eyes of hers every hour that we’re apart. “You look . . .”

“Mr. Tyler Bruce,” Mom says sternly, cutting me off. I glance over and she’s waving a champagne flute at me in disapproval, her hand movements shaky. Is she drunk? I have no idea. “You’re late for your brother’s engagement party.”

“Hi, Mom,” I say, taking a deep breath and giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Rachael.”

Rachael gives me a little wave and then starts picking at the bowl of nuts in the center of the table. I don’t see Stephen anywhere.

“Did your father make you work late?” Mom asks as she gets to her feet. She pulls me away from Eden and plants a kiss on my cheek, all while eyeing me suspiciously. No one ever thought it was a good idea for me to work alongside Dad. It took me weeks to convince Eden it would be fine, but my mother still thinks the whole thing is going to explode in my face one day.

“Can we not talk about work right now?”

“Sorry. I’m just glad you’re finally here.” Mom hiccups, then blushes with embarrassment. “I’m going to go and find Dave.”

I stare after her as she wanders off across the venue, weaving through the crowd. The last time I saw my mom drunk was at my own wedding reception. There must be something about her sons getting hitched that turns her into a champagne-guzzling maniac.

“Geez,” I say, turning back to Eden. She’s already sat back down at the table and she reaches for my wrist, pulling me down into the chair next to her. A new desperation is flashing in her eyes as she glances around.

“Drink these,” she hisses. “Now.” I feel her hand brushing mine under the table, her skin warm and soft, and she forces a glass of champagne into my hand.

I stare down at the drink for a second, perplexed, then look back up at her. Her eyes are growing wider by the second, pleading with me to drink the damn thing, but my brain must be sluggish from work because I don’t understand what’s going on. But then I spot the two other full glasses in front of her that have obviously been piling up in the time that I’ve been missing, and it suddenly clicks. Ohhhhh.

“Hurry,” she whispers, her hand on my thigh.

I steal a quick look at Rachael – she’s the only one still at our table – but she’s busy shoving a handful of nuts into her mouth, so I lean in close behind Eden’s shoulder and tip the glass of champagne down my throat in one gulp. Eden forces the second glass into my hand next, and I consume it as fast and discreetly as possible. Then the third.

“Sorry,” she apologizes when I’m done, her expression rueful.

I set the final empty glass back down on the table in front of her, licking my lips to wipe away the sweet taste of the champagne. I don’t even like champagne.

“If I’m going to be drinking both mine and your drinks today, then please don’t yell if I throw up in the kitchen later,” I joke, reaching for her hand and interlocking our fingers. Her mouth transforms into the most perfect smile and I’m so drawn in by her that I haven’t even asked the most obvious question. “Where’s Jaxson?”

“Behind you,” Eden says, nodding over my shoulder.

I crane my neck to look, and I see my mother and stepfather, Dave, navigating the room as they make their way back toward our table. My son is on Dave’s shoulders, his chubby little hands waving around with excitement when he spots me.

“Daddy here!” his precious voice squeals, and I grin so hard it feels like my face may just break.

I let go of Eden’s hand and jump up, joining my mom and Dave as they arrive at the table, and I scoop Jaxson straight off Dave’s shoulders and pull him into my arms. He’s pretty solid for a two-year-old, with chunky little legs and the most adorable toothy smile that I love to come home to every day. “You had fun with Grandpa, huh?”

Jaxson puts his sticky hands on my cheeks and nods fast. He has a head of thick jet-black hair just like me, though he has Eden’s hazel eyes. “Uh-huh. Fishies,” he says.

I shoot Dave a questioning look, my eyebrow raised, and he chuckles. “I was showing him the huge fish tank this place has. I’m sorry, but I think you may have to invest in a pet goldfish for him,” he says, scratching at his grayish hair as he pulls out a chair at the table.

Sometimes when Dave is running around our backyard shooting water guns with Jaxson, I totally forget that he once kicked my ass when I was a kid for dating his daughter. And now he adores the child that his daughter and I have together. It’s laughable – and we do laugh about it. It has become a running joke in the family now, that time when Dave would have gladly murdered me.

I press my forehead to Jaxson’s and hold him close. “Oh, is that right, buddy? You liked the fish?”

“Yeah!” he says, scratching at my stubble. If I had it my way, he’d be saying “Si,” but Eden won’t let me pull out the Spanish lessons until he turns three. We’re already working on the whole speech thing as best we can, and Eden believes throwing two different languages at our son at once will only confuse him. But one day . . . One day Jaxson will be babbling in fluent, easy Spanish.

My thoughts are interrupted when, suddenly, I spot Eden out of the corner of my eye scrambling to her feet and racing away from the table without saying a word to anyone. She dashes across the bar, dodging all of Chase’s friends, and disappears into the restrooms.

“Is she okay?” Mom asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“Take Jaxson,” I say quickly, handing my son off to her. He loves his grandparents, though he has never met my father – and he never will. I may have a civil relationship with my dad these days, but I still keep him at arm’s length, and I’ll be damned if I let him anywhere near my kid. But Jaxson gets enough love as it is from mine and Eden’s moms, and Dave too, of course.

Mom wraps Jaxson up in her arms and watches me closely as I take off after Eden. I head for the restrooms and carefully push open the door to the women’s an inch, hovering outside.

“Eden?”

“In here,” she calls back in a breathy, raspy voice.

“Alright, coming in.” I push open the door and head inside. Luckily, there are no other women in here. Only Eden.

She’s inside a bathroom stall, sat on the floor and with her head bent over the toilet bowl. She’s torn her shoes off, a pair of heels are sitting next to her, and she looks at me through weary, damp eyes.

“They have so figured it out,” she groans, then turns back to the toilet and promptly throws up.

I kneel down next to her and gather up her hair in one hand, keeping it out of the way, and then rub her back with my other. These restrooms smell of strawberry hand lotion or something, because it’s even making me nauseous, and I can hear the muffled pumping of music from the bar. “Rachael has just eaten an entire platter of nuts, your dad has been staring into fish tanks, and my mom is drunk,” I tell her. “Trust me, baby, no one has noticed.”

Eden wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, flushes the toilet, then collapses back against the wall. She looks exhausted as she stares across the cramped bathroom stall at me, pressing her lips together into a bold line. “Please stop smiling, Tyler. I threw up this morning already. I can’t cope.”

“Apparently,” I say, “excessive sickness means we’re having a girl.”

Eden

This bathroom stall is so small, Tyler and I are practically on top of one another, our legs entwined. My feet are in his lap and he’s gently massaging them, a giddy smile still on his face.

“It’s so hard keeping this a secret,” I admit, clamping my mouth shut again in fear of another wave of nausea.

I’m only nine weeks pregnant, and we’re waiting until week twelve before we share this exciting news with anyone. We’re planning to announce Baby Bruce number two at Tyler’s thirtieth birthday celebrations next month when we’re surrounded by our family and friends. In the meantime, it’s becoming increasingly hard to be subtle about my pregnancy. I’m pretty certain Rachael and Ella’s eyebrows were raised when I refused to touch the champagne.

“Just think about how happy everyone will be. Remember when we told them about Jaxson?” Tyler asks, cocking his head to one side. He gently reaches for my hand and goes quiet, silently staring at the rings on my finger. He touches my engagement ring, and then twists my wedding ring. He glances up. “I can’t believe how lucky we are.”

“We really are,” I say softly, a smile lighting up my face as I hold the gaze of the man I love.

The path of our relationship has been anything but conventional. I still, to this day, cannot believe that we are together. And not only together, but married, with a gorgeous son and another new baby on its way.

I still remember the thrill of being nineteen and running off to Portland to really make things work with Tyler, despite the fact that my father was so hostile, and the odds were stacked against us. I so badly wanted our relationship to work in the real world. We lived together in Tyler’s apartment for years while he ran his youth center and while I got my Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from Portland State. We flew home to Santa Monica every once in a while, and our parents visited us in Portland a couple times, but it took a long time for my father to accept that Tyler and I wanted to be together. Somehow we won him over though, and I like to believe he relented when he saw how happy we made one another and that we were truly living our best lives. Our commitment was such that Tyler even supported me when I returned to Portland State for another two years to study for my Master’s degree in Social Work, before he whisked me off to New York as my graduation gift.

It was during that trip that he proposed on the home plate of a baseball field in the middle of Central Park. I’m still embarrassed by how readily I slid that diamond engagement ring onto my finger. I didn’t even give it a second thought.

We moved back home a few months later. It wasn’t the easiest decision, but we knew it made sense for us. There were more job opportunities for me in LA and even for Tyler too – his father’s firm was expanding and there was a position waiting for Tyler right here in Santa Monica. He misses the youth work sometimes, I can tell, but he knew it was time to settle down into a career that paid. We were both sure that we wanted kids soon and both Tyler’s parents and mine live here. The thought of having grandparents as babysitters definitely swayed our decision.

We got married on the beach. It was an intimate ceremony with only our closest family and friends, and immediately after we flew off to St. Lucia for our honeymoon. It was more perfect than I could ever have dreamed.

When we got back, sun-kissed and blissful, we started our new life as a married couple. Tyler continued working for his dad, and I threw myself into my role as a social worker for juvenile offenders at a nearby detention center, which is so hard but so rewarding, and then I fell pregnant with Jaxson two years later. It was no surprise – we’d been trying for months, and we both wept with joy in our kitchen the evening we found out.

It was the same story five weeks ago when we discovered I was pregnant again. Tyler has been on a total high ever since and every time this sickness hits me, he can’t wipe the silly grin from his face. It makes me want to kill him, but that could be the hormones talking.

“I’ve got an idea,” Tyler says, still touching my rings. “We survive the next couple hours. If anyone gives you more champagne, slide it straight to me and I’ll take care of it. Then we’ll get out of here and we’ll take Jaxson over to the pier. What are you craving right now?”

I think about it for a second, then blush. “Ice cream. Loads of it.”

“Alright, then we’ll get loads of ice cream.” Tyler stands from the floor, taking both my hands in his and pulling me gently up to my feet. We are chest-to-chest as I reluctantly step back into my heels. “Oh, and here,” Tyler says. “You’ll want this.” He pulls out a pack of gum from his pants and slides it into the palm of my hand.

I roll my eyes, but I’m grateful. I reach up and kiss Tyler’s jaw and he cups my face with his hand, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek. His smile is so pure and his green eyes sparkle the same intoxicating way they did when we were just kids and madly in love. Over the past decade, they have never changed. He presses his lips to my forehead, then takes my hand and guides me out of the restrooms and back into the bar.

When we reach our table again, Rachael flashes me a playful wink and asks, “What were you two sneaking off to the restrooms for?” Her tone is teasing, suggestive.

My dad clears his throat and looks the other way, pretending not to have heard, and Ella is too preoccupied keeping her eyes on Jaxson, who’s doing his toddler dancing to the music. Jamie is sat at the table now too, silently swigging a beer with a dismal expression, like family functions are too much of a chore for him.

“Just ate something funky earlier, I guess,” I lie as Tyler pulls a chair out for me. We sit down together, and I instantly place my hand on his thigh out of habit because I like the reassurance that he’s near.

“Momma,” Jaxson says, tottering over and tugging at my dress. He squeezes his hands together and reaches up for me. I lift him into my arms. and he snuggles in close to my chest, worn out from the excitement of the party, and I rest my chin atop his thick hair.

I close my eyes for a second, inhaling the scent of my sweet boy, basking in his warmth as I hold him close. When I open my eyes again, my gaze meets Tyler’s. He’s watching me closely, admiringly, and it feels so good. He’s unable to fight the smile on his lips and the pride in his eyes.

My gorgeous boys, I think. And my heart swells with so much love.

Also by Estelle Maskame

THE DIMILY SERIES

Did I Mention I Love You?

Did I Mention I Need You?

Did I Mention I Miss You?

Just Don’t Mention It

STANDALONE NOVELS

Dare to Fall

The Wrong Side of Kai

As a Young Adult imprint, Ink Road is passionate about publishing fiction with a contemporary and forward-looking focus. We love working with authors who share our commitment to bold and brilliant stories – and we’re always on the lookout for fresh new voices and the readers who will enjoy them.

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