Dating her husband isn’t on Lani’s to-do list, but she’s getting a second chance to learn you Can’t Hurry Love.
Enjoy an excerpt from Can’t Hurry Love
“I think you’d be surprised at how domesticated I am now,” I call in the direction of the kitchen as I locate the soap, something lavender and organic, and measure an appropriate amount into the machine, then layer my jeans, T-shirts, and boxers. I select the cycle carefully, refusing to fail this test.
“I’m sure I would be,” Lani calls back.
I leave the suitcase in the hall, bringing the package, which I set on the bar before heading to the little fridge where Lani keeps her wine. Her apartment feels familiar by now. I wish I didn’t have to go to L.A. tomorrow, but Kingston will kill me if I back out, not to mention that I can’t disappoint the bookstores or the kids who are planning to come see me.
“Red or white?”
“How about white? I’m making fish.”
I survey the bottles. I’m no expert, but I grab one with a nice label and set about opening it.
As the wine glugs into the glass I realize I’m stalling. “I brought you a present,” I say, handing her the wine and the package.
She stops shredding kale, wipes her hands on a dishtowel, and takes both.
“It feels like a book,” she says, weighing it, then tears the paper open. Inside is a copy of Reed and Lucy Go to the Movies. And something else. She holds up the narrow object, also wrapped in brown paper. “What’s this?”
“Part of the present. You could consider it an early birthday gift, I guess. Or, since you aren’t a huge fan of your birthday, just a general thanks-for-being-you present. ” I force myself to stop babbling and take a too-big sip of wine.
She gets the paper open and the gold chain with the cat’s-eye pendant settles into her cupped palm. She inspects it, then glances up at me. “Wait, this is from the store.”
“Yep. I saw it and it made me think of you.”
“Wow, I love this designer’s style. This is gorgeous. Thank you.”
“You like it? Because I could probably exchange it. I have an in at the place I got it.”
She gives me a look as if she’s trying not to laugh at my dad-quality joke. “Ha ha. Help me put it on?”
I walk around the kitchen bar and take the chain from her. She lifts her silky hair away from the nape of her neck. I want to kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder and nip at the shell of her ear. I want to press myself against the length of her back and rock into her, crowd her against the counter. Fuck dinner. Fuck wine.
I only want her.