33. ExtraDate

Juliet

With my simple sapphire blue dress, a French twist and classy evening makeup, I walk into the clubhouse. I look damn good. I need this look tonight to cover up the ache inside me.

"You've got this," Elodie says, squeezing my arm as we walk inside, her retro red polka dress swishing against her knees.

"We're going to be right there if it gets hard," Rachel reassures, looking equally gorgeous in a pretty fuchsia sheath dress.

"We've got you. Always," Fable chimes in, stunning in a black silk number.

Hazel's here too, but she had to take a call and said she'd join us soon.

My throat tightens, but that's been happening all day. "It's much harder to be the one having the breakup than it is to be the planner," I say to my sister and my friend.

"I know," Rachel says, since she's been there and done that. I hosted her breakup party when she moved back to San Francisco once upon a time.

People need more care and guidance for heartbreak than we give them. "Maybe I'll look into hosting retreats for the heartbroken once mine's put back together," I say, and the thought gives me new hope.

"Look at you. Always thinking of the future," Rachel says, cheery and bright.

"You can't stop being a futuristic optimist," Elodie says as her man Gage catches up to her and plants a kiss on her cheek.

"You telling everyone what to do?" He teases in his gruff tone.

"What? Me? Never."

"Yes. You. Always," he says. "Always making trouble."

She laughs, then shoos him away. "Go make yourself scarce. It's girl time."

"Say less," he says, knowing the sanctity of those words, then he smiles at me and heads off.

I smile back, grateful for the all-around support even though tonight I don't feel so optimistic, but soon I will. Thanks to my friends. "C'mon," Fable says, offering an arm. "Let's see our friends Veuve and Clicquot."

"My besties," I say.

"And they never let you down," she adds.

We head straight for the bar, grabbing champagne to toast to my new future.

Dating me.

"Here's to hot solo dates," I joke, lifting a flute then looking around at the clubhouse, with its fireplace, veranda beyond the dais and understated party decorations—silver streamers and gold and silver balloons floating up by the ceiling. The place is packed already, with easily one hundred guests. There's Agatha from the café at The Ladybug Inn chatting with a woman I spotted when I popped into Clementine's earlier in the week. Over in another corner, I'm pretty sure I recognize some men and women I saw streaming out of the Downward Dog All Day studio. But I don't see Monroe or the guest of honor. "I should find my date though. I promised I'd join him tonight."

"I'll track him down," Elodie says, but it comes out as a growl, like she'd like to throttle him.

She is the protective one.

"And I'll give him a piece of my mind," Fable adds.

They're both the protective ones, actually. I'm lucky like that.

We scan the guests in their party clothes, suits and cocktail dresses, barely a smidge of color, which seems on par for Monroe's dad. Then the clink of a fork against a glass interrupts my hunt.

I turn toward the front of the room, where floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the veranda and the rolling hills of the golf course beyond. Monroe's dad bounds up the steps onto the dais, a microphone in hand.

I lift a brow in curiosity. I know a thing or two about parties, and usually there's more mingling before the guest of honor makes a speech.

"Thank you all for coming," he says, getting right to business. "It's great to see everyone. I've been excited about this party for a long time, but especially since my son is here and he wants to say a few words to kick this off. Without further ado, here's Monroe."

He didn't call him Doctor Blackstone. He called him by his first name. That's sort of sweet.

Monroe strides to the stage, and my breath catches. He's so handsome it hurts. I wish I'd had the chance to grab a moment with him so he knows I'm here, rooting for him, no matter what happens between us. It can't be easy for him tonight—coming here to praise the man who's complicated his life and twisted up his whole worldview.

His dad hands him the mic, then gives him a man hug with its familiar choreography. The clap on the back, the pull him in close, but never too close.

But his dad doesn't let go immediately. He whispers something. From a distance, I can tell there's a faint shift in Monroe's lips, a word shared quietly, maybe even a thanks.

That warms my heart.

Then, when his dad leaves, I gird myself. I made a promise to be here, so I give him all my focus, waving subtly.

His gaze holds mine, and there's that same look he gave me last night at the table, when he held my chin and said I want to see you again. I long for him, a pang that reaches down to the tips of my toes.

"When my father asked me to say a few words tonight my first thought was no way."

Nervous laughter skitters among the crowd. They aren't sure if this is going to be a roast.

That's not Monroe's style though. But there is something different about him tonight. A more intense determination. He's not talking in his podcast host voice. He sounds like…just a guy.

"I said what do you want me to say? I've never given a retirement speech. Do I say he's a great doctor and teacher? And my father said It's practically writing itself." He turns the other way. "And that's true. He is a great doctor and teacher." Monroe gestures to the crowd. "Many of you are here because you work with him. Or you were taught by him. You know that about him."

Monroe walks to the front of the stage, like he's gathering his thoughts for the next part. He's not holding note cards. There's no prompter. He memorized this. "What you might not know is he's always been my inspiration. He's why I went into medicine, before I switched. He always wanted to be the best, and I wanted to be the best in my field too. I still want that."

I smile, even in spite of my own heartbreak. The man tries so hard. He wants so deeply. He gives fully of himself.

Monroe stops, his eyes lasering in on me once more. My heart stutters, then thumps harder.

I hope that'll stop soon, this wild reaction to him. I hope it won't do that in the studio.

"But my dad had an inspiration of his own," Monroe continues, voice growing even stronger as he looks to the crowd, and to me. "Love."

He says it with such familiar reverence that I lift my hand, touch my chest, feeling his words.

"My mother allowed him to work the way he did and to be the best. Losing her affected him deeply. So deeply that it kept us from being the best father and son we could be," he says, voice catching, his emotions seeping through.

Damn you, Monroe. My eyes fill with tears. I purse my lips, trying to swallow them down, so I don't ruin my makeup. I never imagined he'd try to heal the rift with his father tonight. I rustle around in my clutch for a tissue, but Rachel hands me one, knowing me so well.

Monroe's gaze slides from mine, landing on his dad on the other side of the room. A solemn look passes between them, his dad nodding proudly. "We're going to make up for lost time now that he's got nothing to do but be the best golfer at the country club, right, Dad?"

Doctor Blackstone smiles. "Yes. Because life is short," he calls out.

Monroe nods sagely. "Because life is short. You never know how much time you have left. And I've made some mistakes with my time. I put being best above…relationships." His gaze hunts for mine, then locks, like he won't let go of me. It's intense and passionate like he was for me all week. "And this week, I put ‘staying safe' above taking a chance on love. But someone very wise recently told me that the best decision you can ever make is to be open. That decision inspired me. She inspires me."

I gasp. The tears slide down my cheeks, and I swipe and swipe.

"In fact, she's been inspiring me for a long time. Since I first saw her again years ago in Darling Springs. I let her get away from me then. But I won't let her get away from me now."

I swallow past the knot of emotions in my throat, but the knot grows bigger, stronger. This feels so unreal. My stoic, cool, controlled man declaring himself for me, in front of his hometown, our friends, his father, and, most of all, himself. "Juliet, I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop falling for you. I don't think I'll ever be at my best without you. And I want next week, and the week after, and all the weeks, all the time with you. I want to be the man for you always if you'll have me."

I'm a mess, tears streaming, heart soaring, skin tingling. A hand pushes on my back, urging me forward.

Right, yes. Walking. I can do that. As I put one foot in front of the other, the crowd parts, the partygoers cheer, and I run the rest of the way to the dais in heels. The man I fell in love with eight years ago, picks me up into his arms, and kisses me in front of the party.

A declaration.

A choice.

He kisses me more passionately than I'd expect in front of a crowd, but no one seems to mind. Least of all me. Especially when he dips me, bestowing one more soul-deep kiss, before he tugs me up, then whispers, "So you'll take a chance on me?"

I smile and I laugh, and I manage to say, "Was that not clear just now? I'll take all my chances with you."

"Good. Then this can be our fourth date tonight, and tomorrow we'll have the fifth, and then when we return the sixth…"

"So it's like an ExtraDate?"

"All the ExtraDates."

He kisses me once again, giving me sparks and butterflies.