“Only Tru and Gemma know, but it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you guys are so close,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

He held her tighter and lowered his voice. “Because she’s a friend. She didn’t need to know all the gory details.” He glanced at Penny, sweeping Lincoln into her arms and dancing with him, then turned his honest eyes on Roni and said, “She was never going to be in my bed or in my life the way I’d hoped you were going to be. I wanted you to make your decision knowing absolutely everything, the good and the bad, so there were no surprises, no skeletons that could ruin us later.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m sorry for mentioning it to her.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, babe. You can talk about my past with anyone.” He pressed his lips to hers, soothing her worries.

Kennedy yelled, “Miss Woni, dance with us!”

“IdancewifBooful!” Lincoln wriggled out of Penny’s arms, making a beeline for Roni.

Quincy squeezed her hand and said, “Looks like we have a dance party to join.”

Chapter Sixteen

QUINCY LOOKED UP from the apples he was slicing Thanksgiving morning to watch Roni swaying to the beat of “Cornelia Street” streaming from her phone as she mixed ingredients for the apple pies they were making. How had this become his life? Sharing his time with this incredible woman? Going to sleep with her in his arms and waking to her sleepy snuggles and insatiable kisses? Sometimes he caught himself hoping the other shoe wouldn’t drop, but in the next breath she’d say or do something intimate or adorable, and he’d remember that shoes didn’t fall randomly from the sky. He was in control of those shoes, and they were remaining firmly on the ground.

“I feel you looking at me,” she said with her back to him, still swaying to the music. “I love it, but we need the apples so we can get the pies in the oven.”

Yeah, they were that in tune with each other. He went back to slicing the apples.

They’d stayed at her apartment last night so she would have all of her grandmother’s baking utensils. They’d slept in, but as soon as her eyes had opened, she’d been so excited to make her grandmother’s famous apple pie, she’d snagged her sexy glasses, thrown on baggy sweatpants and a black tank top with DANCE HAIR DON’T CARE written across the chest, and dragged his ass out of bed. He’d tried to entice her into making love, but she was a bundle of nervous energy. While she was thrilled to be included in the Whiskey’s holiday celebration, she wanted to make sure the pies were just right. Come on! she’d urged, giving him his sweatpants, then tugging him out of bed by the hand. It’ll be fun, and I promise to make it up to you once we know the pies are perfect! She was so damn cute, there was no place he’d rather be than right there with her in the kitchen, soaking up all her sunshine.