One Moment at a Time

By K.S. Thomas

He hasn't seen her in seven years. She could be anywhere in the world by now.
It's time to choose.
Get over her? Or go after her?

At thirty, Ben Prescott is living his life just as planned. He's running the family business, has the big house, the fancy car, and a beautiful woman he loves at his side. From the outside looking in, everything seems perfect. Except he's still haunted by thoughts of the one girl who got away.

At twenty-nine, free-spirited Ky is still traveling the world in search of a place to call home. Collecting adventures along the way, her soul is never left wanting. But her heart is. It's been years but she can't help thinking of the boy she left behind when his perfect plans felt like chains they both needed freed from.

She's gone back for him countless times already. In the past, he's never been ready.
Maybe he never will be.
The only way she'll ever know, is to leave a trail…and hope someday he follows it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.S. Thomas
• Release date: Jul 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215334171

K.S. Thomas

Originally born and raised in Bremen, Germany, I currently reside in sunny Florida with my teenage daughter, our coyote, a three-legged roo, and a tamed wolf (AKA, our dogs). I like to think we have a bit of a Gilmore Girls thing going, except my kid is obsessed with dance not books, and I’m (much to my increasing disappointment) appropriately aged to have a teenager.    I love coffee and yoga and the ocean and cooking and asking 'none of my business' questions whenever possible. While I spent my childhood certain I could be a Disney princess, sitting here, surrounded by my crystals, smudge sticks and tarot cards, eager to get out to my garden and walk on the earth in my bare feet and chat with the lizards about not eating my plants, I’m pretty sure I grew up to be the witch. The good sort. And, obviously, I write romance novels. That is, after all, what brought us together. Our love for...well, love. And who can blame us? Love has the power to bring out the best and the worst in us. It can make us strong or be our greatest weakness. It can make us move mountains or make us do some of the dumbest shit in the history of dumb shit. In short, love is entertaining as hell.

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Olivia ‘Heartbreaker’ Badilla – The fierce and fearless queen of ink with a heart of gold. Outside of her tattoo shop and her friends, the only thing that matters to Heartbreaker is her seventeen-year-old niece, Madi, whom she’s raised from the time Madi was twelve.  

Lucas McNealy has been in love with Madi’s Aunt Liv for as long as he can remember. But the nine years between them have kept her from taking notice. Until now. Seven years in the army should be enough to help her see the difference between the boy he was then, and the man he is now.  

And maybe it is.  

But romance is the last thing on Heartbreaker’s mind when Lucas shows up ready to claim her. She’s got bigger problems than his childhood crush, mainly her criminal brother who’s back in town and wreaking havoc right outside her door. It’s what he always does. What he’s always done. Only this time, the toxic wake of his disastrous choices is spreading beyond his control. It won’t be long before it threatens to take down the shop and everyone in it. Including Madi.  

Heartbreaker is prepared to wage war against the evil her brother is in business with. And she’s determined to do it alone.  

What she isn’t prepared to do is fall in love with the worst possible choice at the worst possible time.  

But then Lucas might prove just as determined as she is...

IF YOU LIKE FIERCE heroines, tattoos, and swoon-worthy heroes, then you'll love this contemporary romantic suspense. Download it for free at: www.authorksthomas.com

chapter

one

BEN

O H MY GOD! Her squeal echoes through the whole damn house and jars me so hard, I swear my heart stops for a solid three seconds. It’s barely beating again when the hooker-heels she loves so much (I’m pretty fond of them myself) come stomping down the hardwood of my stairs sounding like a stampede coming straight for me.

I see her calves, toned and tan, and moving at such speed I feel compelled to tell her to slow down on the steps before she breaks her damn neck. But then the rest of her body comes into view and my mind goes blank. As usual.

Alexandra’s pretty much the closest thing I’ve ever seen to perfect. Long, slender legs moving into an ass that hardly seems possible considering the tiny waist it blends into before meeting a rack she had custom made to match her curvy rear end. Took me weeks of watching her walk past me at work every day on her way to the gym before I could think clearly enough to take in the rest of her.

The girl tans like it’s a second religion, but she doesn’t have to. Her Greek heritage already gifted her a complexion fit for the goddess she is. Long, black waves of the softest hair known to man reach all the way down to the end of her tail bone, bouncing playfully as if they have a life of their own every time she moves. Deep brown eyes framed by solid black lashes and brows draw all the attention when it comes to her face. Until she smiles. Even Julia Roberts can’t compete with that smile.

And she’s smiling now. Broader than I’ve ever seen, her hair dancing like it’s at a fucking rave because she’s so excited she can’t stand still even though she’s come to a stop right in front of me.

I’m so, so sorry.

She doesn’t look sorry. Also, I don’t know what in the hell she has to be sorry for.

What are you talking about? It’s hard not to grin when she’s so beside herself with giddiness. It’s one of the best things about her. How easy it is for her to be happy.

This. Her hand flies up and toward me as she says it. I was just looking for a hoodie or something to put on because I was cold, and I opened your dresser drawer and found this by accident. She rolls over her wrist and I see it. In her hand. A small, very distinctly velvet, very distinctly jewelry-related, box.

My heart stops for the second time in two minutes. That can’t be healthy.

Before I can stop her, she pops the box open, revealing the ring and rambling on as she goes, All this time, people have been telling me to give it up, that you’d never be ready. That marriage wasn’t your thing, but I knew, babe. I knew you’d prove them all wrong. Then she pauses, taking in the ring while I watch in complete horror. It’s like being stuck in a slow-motion nightmare. I know what’s happening. I can see where this is going, but I can’t act or speak fast enough to stop it. And unlike those shit dreams, this I’m not waking up from.

Her fingers slide into the soft black cushion of the ring box, carefully lifting the gold hoop out by her thumb and index finger, and I know I have to do something. I can’t let her put that ring on. Can’t let her wear it. But I can’t do or say anything, because her mouth is moving a mile a minute again.

I mean, it’s not what I would have picked out, but that’s my own fault, really. I could have dropped a few hints, left a few clues. I guess I was just hung up on some ridiculous romantic notion that the right guy would automatically choose the perfect ring for the woman he’s destined to marry. You know, silly fairy tale stuff. She laughs, dismissing the idea.

I don’t.

I can’t.

It’s not silly, Alexandra. If my face was ever smiling, I can’t remember what that felt like. It’s like my jaw has turned to stone. My mouth is heavy and unyielding. It may never smile again.

Oh, she frowns, clearly misunderstanding my reaction. "Babe, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s a nice ring. And you chose it, so it is perfect."

I close my eyes tightly. I can’t face her. Not now. It is perfect, Alexandra. Or it was. When I bought it. I let out a long breath and force my lids up. She deserves better than the coward’s way out. It’s not yours.

Her happiness crashes all around and I can feel my heart drop down into my gut along with it. I’ve been an asshole most of my life but hurting her is almost unbearable.

Still clasping the small gold band in her fingers, she begins to shake. You got this for someone else? she whispers.

I did.

She steps back at the words and I reach out to stop her. It was years ago, Alexandra. Before we even met. And I never gave it to her.

But you thought about it. You thought about giving her a ring, marrying her. Her whisper has grown into a shriek in record time. She yanks her wrist from my grip but doesn’t try to step back this time. Instead, she pounces, getting in my face like she’s about to wage a war on me. "Seven fucking years, Ben! Seven years we’ve been together. Where the hell is my ring?"

I don’t have an answer for that. I never got her one. Never even thought about it.

Alexandra. But my small, pointless attempt at reasoning is overshadowed instantly as she rages on.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable! I should have known! She throws her hands up at the ceiling, shaking her head and marching across the room to increase the working space of her tirade. All this time, we sleep in each other’s beds. We keep half our shit at each other’s houses, but do we sell one place and live in the other? Do we have our mail delivered to one address? No! No, we don’t. You keep your accounts separate. You fully involve yourself in my life without ever really committing it to yours. We don’t even have the same cell phone carrier, Ben! What the hell kind of a relationship is this? Where do you really see this going? Or has it already arrived? Is this really all we will ever be?

The honest answer is yes. But I’m not dumb enough to say that out loud.

Alexandra, just...stop and think for a minute. You and I, we’re happy. We have a great life together. I mean, tell me one couple you know who has a relationship as solid as we do. I sure as hell don’t know anyone.

This does little to appease her, but the pacing stops, and I think, for now, the screaming is over. "Who cares about everyone else? I care about us. I care about you and me. Yeah, I love what we have. I love the freedom to come and go. The romantic trips. The fancy dinners. The shows. The parties. All of it is great. But it’s not enough. Someday, I’m going to want to come home to our home. I’m going to be thirty next year. There will come a time, in the very near future, where I won’t want to introduce you as my fucking boyfriend anymore. I’m going to want to call you my husband. I want a wedding. I want the perfect ring. I want it all."

I suppose on some level, I always knew this. It was never said out loud, so I kept riding that wave of denial, lying to myself until I was convinced we were both just living in the moment, content with the now for however long the now would last. I have no plans of leaving her. No desire to be without her. But I can’t claim to have any intentions of marrying her. Of marrying anyone. Except Ky.

Ky.

I can’t give you the perfect ring, Alexandra. It’s a loaded sentence. Filled with all of the painful things I want to spare her from but can’t because she needs to know the truth. Maybe it’s time we both said it out loud. Admitted it. Acknowledged it.

Alexandra nods, her lips pressed firmly together in a straight line. Her chin drops to her chest as she stares down at the band still clenched in her fingers. It’s a simple ring. Simple but classic. 1920’s Art Deco engagement ring with a hexagon setting and a transitional cut diamond, perfectly imperfect and exceptionally unique. The plain gold band compliments it in a way no other metal or design possibly could. It’s not the sort of ring you’re going to find at your local jewelry chain store. It’s special. It was both hard to find and staring me square in the face at the same time, and I bought it without thinking. Without hesitating. Without considering the fact that the woman I imagined wearing it hadn’t spoken to me in over a year. I just bought it. And kept it. And now it’s here to bite me in the ass in a big fucking way.

Who is she? Her tone is quiet, but cold in a way I’ve never heard from my happy-go- lucky Alexandra.

I told you. I knew her a long time ago. Back home. Home. My home. Not Ky’s home. I’m not sure she’s ever had one. This place, here, where I live now with Alexandra, it was one of her frequent stops, but home? Last I heard she was still wandering the world in search of it.

Her arm stretches out toward me, a sneer of disgust resting on her lips. She’s hurt. And angry. It’s manifesting itself in a way that makes even perfect Alexandra look unattractive.

Well, that explains this ring. She drops it without warning, and I have to dive to catch it.

"I really don’t see why you’re getting so upset about something that happened nearly a decade ago. It’s not like I was ever engaged to her. Hell, if you asked her what I was to her, she’d undoubtedly say I was nothing more than a lying, cheating pain in her ass. She got the old me. The jackass me. You got the me now. The responsible version. The one who can manage a commitment without getting bored or distracted. The one who actually shows his partner some respect. Ky might have gotten a ring she never even knew about, but you sure as shit made out better in the long run, I can promise you that."

Ky.

I didn’t realize I said her name out loud until I hear Alexandra’s voice utter the single syllable. It still hurts. God. Why the fuck does it still hurt?

Yeah. Ky. Short for Kylie. ‘Cept no one ever called her that. Wouldn’t answer to it anyway. I point my eyes at the wall across the room. It’s the only safe place for them to land right now.

I have to fight the urge to stare down at the ground.

I’m holding the ring. I can’t even imagine the sight of holding the damn thing because I’ll envision it bursting into flames and burning into my skin.

Can’t look down. Because I’ll see it. My hands, they’re hanging right there in front of my belt buckle. I’d move them, only it would require thought, and I’m not thinking about that damn ring. Not right now. Not while Alexandra is watching.

So, let me get this straight, Alexandra pushes onward. This is going to hurt. I’m not even sure which one of us will fare worse before it’s over, but I know for sure we’re both going down with it. "You and this Ky dated. You cheated on her, treated her like crap, because that’s the kind of player piece of shit you were back then, and yet, you wanted to marry her? Only she found out you were two-timing her, and she left your ass high and dry, leaving you to cling to the ring as your greatest regret for all eternity."

I should just nod. Say yes. Put a stop to this insanity. Only I gave up lying when I met Alexandra. So, she gets the truth. Whether she wants to hear it or not.

No. Not even close. I move backwards, shuffling my feet over the carpet until my heels hit the back of one of the bar stools lining the breakfast bar to my kitchen. Alexandra picked them out. She decorated this whole place. Why she’s so hung up on it being mine and not ours, I’ll never understand. Ky and I never dated. We met through work. This little old diner called the Chicken Shack. She’d only just moved back to town and didn’t know anyone. Didn’t know me. Thought that would work in my favor. I was wrong. She had me figured out halfway through our first conversation. Which lasted all of five minutes. At that point she laughed at me, thanked me for the entertainment, and walked away. Those first five minutes we knew each other more or less sums up our entire relationship. She’d show up out of nowhere. We’d talk. I’d make a move. She’d laugh at me. She’d walk away. Same shit, over and over again for three whole years.

Alexandra shifts her weight from one foot to the other, cocking her hip out to the left and bringing her right hand up to rest on her waist. I think she’s actually interested in hearing about this. Maybe because she can tell it’s making me uncomfortable. Probably thinks I deserve it. In all likelihood, I do.

What happened after three years? she asks, her brows curiously knotted at the center.

I shrug. I moved here. Met you. Never looked back.

I suppose that’s meant to be significant. Maybe you think it proves something. She straightens up and even takes a step toward me.

Doesn’t it? Just because I don’t want marriage, doesn’t mean I don’t want Alexandra. I’ve always wanted her. From the first time I laid eyes on her.

Yeah, it does. She keeps moving until she’s close enough to reach out and take my hand. My hand and the ring still curled inside my palm. I know you think my go with the flow approach to life makes me ditzy sometimes, like I can’t think deep thoughts. Have real insight. But just because I choose not to dwell on the shit that weighs me down, doesn’t mean I can’t see it when it’s right in front of my fucking eyes, Ben. You never looked back. Great. Except it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. It’s because you fucking couldn’t. And now you can’t move forward either. For the same damn reason. She presses my fingers down, making my hand into a fist, squeezing the ring tight. Then she leans in and kisses me softly. Goodbye, Ben.

chapter

two

BEN

H ow inconvenient would it be for you to take off for a few days and come to Dallas? It’s not the first time I’ve asked my brother this question over the last seven years. Not even close. Nine out of ten times, the answer results in him hopping on a plane within a few hours of my call.

Depends. How important is it that I show up? He seems willing enough, but the sound of a chick huffing in the background tells me Hanna isn’t too thrilled with my request. Some days I still can’t wrap my mind around my little brother being married. Other days I realize I can’t imagine him spending even a day of his life without her. The two practically came out of the womb engaged. Been best friends their entire fucking lives. I have zero frame of reference as to what that might feel like. Except with him. My brother. And I’m guessing that’s not the same as meeting your soulmate your first day on this miserable planet. But then, I guess if you’ve got your soulmate, this place probably isn’t as bleak and hopeless as it seems to the rest of us suckers.

Is Hanna gonna flip her shit if I say it’s really fucking important?

Will laughs. More than likely. But don’t let that stop you. I’m pretty good at flipping her shit back into place.

I take one last look at the empty dresser drawer Alexandra used to fill to the brim with all her stuff before I answer. In that case, it’s really fucking important.

"Done. I’ll call you when I know what time I’m getting