The Husband Checklist

  The Husband Checklist

  Copyright © 2019 by Jasmin Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the prior written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, things, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Published: Jasmin Miller 2019

  jasmin@jasminmiller.com

  www.jasminmiller.com

  Editing: Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts

  Proofreading: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  Cover Art: Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs & Media

  Contents

  1. Julia

  2. Carter

  3. Julia

  4. Carter

  5. Julia

  6. Carter

  7. Julia

  8. Carter

  9. Julia

  10. Carter

  11. Julia

  12. Carter

  13. Julia

  14. Carter

  15. Julia

  16. Carter

  17. Julia

  18. Carter

  19. Julia

  20. Carter

  21. Julia

  22. Carter

  23. Julia

  24. Carter

  25. Julia

  26. Carter

  27. Julia

  28. Carter

  29. Julia

  30. Carter

  31. Julia

  32. Carter

  33. Julia

  34. Carter

  35. Julia

  36. Carter

  37. Julia

  38. Carter

  39. Julia

  40. Carter

  Epilogue

  Baking With A Rockstar Excerpt

  Also by Jasmin Miller

  Keep in touch

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To my husband,

  The man who matched my own checklist perfectly.

  Chapter One

  Julia

  My shoes squeak as I make my way up the porch steps, banging on the white door with the heel of my hand. “Come on, Ollie.”

  The puddle at my feet grows as I wait. I want nothing more than to get out of my soaked clothes, jump under the hot shower, and curl up in bed. After alternating between knocking and ringing the bell, the door finally opens, and I let out a sigh of relief as I look up.

  But, holy moly. This is most definitely not my brother standing in front of me.

  My vision is filled with none other than his best friend, Carter.

  The same one I grew up with, at least once both he and my brother finally accepted I wasn’t going to leave them alone, even though I was two years younger.

  “Jules? What the hell happened to you?” He gives me a once-over, his eyes going wide as he takes in my appearance and the suitcase behind me.

  My stomach rolls, his question bringing back today's events. Events I'd rather not think about. Instead, I force the fresh memory back into a box in my mind, not planning on going there anytime soon.

  “What are you doing here? Are you rooming with Ollie?” The second the words leave my mouth, I vaguely remember my brother mentioning something about it the last time we talked.

  That’s what happens when you don’t pay enough attention.

  “I am.”

  Two words, and I’m pulled into all things Carter. So much easier to focus on him, letting him distract me from this shitshow my life has turned into.

  The tepid temperatures of the rain have slowly turned my skin cold under my soaked clothes, but I’m not a hundred percent positive that’s the reason for the goose bumps that appeared out of nowhere. When I saw him a few months ago, he definitely didn’t greet me like this.

  Suppressing a shiver, another question tumbles out of my mouth. “And why on earth are you half-naked? Do you usually open the door like this?”

  He looks down his body as if it would answer for him, which doesn’t take very long given he only has a towel wrapped around his waist. Not that there isn’t a lot to check out with his well-over-six-foot frame. But that’s more for me, of course.

  Despite the messy state I’m in—both physically and emotionally—I can’t help but roam over the fine contours of his upper body while he’s not looking.

  I guess old habits die hard. It feels a little bad, like looking at him is taboo.

  He’s the forbidden fruit, per my brother’s demand at least. But Ollie isn’t here, and since I’m newly single, it’s really no one’s business who or what I’m looking at.

  Large parts of Carter’s upper body are covered in tattoos—chest, biceps—and if memory serves right, there are a few on his back too. Most of them are abstract—beautiful black drawings I wanted to trace a time or two when I was younger.

  Carter clears his throat, and I snap out of my trance. No one can fault me for being fascinated by all those tattoos and muscles.

  The embarrassment of getting caught still flames my cheeks, and I refrain from covering them with my hands. I only walked a few feet from my car to the front door in the rain, but I know it was enough for my mascara to run down my face. I’m probably only making it worse the more I try to wipe it away.

  But I shouldn’t be ogling Carter so soon after my boyfriend broke up with me. Then again, Carter has always been hard to ignore—all male with wide shoulders, narrow hips, longish, messy dark-blond hair, a slight scruff on his face. Not to mention the most hypnotizing blue-gray eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “I’d just turned off the shower when I heard the bell ringing. After the tenth ring—not to mention the incessant banging—I thought it might be urgent, so I didn’t waste any more time by putting on clothes.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, and I close my eyes for a moment, hoping like hell his towel will stay put. I couldn’t live through that sort of mortification tonight, even though Carter would probably find it hilarious.

  He’s never been shy.

  Stepping to the side, his hand goes back to the door. “Are you planning on coming inside or what?”

  Right. I mentally facepalm myself, probably looking like a total idiot.

  Just when I’m about to step over the threshold, I’m reminded of my messy state. “Could you get me a towel first, please? I don’t want to drip all over the floor.”

  “Sure thing.” But before he turns to walk away, a grin appears on his face. “Or do you want this towel, Jules?” He points at his hips, and I’m yet again happy for my zombie look.

  This is the Carter I know. Carefree, goofy, flirtatious, and silly as heck.

  Normally, I enjoy his lighthearted demeanor, but right now, it pushes all the wrong buttons. “Not now, Carter. I’ve had a shitty day and really don’t feel like jokes, okay?”

  There’s no gusto in my voice, but the tone says it all. It’s thick and shaky, cracking near the end.

  My finger is poised to poke his chest to make my point clear, but I pull it back when I remember all the naked skin in front of me.

  The smile falls as quickly from his face as it appeared. “Shit. Sorry. I’ll get that towel. Be right back.”

  Turning around, he walks off toward the bedrooms. I use that moment to take off my hoodie and let it drop to the ground, somehow managing to bump into my suitcase that tips over, landing on the welcome mat with a loud thud. I stare at it for a moment, briefly wondering if kicking it would make me feel better, before continuing with my task. I’m in the middle of taking off my sneakers when Carter re
appears, this time dressed in tan cargo shorts and a black T-shirt.

  After setting both shoes on the ground, I take the towel from his outstretched hand and rub it over my hair. “Thank you.”

  “Why don’t you take a shower while I get your things?”

  I nod absentmindedly and look back up at him to thank him once more, just to find him staring at my chest. This time I do poke him. “What are you staring at?”

  “Sorry, but . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence, pointing at my top instead. Following his gaze, I groan when I realize my black lace bra shows through my wet tank top, nipples on show and all.

  Throwing my hands in the air, I probably give him an even better show. “Gosh, you’re twenty-five, not fifteen.”

  “They’re boobs.” He shrugs, like that explanation clears up everything.

  On second thought, it probably does for him. Or maybe every guy? I wouldn’t be surprised.

  I sigh and push past him. “I’ll go take that shower now.”

  * * *

  The face that greets me in the mirror after my shower still looks a bit scary, but at least more human. I traded off the runny-mascara zombie face for red, puffy eyes.

  My messy reflection is a true representation of today’s events. I walk out of the en-suite bathroom into the bedroom, wondering if Carter would ignore me if I just slipped into bed and pulled the blanket over my head to hide for a while. I’m not sure I can play pretend tonight. I’m too raw. We’re no longer right for each other, Julia. Surely you understand why. No, it still makes very little sense at all. Much like why Carter is here and not Ollie.

  So I put on my big girl pants and walk into the living room. Carter’s in the kitchen, facing away from me. The high ceilings of the open floor plan have always been one of my favorite things about my childhood home.

  My brother has updated a few things over the years, giving the whole place a definite male touch, with lots of dark colors, leather, and chrome. I like it. The only thing he didn’t change is my old bedroom, the one my mom and I redid my senior year.

  Carter looks over his shoulder, watching me approach the kitchen. Looking around the room, I admire Ollie’s great taste in furnishings.

  “I made you some tea with honey. We don’t want you to get sick.” I turn toward Carter and wonder when he became so thoughtful.

  “Thank you.” I take the steaming mug from him, noticing the words on it. Better late than ugly. I raise my eyebrows and look back at Carter, but he’s nonchalant as always. Things don’t shake Charter easily.

  “It’s your brother’s, not mine.”

  “Well, that explains a lot. Speaking of Ollie, is he still at work?”

  He cocks his head to the side and studies me for a moment. “He didn’t tell you he went on a vacation with his girlfriend? Last-minute trip to Hawaii.”

  “He did what and with who?” I move my hands without thinking, forgetting about the hot tea I’m holding.

  The very hot tea.

  “Dang it.” Some of the liquid spills over my hands, and I almost drop the mug.

  Before I can react, Carter takes it from my hands while leading me to the kitchen sink. The faucet is on a second later, and he pushes my hands under the water before I can protest.

  His hands are under the water with mine, gently rubbing my skin. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes are trained on our hands, and my mind goes momentarily blank as I stare at our connected fingers. My skin tingles while my heart skips a beat, and I close my eyes to take a calming breath. It doesn’t happen every day that I pour hot tea over myself, which is the only reason I can come up with why my body is reacting like this.

  A minute later, Carter turns off the water and gently dries my hands with a kitchen towel. His touch is careful, like he’s afraid to hurt me. My hands look so small in his considerably larger hands, and I watch with an odd fascination as he slowly turns them back and forth to examine them.

  “Your skin’s a little red, but it looks okay. You good?” His voice is gentle, making me look at him.

  His eyebrows furrow, pulling together tightly across his forehead.

  Carter and I haven’t had a lot of contact over the last few years, only occasionally seeing each other in passing and mostly sticking to small talk. Nothing significant happened to make us spend less time together, even though I think it was my fault, at least partially. I’ve always written it off as being a part of growing up, as going after different things.

  When he looks up from my hands and our gazes meet, there are a million questions in his eyes. So, now I wonder. Just in the last few hours alone, I’ve come to realize that I like to live in denial, apparently not seeing what’s right in front of me, or rather brushing it under the rug like it doesn’t exist. I’m not sure I’m ready to face all the reasons for that yet. My brain is too muddled to think clearly, and to be honest, I don’t want to think about anything anymore tonight.

  I just want to forget.

  If there was ever a moment for Carter to have one of his carefree, everything-is-so-much-fun moments to cheer me up, this would be it.

  Instead, the worried look in his eyes does the opposite. After all the crying—first at my boyfriend’s apartment, or rather ex-boyfriend now, and then on the way to my brother’s—I promised myself to not shed another tear, at least not today. Yet here I am, my eyes all hot again as they get ready for what I expect to be a long night of wallowing and self-pity.

  “Come here.” Carter pulls me in for a hug before I have a chance to say anything, the big lump in my throat blocking anything to get by.

  Being in his arms feels good. The familiarity returns like it was never gone, this moment giving me more comfort than I could have hoped for, especially with my brother not here.

  After a few minutes of tears and sobbing—so much about my plan to not shed another tear—I finally feel like I might be able to speak. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my still shaky insides. Carter stays silent, continuously rubbing my back in soothing circles.

  I force the next words up my throat as fast as I can, somehow wanting to get them out in the open. “I’m homeless. Nate broke up with me.”

  Carter pushes me back in one swift move, looking at me wide-eyed. His grip on my arms tightens for a fraction of a second before he lets go. “He did what? Weren’t you supposed to move in with him?”

  “Yup. He had a last-minute change of heart.” I sniffle, trying my best to wipe away any remaining evidence of my meltdown, the word diarrhea in full progress now. “Apparently, he had a moment when I was on my way over to him with all my stuff and realized we shouldn't take this next step but should break up instead. He said I’ve put on too many pounds, have an embarrassing job, and my personality is lacking. So generally speaking, I guess I . . . just suck.”

  He stares at me with his mouth hanging slightly open, his nostrils flaring, just as the doorbell rings.

  When Carter doesn’t move, and the doorbell rings again, I jab my thumb in the general vicinity of the front door. “Are you expecting someone?”

  “Crap. I totally forgot.” He snaps out of his trance, looking back and forth between the door and me in a frenzy before holding up a finger. “One sec. Let me take care of this quick.”

  “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. Sorry.” And I do feel bad. As much as I like having Carter around, I know he wasn’t sitting here waiting for me tonight.

  His posture stiffens. “What? No. I mean, yes, it’s my date, but no, you’re not ruining anything. Let me tell her we won’t hang out tonight. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  I stare at him, suddenly having the strong sense to shake him while also wanting to hug him. I think my feelings are already in Crazytown. “Why would you do that?”

  He scratches his forehead, his voice louder than before. “Because of you, obviously. Why else?”

  “Me?” I point my index finger at my chest, my voice suddenly an octave or two higher, and maybe slightly shrill too. “Don�
�t be ridiculous. I’m fine. Totally fine. You hang out with your . . . friend, and I’ll see you later or tomorrow.”

  His eyes roam over my face, but I keep what I hope is a believable smile plastered on it. It’s so big, it hurts a little.

  “Are you sure? I’ll take her out for dinner instead.”

  I nod almost manically, surely matching my crazy smile. “Yes, absolutely. I’m sure I can find something sugary in the kitchen that will help me smother my sorrows.”

  What I really want to yell is “No, please stay” and get another reassuring hug, but I won’t invade his life like this. Instead, I give him a push toward the door.

  He still looks unsure but nods slowly. “All right. But call me if you need anything, okay? My number’s still the same.”

  “Yes, Dad. Now go.”

  A moment later my fake smile slips as I lock the door behind him before sinking to the floor, refusing to let the tears fall down my cheeks.

  Time for step one of my solo recovery phase: sugar treatment.

  Chapter Two

  Carter

  I lasted less than an hour with Jody. After making up a lame-ass excuse halfway through dinner, I hurried back to the house.

  As soon as I open the door and step inside, I realize even an hour was probably too long.