Bellie’s Reviews > Love Me Tomorrow: A Friends-to-Lovers Romance > Status Update

Really good book. Good plot. Particularly good story. Good writing. I really like the couple too and their own individual stories. Slay queen. Good job.

Angling my face to look down at my wife, I note the tear that slips over her smooth cheek. Silently, I take the glasses off, setting them beside me on the blanket. There are some things I’m willing to view how the world does, but there are others—those that are the most precious to me—that I refuse to look at in any other way but how my eyes naturally see.
Things like my wife.

Light streaks across the sky in a color that I can only imagine is green, though I know I only think that because it’s what Sinclair told us on the way here. But still it glows, so bright and so effervescently that I find myself grabbing Savannah’s hand and holding on, tight. It’s striking. Stunning. And even if I never put these glasses back on, I will always treasure this moment.

Fear guts me, because what if they don’t work? What if they do? Will I suddenly find myself wishing this could be a permanent solution? Will I feel differently when I stand in front of my apprentices, most of whom are colorblind themselves, and tell them that I was wrong all along? That saying that we look at the world more uniquely is all just a lie we tell ourselves to feel better?

“What if they don’t work?”
“Then you’ve lost nothing.” Savannah’s voice softens. “Why don’t you see color, baby?”
My throat grows tight as I find her left hand in the darkness, my palm skating over her engagement ring. “My beautiful wife stole them all.”

“I missed them,” I finally confess.
Folding her arms over her chest, she cocks her hip out. “You’re not talking about anyone but Ben and Pablo, are you?”
I shrug. “The rest of them, we’re still feelin’ it out. Testing the waters.”
“You’re ridiculous.”

“Were you video-calling Pablo again?”
“Me?” I point to myself, as though insulted she’d suggest such a thing. “I was scrolling through Sports 24/7 highlights.”
She raises a brow. “One call to Lizzie and I’ll know the truth.”

Gage’s eyes narrow visibly, over the top of Pablo’s furry head. “Owen, somehow the kid managed to whip off his diaper and throw it clear across the room. It hit one of the cats.”
“Not Pablo, though, right?”
My twin stares at me, unblinking. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“He laughed so hard that he pissed himself.”
“That’s not so bad,” I say, “it’s not like you haven’t been there yourself with Ari. How many times did she wet herself before y’all potty-trained her?”

Which is probably why I’m hiding from my wife in our hotel bathroom, for the honeymoon we never found time to take, and video-chatting with Pablo. And Gage, too, but mostly the cat.
My adopted, firstborn son paws the screen and, goddammit, the little fucker is cute, I’ll admit it. “You’re feeding him the good stuff, right?”