Free Love Found Me (A City Love Novel, Book 1) by Nina Amari Page B

neighborhood.
    Visually, it hadn't changed much in the last few years--Rows of regal brownstones, tree-lined streets, and quaint courtyards ample for raising a family. It was a haven for women in their thirties and forties, who traded career to be full-time moms, simply because they could afford to.
    Realizing that it had been too long since she had seen the facade of the brownstone she and her ex shared just after their engagement, Danielle sighed. Her expression was sentimental.
    It seemed like ages ago, when Danielle thought she knew what love was. When in fact, she didn't really know love at all. A thirty-year old woman's clock was ticking, and Jack was the first steady guy in her life that she'd managed to find, apart from her workaholic life.
    Well, actually they found each other through a business meeting. Her firm was battling negotiations with a prospective client -- his high-profile litigation firm--and the rest was history. Although, sometimes she'd wondered if he was more interested in her upwardly mobile status, feeling threatened by her success, rather than the love she brought to their relationship. Maybe he'd wanted a sexy doormat, but common sense said--he should've known Danielle better than that.
    Suddenly, her eyes darted to the sounds of languid cries lacing a nearby garden. As she waddled closer, the spirited zest of children layered a laugh that infused her memory with fantasy.
    Her hands were moist with sweat as she turned her attention to a young mother hugging her child. No matter how difficult it had been to watch while Danielle explored the world as a single woman, she wouldn't have traded marriage with a man who couldn't and didn't love her for the sake of motherhood.
    Unfortunately, her four-inch suede had begun to take its toll on her flesh. She took a quick shallow breath the moment she'd felt her toes pinching the pointy hollow. It was days like this she'd regretted not wearing her two-and-a-half-inch kitten heels.
    Immense shadowy oaks filtered sun between its spiny winter canopies. Danielle swung her leg back to the hem of her skirt, gently massaging her tender toes through the supple suede, as she balanced herself on the other foot. Her eyes closed for a moment as she released a heavy groan.
    It was almost a relief, as she targeted a park bench a few yards away. Danielle's slender toes squirmed the pointy suede, as she gingerly tiptoed her way through the minefield of strollers and mothers nursing their infants. What's wrong with me? When will I find someone to love me?
    Danielle still thought that no social life heaved an immense burden. Pushing thirty. Heck, she'd already pushed into thirty, and she wasn't getting any younger. Time was click-click-clicking. And she hadn't even spent one night since her engagement over two years ago with anyone but--numero uno.
    On the rare occasions, she'd been finagled into a date--she'd drawn nothing but "Loser." Those guys layered low on her threshold of ample, most times backed by a mutual parting. No one-night-stands or guys lusting for only one thing. She didn't practice wanton magnetism nor would she begin to.
    And lately, she'd been sulking about it. It seemed like she'd magnetized every couple's city love. Couples huddling. Couples hugging. Couples straddling each other in their arms, licking wet, juicy kisses, having a delicious time of it.
    Before she'd even realized she was standing central to an enclave of babymony, she stiffened. It was like being back home again. With the memories of living everyone else's dream, but her own.
    Although some people couldn't understand why she wasn't married and already on baby number three, Danielle had the natural tenacity and nerves to pacify her own heart. She wasn't the idealistic woman who'd imagined herself the rebel in anything but career.
    Danielle was hiding from unpleasant memories only she could face in the mirror. Only she could form a modest desire for the unfamiliar illusion of family versus