Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Maybe so, but you still love me.”
Her smile softens. “One hundred percent.”
By the time we make it to the car, she’s quieter. The adrenaline is still there, but it’s shifted now. It’s less bright and bubbly, more like she’s finally starting to come down enough to feel the weight of the evening.
I open the passenger door, taking the flowers from her and arranging them carefully in the back before helping her in.
“Thank you again for the necklace. I absolutely love it.”
My gaze drops to the gold star resting against her chest. It glints under the streetlights, and something in my chest pulls tight.
“It looks good on you.” I lean down and kiss her. “But then again, everything does.”
The drive home doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her thigh, the silence between us easy. The second we step inside the penthouse, she kicks off her heels and laughs when she sees how many bouquets we actually brought home.
“This is ridiculous.”
I set the flowers on the counter. “You earned it.”
She wanders farther into the kitchen, touching petals and shaking her head.
My place has had pieces of her in it for a while now. Hair products in my bathroom. A sweater slung over the back of the couch. The tea she likes stocked in the cabinet. A charger plugged in on my nightstand. But tonight, watching her move through the space barefoot and flushed and carrying opening-night flowers, it doesn’t feel temporary.
It feels settled.
Right.
Like the life I’ve been building around her has finally caught up with what I’ve known for a while.
I loosen my tie and toss my keys onto the counter. “Are you hungry?”
She turns toward me with a smile. “A little.”
“I had dinner sent up earlier. Figured you’d want to eat afterward.”
Her brows lift. “You did?”
With a shrug, I move toward the warming drawer. “Yup. Always thinking about you, Hollywood.”
Gratitude flashes across her face. “You’re the best.”
I give her a wink. “And don’t you forget it.”
I plate the food while she puts the flowers in water, and the quiet domesticity of it hits me harder than expected. Chey hums under her breath as I move around her, and when she reaches for a vase, I hand it to her before she has a chance to ask. From the get-go, it’s felt like we’re in sync, and that hasn’t changed.
We settle at the kitchen island to eat, the conversation easy and familiar just like always. She glances around the space, her expression softening in a way that makes my chest constrict.
After a moment, I set my fork down and reach for her hand. “You know this is your home too, right?”
She slides off the stool and steps close enough for my arms to wrap around her.
“I do. Thank you. For everything.”
I rest my chin on top of her head. “I love you, Chey. I really fucking love you.”
“I love you too.”
I narrow my eyes. “But do you really fucking love me?”
With a chuckle, she presses her lips to mine. “I do. So much that it hurts to breathe when we’re not together.”
“Same, baby.”
My mouth settles over hers. The kiss isn’t quick. It’s slow and deep and full of everything we don’t need to say out loud because we just know.
When we finally pull apart, she stays tucked against me.
“You mean everything to me, Knox.”
I caress her cheek with my knuckles. “Right back at you, Hollywood.”
After everything it took for Cheyenne to fight for the life she wanted and still choose to come home to me, a deep certainty takes root within me.
This isn’t a moment or a temporary arrangement.
This woman is my future.
And I can’t wait for it to unfold with her at my side.
Bonus Chapter
Sloane
By the time I get home, my feet are throbbing, my head is pounding, and I’m approximately one crappy comment away from faking my own death.
The apartment looks like a barely contained disaster. There’s a backpack dumped in the middle of the living room floor. Somebody left a cereal bowl on the coffee table near the TV. Math worksheets are spread across the table, and there’s a hoodie draped over the back of a chair. A single sock hangs off the arm of the couch like it gave up halfway through life.
That’s a choice I feel deep in my bones.
I nudge the door shut with my hip, and drop my bag onto the floor before spotting tennis shoes abandoned in the kitchen.
“Sawyer,” I call without raising my voice.
There’s a beat and then a groan from the couch. “What? I put them away.”
I continue staring at the sneakers. “Really? Did they get up and walk to the kitchen on their own?”
“Hey, anything’s possible, Sis.”
I close my eyes for a brief second. After eight hours spent at the bakery, one college class, and half a chapter of reading snuck in during my breaks, I’m running on caffeine, bad posture, and whatever fumes I’ve got left in the tank, which isn’t much.