by K. Bromberg
The bar erupts in a symphony of cheers that I don’t hear because all that’s on repeat in my ears is: I love her.
His lips meet mine in the sweetest of ways, warming me all the way to my toes and back up. I’m so lost in the moment, so caught up in Grayson that when he ends the kiss, he’s all I see. He’s all I know.
“You chose me.” His words are barely audible but filled with wonderment as his eyes well with tears before he blinks them away.
I nod. “I chose you.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to see.”
“See what?”
“That you’re worth the risk, Princess.”
If my smile could light up a room, everyone in here would be shielding their eyes from the brightness.
“So are you,” I whisper as he lifts our clasped hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of my knuckles. And then it hits me. “How did you know?”
“Know what?” The startled look on his face worries me.
“That I was coming back to stay for good. That I told my dad to give the editor-in-chief job at Haute to Rissa. That—”
“You what?” I’m not sure whose voice rings out the loudest—Rissa’s or Grayson’s—but they are both chock-full of astonishment.
I turn to Rissa, whose jaw is slack and eyes blink rapidly as if she’s trying to comprehend what I just said. “Only if you want it, Riss.” I smile. “I’d never uproot your family or take your place unless you wanted to do it . . . but you deserve that position. You deserve to have your chance again.”
“You aren’t kidding, are you?”
“I wouldn’t kid about a thing like this. I told my father that you were the right person for the job, and he agreed. The promotion is yours if you want it.”
“Oh my God!” And before I can prepare for it, she launches herself at me and pulls me into a tight hug. “You really did this for me?”
“Yes.”
Her gratitude feels better than anything I’ve felt in the longest of times.
Nah. I take that back. When Rissa steps back and Grayson steps forward, pulls me into his arms, and presses a kiss to my lips, that’s the best thing I’ve felt in the longest of times.
“That was incredible,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Not as incredible as getting to wake up next to you every day.”
“But you gave up your dream?” His hands never stop framing my face as his eyes search mine. I can see the fear flicker there, the worry that being here won’t be enough to keep me. How can he not know that he’s all I need?
“You pushed me away. You expected me to leave. I’m here proving to you I intend to stay. I want you to know that dreams can change . . . and this—you, Luke, Sunnyville—is my dream now.”
“All of this even before you knew if I had my shit together?”
“Do you have your shit together, Grayson?”
His smile is quick. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Damn sure.”
“I have to warn you,” I say, giving him a teasing smile and making sure that every ounce of love I feel for him is reflected in my eyes. “I’m not an easy girl to please.”
“Oh, I know . . . but I’d rather argue with you any day of the week than kiss someone else.”
And there he goes, sweeping me off my feet.
“I guess now’s the perfect time to tell you I put an offer on the old Kraft house.”
“You what?” His laugh sounds so damn good to my ears that I want to make him do it again.
“I did.”
“Cold showers and all?”
“Cold showers and all. Who knew I could live among the little people,” I say to give him grief and follow it with a wink.
“I have an even better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Move in with me.”
“Would we get to play PS4 in your bedroom?”
He throws his head back and laughs, the vibration going from his chest into mine before he meets my eyes again. “God, I love you.”
And then he kisses me.
It’s sweet. It’s sexy. It’s nothing I came to Sunnyville looking for, but it’s everything I need.
It’s everything I ever wanted.
“Are you fricking kidding me?”
“What?” he murmurs quietly. Smart man. He’s learned over the past two years and is treading lightly.
I look over at Grayson, who’s sitting in the chair across from my desk, with his feet crossed at the ankles and his phone in his hand, and I want to strangle him. Not just strangle him, but him and everyone else in this office. Especially with that blank look on that gorgeous face of his that tells me he has not a care in his world while mine seems to be slowly falling down around me.
“This!” I point to my computer screen and then jab a finger to the office beyond mine. My staff is milling about as if there’s nothing wrong when the draft of the next issue of Modern Family on my screen says anything but. “We’re getting close to the deadline for print, and nothing’s right. Not the layout. Not the . . .” I scroll through the pages and growl—yes, growl—in frustration when, in an article about winter break activities for your kids has the word “you” randomly slapped on the page. “This stupid program. Stupid glitches.”
I sound like a petulant child, but everything with this issue has gone wrong. Everything. Including the fact that the window at Grayson’s back says it’s already dark outside and the computer screen in front of me tells me that I’m going to be missing our dinner date, which I’d been looking forward to.
“I take it there’s a problem?” His casual demeanor turns stiff. He knows what’s coming. He knows I have to cancel and is pissed. He has every right to be upset, and yet, my hands are tied . . . I have to meet my deadline.
“Yeah. A huge one.” I glance at the screen again, and the mess that seems to be on every page as I scroll through the issue. “It’s like someone took a bunch of crappy clip art and just erratically placed it all over the articles.”
Grayson takes his time standing, and it only irks me further. I get he’s off for the week. I get it isn’t a big deal to him. But, gah, this is huge to me. This is what my success is measured on. This is how I keep everyone happy who needs to be happy.
“So, you won’t be able to go to dinner, then?”
If looks could kill, the one I’m sending his cute ass right now would land him in the morgue.
“No. I won’t,” I snap, and the minute the words are out, I hang my head and sigh because I’m being a certifiable bitch and he doesn’t deserve it. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just . . . I’m frustrated is all. I was really looking forward to our date tonight. I mean really looking forward to it and . . .”
“And things happen.” He shrugs, but I can tell he’s not too thrilled with it. “We can always reschedule . . . or I can ask the restaurant to make it to go, and I can either bring it here or we can make our own date at home in the backyard.”
I do not deserve this man.
Not in a million years.
“I just need to . . . maybe we can salvage . . .” But I know that we can’t.
“What’s this issue about?” he asks.
“This is the issue where I let the staff vote on what the theme should be.”
“I thought that was a big hit last year.”
At least he pays attention. “It was,” I say and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Except for this one, they wanted to pick weddings. Winter weddings. Why not winter wonderland activities? Ways to keep the Christmas spirit alive. But weddings? We’re a family magazine. Not Bride to Be.”
“Is that a real magazine?” Grayson asks, looking confused.
I rise from my seat and love that even though I’m stressed to the gills, he can stand here and make me love him and smile all at the same time. “Yes, it’s a real magazine. But not this one. Not the one I run.”
“So, you have something against marriage?”
“No,” I say through a chuckle. I have nothing against marriage, but it’s a topic we’ve never broached. One I never thought he wanted again after everything with Claire.
“If you’re not happy with the topic, why did you let them have a choice, then?”
“Because I’m learning . . . and I learned last year that letting them feel like they get to help with the decisions makes them more invested than the times when I make the decisions.”
“I always knew you were smart. That’s why you love me.”
And just like that—with a flash of his smile and a dash of his charm—he can erase my stress.
For a moment.
I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. Just a hint of everything I love, fully aware that my staff is within viewing distance, before tapping him on the butt.
“Thank you. I love you. But I need you to go before you see me cry tears of frustration that I then take out on you.”
His chuckle fills the space, but the squeeze of my hand makes up for it. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“We wouldn’t.”
“That would mean no sex when you get home.”
“Oh, there was a promise of sex?” I ask, batting my eyelashes coyly.
“Mmm. Mind-blowing sex.”
“Better go home and charge the PS4 remotes so Luke thinks we’re preparing for an epic battle.”
His laugh sounds off and eases a bit more of my tension momentarily. “Does that mean you were planning on screaming my name later?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”
“Thank God for that.” He brushes a kiss to my lips. “You’ll get it fixed. It’s probably nothing major.” Another kiss. “And we’ll do epic sex later.”
It’s my turn to laugh. And then sigh. The last time there was a program glitch like this was my first Harvest Festival back. I think of him here in the office. Taunting me. Seducing me without me even realizing it. And then, of course, my jealousy and assumptions.
The softening in Grayson’s eyes tells me he’s remembering the same night. The same emotions. The same building block that helped make us what we are today.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say as I take a seat. “I’m going to need it.”
And I don’t look up again as the door shuts, because I’m already pouring over the layout. The errors. The misplaced words sitting erroneously in the middle of articles, looking almost like a ransom note gone wrong.
Like this one here. It’s an article on flowers and arrangements. Haphazardly plopped on top of the article is the word “me.” Or this one here about perfect venues, where there is a bold-faced type more than a hundred times larger than the regular font spelling the word “will.” And then, of course, there is the image of the gorgeous cover couple all fancied up in their wedding attire in the middle of the vineyard—the shoot we had done that hit every note perfectly—with a comic book type of POW over it, but instead of the word “pow,” it says “marry.”
So frustrating.
I begin trying to manipulate the program that I’ve learned inside out over the past year. I click, I refresh, I do everything I know to do and nothing—I mean absolutely nothing—is working.
With my focus on the computer, I reach over and click on the phone intercom. “Jamie?”
No answer.
All of these pages. I line the erred ones up on the screen.
“Jamie?”
Not even a sound.
Wait a minute.
When I look up, the office is dark. The staff is gone. Just the front light is on.
The clock tells me I’ve been working a while, but for them to leave without saying anything?
Another page I found. The perfect wedding cake and there is a huge question mark covering the tiers of it.
What the hell is going on?
I drag that page over to my desktop as I rise from my seat, suddenly unsettled and a whole lot confused.
“Hello?” I call out as I step back from my desk with one last look at my screen.
And then my heart stops.
And starts.
A laugh escapes my lips as my fingers go up to touch them, and I stare at the screen. In disbelief. In shock. In holy shit.
I can’t be right. Can I?
The screen. The messed-up pages. When they’re all together, I see what they say, but my eyes don’t want to believe it to be true.
Will. You. Marry. Me?
My heart pounds as I stare at the screen and then look out to the office beyond. “Grayson?” I walk out of my door, the click of my heels the only sound I hear. “Gray?”
When I turn the corner to the front waiting room, my breath catches as I lock eyes with Grayson. He’s standing in the lobby, looking exactly as he had hours ago in my office—shorts, polo shirt—and yet, the man just stole my heart all over again. His eyes are all I see as I stand there, because, in them, I see so many things I never thought possible. So many things I used to scoff at but now want for myself.
Lining the wall behind him are all of the pages I was trying to fix—in poster size—but this time, they are spread out and in the right order. Will you marry me?
“Grayson.” Part hope. Part shock. All love.
It’s all I have to say to have that nervous smile spreading on his lips. “Want to skip dinner and do this instead?”
Unable to get the words out, I nod emphatically as he takes a step toward me.
“So, there’s this girl,” he says and chills race over my skin as my heart melts and pulse races.
“And there’s this boy . . .”
He nods as his hands find mine, trembling ever so slightly. “There’s this girl who walked into my life a few years back, took everything I knew, took everything I thought about what I wanted for my life, and she tossed it upside down.” He chuckles, and the shy smile on his lips makes me want to kiss him. “She challenged me in ways I never expected. She told me that she was not a kid person, even though time and again, she stole both my and my son’s hearts. She said she hated this small-town life despite walking proudly through it in her high heels and slowly letting them sink into the grass without a single complaint. I told her I was ruined. I accused her of being just like the person that ruined me. I told her never again . . . but nevertheless, she persisted. She wore her way into my heart, into my life, until a day was not complete without her smile, her laugh, the scent of her perfume. You knocked me on my ass, Sidney Thorton . . . knocked me down when I didn’t even know you were coming . . . but then you picked me back up. You made me whole. You made me hope. You made me love.” His eyes well with tears and mine follow as my pulse thunders in my ears. “And I don’t want to spend another day without you knowing that you are the one I want. You are the risk I chose to take. You are the one I choose.”
“Grayson.” My chest aches from all of the love.
“Will you marry me, Sid?” He lowers himself to one knee, smiling up at me. “Well, me and Luke, but he and your parents and my family and your staff—who helped me frustrate you by choosing this topic—are all waiting for us at Hooligan’s to celebrate if you say yes.”
My laugh echoes around the empty space. “That’s a lot of pressure, Mr. Malone.”
“You have no idea.” His chuckle is laced with nerves. He produces a ring box with a very delicate infinity band of pale yellow diamonds that is stunningly gorgeous and simple and everything I could have ever asked for. Just like him. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t know without a doubt that you’re the one I’ve waited for. All the pain, every bit of the heartache led me to you. Led me to fighting against you . . . and then fighting for you. Will you marry me, Sidney?”
I lower myself to my knees as my head nods and my hands reach for his hands and my lips find his lips. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.” We kiss. It’s soft and delicate and packed full of every emotion I could ever imagine. “On one co
ndition,” I say against his lips.
“You’re giving me a heart attack here, Thorton.”
“No, it’s going to be Malone soon. You have to get used to that.” Another press of a kiss. “I want to adopt Luke. I want him to be mine, too.”
When Grayson leans back and looks into my eyes, there is so much love and shock and surprise in his that it’s enough to last me a lifetime. He swallows over the lump in his throat as he nods until he can find his voice. “Deal.”
“Whew,” I say and laugh. “It was going to be hard to adopt him and not marry you if you had said no.”
“I’ll never say no to you.” Another kiss as he slips the ring onto my finger. “Never.”
And so starts our life.
Together.
The three of us.
It was definitely worth the risk.
THE END
Did you love meeting Grayson Malone?
If you loved meeting Grayson Malone and would love to meet his brothers, Grant and Grady, you can find them in their own standalone novels. Cuffed (Grant) and Combust (Grady) are out now and each book is a complete standalone. You can find them HERE and HERE
And in November of 2018, you’ll learn a little bit more about the ever quirky and equally loved best friend in the Everyday Heroes series, Desi Whitman in Control.
Control is something Desi Whitman abhors. Why live life in black and white perfection when you can messily color outside the lines? But when she comes face to face with SWAT officer Reznor Mayne, he’s about to show her just how good control can feel.
Control can be preordered on Amazon.
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate but can’t help to love.
A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow.
