She lifted her gaze from the ground to meet my eyes, and I could tell that the ice was thawing, if only in millimeters. If I gave up now, I would lose her forever.
“I love you, Harley,” I declared. “I love you, and I love Levi, and I know I haven’t shown that very well, and that I let my fears get the better of me, but I’m not scared anymore. The manly thing to do, and the right thing to do, is to let love into my life. To let you in. If you’ll have me, that is.”
I stopped abruptly, realizing I might have been too presumptuous, that it was entirely possible that Harley didn’t even feel the same way. What if I’d said all of this, and what if she thought I was crazy or scary or lying, and what if it all backfired and—
My racing thoughts were interrupted by the smile that was beginning to break across Harley’s face. It was small, but it was there. The smile cast a sheen of hope over my life, like the sun over the ocean in the Bahamas. She still believed in me.
“I didn’t quite hear you,” she said mildly.
“Really?” We were standing only a few feet apart.
“I didn’t hear you,” she reiterated. Then, meaningfully, she underscored her words. “Perhaps you should say it a little louder.”
“I don’t understand; how did you not hear me?”
She explained, “I want you to declare your love for me, loudly, right here, right now, so everyone can hear it. You have to show me that you’re done with this cold, distant persona, that you’re somebody who could bring cookies to a PTA meeting, or chat with other parents on the playground. Tell everyone what you told me. I don’t want you to live under this shadow of your reputation anymore.”
“If that’s what it takes,” I replied, “so be it.”
I pivoted away from her, and towards the wide, open area of the lobby. Hundreds of my employees walked to and fro, heads down, tapping away on their phones. This was the most public place in the building. I was surprised to find I didn’t care.
I cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted, “I love you, Harley Phillips!”
The entire lobby, previously a hive of activity, came to a standstill. Hundreds of eyes landed upon me, each set more confused and shocked than the last. A few phones were subtly tilted, obviously intending to catch my announcement. I didn’t care—let them see, let them post it on social media. Everybody needed to know who I really was…or at least, who I really wanted to be.
“I’m done being an asshole,” I declared. “I’m done being cold, unfeeling, and scary. I know that’s how you all see me—how the whole world sees me—but I can’t live like that anymore.”
I reached out one hand and tentatively grabbed Harley’s. She allowed me to hold it, silently giving me the encouragement I needed. The room remained still, fixated on the events that were unfolding.
I gestured to Harley and announced, “This woman has shown me that life doesn’t have to just be about money, or work, or perceived success. But, rather, that it can also be about love, and family, and happiness.”
The only noise in the room was my deep breathing. I turned to face Harley, and found that tears were streaming down her face.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly. My employees didn’t need to see her exposed; that wasn’t part of the deal.
“These are happy tears,” she explained with a laugh. Then, in a louder tone, audible to all, she said, “I love you too, Ashton Swann.”
I pulled her into a deep embrace, and much to my surprise, a chorus of claps and cheers began to rise from the gathering of Swann Innovations employees. I held tight to Harley as it grew louder and louder, until at last, we were awash in a sea of ecstatic din.
Still holding her close, I leaned into her ear and whispered, “I love you, Harley Phillips.”
“You’d better, because I love you too.”
With that, she took hold of my face, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me.
Chapter 20
Harley
I awoke a full half hour before my alarm went off. Today was the day I’d been looking forward to for weeks: Levi’s first birthday.
The last three weeks had been the best of my life—even better than our time in the Bahamas—because, now, I knew with certainty that Ashton loved me and was here to stay.
Immediately after his public declaration—which, incidentally, went viral, overhauling his public image in the process—he’d explained everything that had happened: the picture frame, his father’s letter, his realization that it was his responsibility to learn from the errors of his parent. It hadn’t been hard to forgive him.
I, in turn, had apologized for all the things I’d said in anger. We’d made amends, and set things right. Was the conversation easy? Not particularly. It’s easier to admit that you’re in love than to admit that you were wrong. But we overcame the hurdle, because that’s what you do in a relationship—you make it work.
Once the dust had settled, I’d brought up a fairly urgent point.
“Oh my God,” I’d said, remembering the worries of mere hours before. “I’m supposed to be on my way to Oxnard—I told my cousin I’d see her there tonight.”
“Oh, please. You’re moving in with me.” He’d paused. “If you want to, that is.”
“Are you serious? Of course I want to.” I’d pulled him into a kiss, and just like that, we were moving in together. He’d given me a key to the apartment that same night, and baby-proofed the entire place in minutes (it didn’t hurt that he had access to the best baby products on the market).
It all felt right, like things were falling into place. At last, I was getting my happily ever after. Sure, deciding to live together happened quickly, to the point that my parents were asking questions, but I didn’t care. We’d already overcome in less than a month what most couples face in a decade, if ever: a parental death, raising a child, an eviction notice. We’d been tested, and while we’d faltered, we’d passed.
And, now, it was my baby’s birthday party; a happy milestone to mark the end of so much turmoil.
When I tumbled out of bed, I saw that Ashton’s side was already neatly folded. I liked that he made his sheets with methodical attentiveness, the way he chewed his lip when he was reading a newspaper, the way he always stopped to kiss me if we crossed paths in the middle of a room…
Okay, okay, fine, it was possible I just liked everything about him. Each of his most minute actions gave me an incomprehensible joy; learning how he lived felt so intimate, so real. I don’t mean to blabber on, but, well, it was like I’d been given a new set of eyes to look through, and now, the entire world seemed rose-colored.
I padded into the kitchen, naked and happy. Ashton was busy preparing for the party; I’d hinted that I’d prefer not hiring any staff for the occasion, so he’d decided to prep the whole thing himself.
At that moment, he was busy kneeling on the floor and blowing up some balloons, with mixed success.
“You need help with that?” I called from across the room.
He glanced in my direction, then did a double take when he saw that I was wearing only my birthday suit. I giggled as he visibly swallowed.
“Uh, what are you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know; just thought I’d give you a little something to think about during the party, in case you get bored.”
With that, I strode confidently across the floorboards, letting my fingers trail across the couch and against the wall. Each touch seemed to raise the color in his face. Ugh, it was so fun getting a rise out of him—and so, so easy.
“Okay, if you don’t put some clothes on real soon,” he continued, his tone tinged with regret, “I’m not going to be able to get anything prepped for the party. It’ll end up consisting of one sheet cake and maybe a couple of paper plates. Do you want that?”
I sighed dramatically. “I guess not.”
A few more footsteps, and we were almost touching. I faced my body flush on to his face, and had the satisfaction of watching his chest rise and fall.
“Oh, all right,” I replied, wrapping my hand in his hair and standing with my bare pussy just inches from his face. His arms automatically grabbed my ass, bringing me even nearer to him.
He groaned, and I said, “This is what’s waiting for you at the end of the night.”
I felt his tongue dart out, desperate to taste me. It took all the will power I possessed to pull away.
I shook my finger. “Uh-uh, not till later.”
“Now you’re teasing me,” he moaned.
I glanced down, and saw the outline of a hard cock through his pants. I traced the outline with my toe, applying just the faintest pressure.
“Come on, that’s not playing fair!” he complained.
“You’re right,” I said with a wicked grin. I flounced back to our bedroom, where I reluctantly pulled on my party clothes.
While Ashton handled the remaining prep, I handled the Levi prep, dressing him in a devastatingly cute little bowtie and a matching black onesie. When he was ready, I trotted out to the kitchen with Levi on my hip, and showed off his adorableness to Ashton, who looked equally overcome with glee.
“What a handsome son I have,” he said happily. I blushed, and he quickly corrected, “Er, um, handsome…baby…that is yours.”
But I hadn’t wanted him to correct the words. After all, they’d felt accurate, and what’s more, I’d just been having the same thought. Levi was more Ashton’s than he was ever Kyle’s. Was it too soon to call him father? I didn’t think so.
There was no time for us to reflect on Ashton’s parental standing—the party was about to be underway.
He’d decorated the whole house with streamers and balloons, and set up an especially embellished high chair that would serve as Levi’s throne. Seeing as Levi was too young to have real friends yet, the party was going to be almost entirely adults, so we’d ordered takeout from our favorite Chinese place and bought some champagne and a decadent German chocolate cake.
My parents arrived about fifteen minutes before the party was due to start; they were chronically early to things, and were especially excited to set foot in mine and Levi’s new home for the first time. The doorman buzzed them up, and soon, they were stepping out of the elevator, eyes wide.
I jogged over and enveloped them both in hugs.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”
My dad scoffed and replied, “Honey, we wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Not for the world,” my mother chimed in.
She took a step forward, and her eyes tracked through the entire apartment, as if cataloguing each and every item. My parents had been born middle-class and had stayed middle-class; if they’d ever seen anything like Ashton’s place before, it was only on TV.
While my mom was busy taking inventory, my dad leaned in close to me and harrumphed, “So, this Ashton. He’s a fancy fellow, eh?”
Rolling my eyes at his terminology, I replied, “He’s a CEO of the biggest company in his field. He has the right to be as fancy as he wants.”
“No, no, I don’t have a problem with it,” my dad hastily added. “It’s just…it’s so different, Harls. Aren’t you…I dunno, a bit overwhelmed?”
Following my dad’s gesturing palm, I too let my eyes roam across the apartment. It was, in fairness, pretty extravagant. No gold furniture, nothing crazy, but the whole place felt expensive, like you needed to be careful where you set your water glass down or risk breaking an ancient artifact. It also, by extension, seemed like the worst place possible to hold a baby’s birthday party. But it also…felt like home. I’d only lived there a few weeks, but things were clicking into place.
So, at last, I answered my dad’s question, saying, “Actually, I’m not overwhelmed at all. I really like it here.”
He gave me a paternal look, but then his eyes shifted, and went wide with wonder.
“You know what?” he began. “It does suit you.” With a grin, he laughed, “You always were a cut above the rest.”
I returned his smile, and pulled him in for a hug. I knew he was a little shell-shocked by my sudden leap up the socioeconomic ladder, but he was handling it pretty well.
My mother, meanwhile, had finished her rigorous examination of the apartment, and returned to my side, with the approving statement, “This will do nicely.”
My father and I shot her incredulous glances.
She relented, and added, “Okay, it’s fantastic.”
“That’s more like it,” I chuckled.
With that, I strode over to Ashton, who had stayed out of sight in the pantry while I’d greeted my parents. Packed together in the small room (the only one in the apartment that could reasonably be called small), we were able to steal a moment of alone time.
“Hey,” I said to him as he grabbed a bag of wooden chopsticks from a high shelf. “Are you ready to meet my parents?”
He faltered, “Uh…” and turned away with a blush that ran to the very tips of his ears. Was he feeling shy? Damn, this man really did have layers.
I stared into his eyes, forcing them to hold my gaze, and said, “Ashton, you’ve met some of the most influential people in the world. There’s no reason to be scared of my parents. Last I checked, they’re pretty harmless.”
He straightened his posture with a self-conscious groan, and explained, “I’m not scared of them. I just, you know, really want to get this right.”
“The birthday party?”
“No, the first impression on your family,” he returned. “I know they’re a huge part of your life, and…what if they don’t like me?”
My heart warmed, and a smile spread across my face. Every day since he’d announced his love for me in the lobby of Swann Innovations, Ashton had been growing more and more open with his feelings. Sure, he’d revealed things about himself in the Bahamas, but that had felt like something akin to island fever. These recent emotional breakthroughs seemed more permanent. It’s kind of amazing to watch someone you love change in front of your very eyes.
“Babe, they’re gonna love you. And you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, and you love me. That’s good enough for them.”
He took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just—as you know—not familiar with how healthy families act.”
“You’re going to do so well,” I reassured him. “I can’t wait for them to fawn over you.” And, with a chuckle, I continued, “Just as a warning, my mother might kiss your cheeks and call you ‘cupcake.’ She’s a little kooky.”
He grinned, replying, “My mom was a little kooky, too. Kooky I can handle.”
I took his hand in my own, and led him out of the pantry, into the kitchen. He deposited the chopsticks on the counter while I called out to my parents, who stepped into the open-plan kitchen space a moment later. My mom’s eyes darted around frantically, trying to take in this new wing of the house, while my dad’s intense gaze fixed on Ashton.
“So, you’re Ashton Swann,” Dad said.
“Yes, sir,” Ashton replied. I saw that it was taking everything in him to not snap to attention and maybe throw in a little salute.
“And you want to be with my daughter?”
I cut in, “Come on, Dad, don’t—”
Ashton held up a hand, waving off my complaints. “No, Harley, let me answer,” he said to me. Then, to my dad, he affirmed, “Yes, sir, I’d like to be with your daughter.”
My mother interrupted, “You know you’ve hurt her before, right?”
A pained expression crossed Ashton’s face, but he managed to hold firm.
“Yes,” he replied, “I know. And I can’t tell you how deeply I regret it.” He took a breath, and continued, “But I’ve grown since then. I’m a new man, thanks in large part to your daughter
and to your grandson. I look forward to the future, and the family, we’re going to build together.”
My dad studied Ashton—who was the picture of remorse—for a moment, then replied, “Your emotions do you credit, son. I believe you mean what you say.” He took several paces towards Ashton, then held out his hand. Ashton clasped it gratefully, and my father said, “Welcome to the family.”
I tried to restrain the totality of my excitement, but it nearly seeped out of my pores. It had been a long time since my parents had approved of any of my relationships; the men were too stupid, too reckless, too lazy, or in Kyle’s case, all three.
Their approval meant a lot to me. I know that seems silly—twenty-five, with a baby, and still wanting your parents to support your choices—but we’re close. They have always been my first and last defense against all the ugliness of the world.
I could see my dad gearing up to give his whole “you treat my daughter right or else” speech, so I cut in. “The party starts in like five minutes. Is everything ready?”
My mom was prepared to leap into action, but Ashton reassured her, “Everything’s ready, Mrs. Phillips. Food, entertainment, all of it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. After decades of being married to a man who was terrible at party-planning—my dad thought beers and chips constituted a shindig— she didn’t trust that any man could plan a normal event.
Ashton nodded. “I’m sure.” With that, he offered his forearm to her, and asked, “Would you like me to show you everything we’ve got lined up for today?”
With a satisfied smile, she folded one petite hand around his arm, and said, “That would be lovely, young man.”
“I’m twenty-nine, Mrs. Phillips—hardly a young man. You, on the other hand, could pass for Harley’s sister.”
Oh, man, he was really going the whole nine yards with his flattery. I wanted to scoff at his abundance of chivalry, but it was totally working on my mother—her giggles reverberated off the hardwood floors and high ceilings—and I wasn’t about to complain.
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