by Jillian Neal
She sobbed into his chest. Her fists knotted his shirt. He wasn’t certain if she was going to scream at him or clobber him. He deserved both.
“So, I guess, this is the part of one of your books where whichever character was a complete asshole or a complete coward begs the other one to forgive them and to give them a chance at a Happily Ever After. That’s what I want, and that’s what I want to give you. I will never deserve you, but I swear I will never stop trying to be everything you need me to be.”
The shudder of her entire body betrayed her tears. She finally lifted her head. “Your mom showed me how to make that meal. I didn’t really cook it all on my own.”
John couldn’t believe he was laughing through tears of his own. “I was aware. Trust me, I didn’t think anybody could make fried chicken like my mama, but yours was better. And even if it wasn’t, I still want to spend every moment of the rest of my life with you.”
He bottom lip slipped through her teeth and she managed a slight nod. “I want that, too.”
“Is that a yes?”
A timid smile played on her lips. “Yes.”
His body jolted in relief. He gently took her left hand and slipped the engagement ring on her finger. “I love you. I’m so sorry that the first time I said that I was being a complete asshole. I’m really fucked up, Arley. I used it as a threat because it scared me so badly. I’ll tell you several dozen more times each day, every single day for the rest of our lives trying to make up for that. I didn’t think it was real. I never believed in any of it until I met you. I don’t want to have anything to do with this life if you’re not in it, baby doll. I don’t want to go on without you. You make every single thing worth it. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. ”
Eighteen
The first Saturday of October dawned cool and crisp. John grinned before he opened his eyes. Arley was snuggling against him like a kitten that wanted his affection. He obliged her beautiful body with his warm caress and cradled her in his arms.
“Good morning, baby. Did you sleep well?”
“Did you hear that whippoorwill last night?” She sighed contentedly in his arms.
“Yeah, hell of a lot better than police sirens and horns blaring.”
She eased up on her elbow. Her strawberry blonde waves stood on end from her slumber. John couldn’t help but smirk. She was beautiful.
“So, you like it here, too, right?”
“Like it here? Baby, we bought this house for us. I love it here. I’m the one that’s so pissed we have to leave today.”
She giggled and traced her finger in soft loops over his bare chest. His eyes closed in an extended blink as he reveled in the heavenly sensation. “Yes, but you’re just mad that Ryan’s getting married on the same day as the Georgia/Alabama game.”
“At Sanford!” John shook his head in annoyance.
“But we’ll have fun at the beach, and we get to keep Evie tonight.”
“As long as I’m with you, that’s all that matters,” he pledged readily. “Maybe after we get Evie to bed you could attempt to beat me at another game of strip poker.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Her intrigued grin always did him in.
Card games aside, he didn’t want to leave their newly acquired house on Lake Allatoona. They’d barely gotten moved in. There were still dozens of boxes of their massive combined collection of books stacked in the hallways and in both of their offices. He wanted to spend the day alone with her turning the house into their home. He loved it there. He could finally hear himself think. The songs of migrating birds, the smooth-slipped splash of bass jumping in the lake, and the whisper of the autumnal winds through the trees in every shade of fiery red and burnt orange soothed his weary soul.
When she hadn’t been packing or unpacking, Arley would sit out on one of the decks and write endlessly. After they’d clung to each other long enough to fall asleep until the next morning after their endless day and night, John had re-released all of her books. She’d declared herself a hybrid author and had announced that her work was back up for sale on every available social media outlet. People had been clamoring to read more of her work after they’d been unable to access it, so she’d made quite a bit of money in sales as of late.
John had sold his condo. It lasted on the market less than forty-eight hours. He’d sold it to an up-and-coming lawyer at his firm. He’d told Hatcher, Larriatt, and Welch that they could all go fuck themselves as politely as he could manage. He did want to cash out all of his amassed vacation days, after all.
He’d sold the Porsche and Arley’s Corolla. One brought substantially more money than the other, but it didn’t matter to him. They’d dumped all of their combined worth into his bank account, after he’d quickly added her name. With that, they’d bought cars that better suited their new lives and had begun looking for a house. They were still well within driving distance of Sanford Stadium for games, near his mama’s house, and close enough to Atlanta to access all it had to offer, but for the most part, they stayed in their quiet, cozy new home just enjoying being together.
It wasn’t nearly as grand as his condo in Buckhead. It was much larger than her old apartment, however. They’d settled on it because there were spectacular views of the lake from three sides of the house, and there were built in bookcases in most every room.
The day before had been chilly enough for him to build her a fire in the large stone fireplace in their cozy living room. She’d arranged and rearranged books on the shelves in there all day long.
John was still astonished that not only was he now the joint owner of the first manuscript of The Man of Wellington, but that on the shelves in his office sat first editions of every one of Dylan Copeland’s works. Even better than all of that was the fact that Dylan Copeland’s daughter’s works were on the shelves above her father’s. His miraculous middle child had saved John’s life, just like her father had so many years before. Having Arley curled up in the worn leather chair that used to sit in his law office, reading while he worked at his desk, was most certainly his own version of heaven on earth.
They’d experienced several enjoyable nights in the secluded hot tub on the west deck under the spectacular star-scape the clear sky offered them. Having lived in the city most of his life, John was astonished at how deeply he could breathe here and how much peace he’d robbed himself of in his damned determination to right the wrongs of his father. He’d trade the endless concrete and steel buildings, the noise, and the smog, for the trees and his beautiful fiancée on his arm any moment of any day.
Arley wrote, and John studied endlessly. He wasn’t getting out of the law game. He loved it too much, but he was changing his stripes, so to speak. Now, he ran his own literary legal consulting firm from his new office inside their home. He’d acquired several of Arley’s colleagues as clients and was getting more and more by the day. For the most part, he would go over contracts and advise his clients over the phone or through email. He would represent them if they did go to hearing or needed him at a contract negotiation, but he was just starting out. He certainly wasn’t making even half of what he used to make, but he couldn’t have cared less. He had a great deal of studying to do before he officially made a name for himself, anyway.
“We better get packed,” Arley sighed.
John grunted his disapproval. “Why did he have to do this today?”
Beaming at him, she shook her head. “Well, Sienna is starting to show, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He forced himself up from the warmth and comfort of their bed, and stared out at the water, smooth as glass, as he stretched his arms over his head. “I have to go rub my game ball for good luck before we head out. Maybe we can at least hear the game on the radio on the way.”
Arley collapsed in hysterical laughter. “Aww, poor baby. Would you like me to rub your balls for good luck?”
With a smirk, his left eyebrow lifted in intrigue. “You always know how to make me feel better, baby
doll. Come here to me.” He crawled back into their bed.
As John drove their new Jeep Cherokee westward towards Gypsy Beach, he grinned at Arley. “What are you thinking about?” She was staring out the window, taking everything in.
“That I want to get married soon.”
John nodded his agreement. “Me too, and I was thinking that maybe I could arrange it so we could get married under the uprights by the UGA locker room at Sanford.”
He would never get tired of hearing her sweet laughter.
“I am not getting married at Sanford Stadium, John Rowan.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not getting married at Bryant-Denny,” he scoffed.
She laughed uproariously. “You do know that most people do not get married in college football stadiums, right?”
“Most people are idiots, sweetheart.”
She shook her head at him and rolled her eyes.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Actually, I kind of thought Ryan and Sienna had a good idea. A Gypsy Beach wedding seems perfect since it does seem that the world conspired to get us together, whether they had Gypsy help or not. I am hoping this is the last time I need to be saved from myself via a Copeland. Maybe I’ll stop being such a dumbass now.” He winked at her.
She leaned over the console and brushed a kiss across his jawline. “Getting married on Gypsy Beach sounds perfect. Wonder if any of family will come?” she sighed.
All of the teasing banter bled from John. “They’re coming around, sweetheart. They did invite us for Thanksgiving.”
“Mama’s coming with us, right?” Her plea bordered on panic.
John’s grin spread the width of his face. His mother and Arley had fallen head over heels for each other in the last few weeks. “She’s coming, sweetheart. If you tell my mama you want her somewhere, she’ll move heaven and hell to get there. She may let your sisters and your mother know just what she thinks of them, but she’ll be there.”
Arley giggled. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Me either.”
They drove on and she turned introspective again. He tried to wait patiently this time. He was trying to improve.
“So, you’re sure you don’t mind my pen name still being Arley Copeland?” blurted from her just before he asked what was on her mind again.
Her feet were crossed on the dash, and he rubbed her thigh. “I don’t mind at all, but I am looking forward to you being Mrs. Arley Rowan in every other aspect of life. But you made a name for yourself. Make use of it. You’re carrying on a legacy.”
Just before the sun set, John couldn’t help but grin at Ryan as they stood and waited on Sienna to make her walk, behind Evie Grace, down the area of sand designated as the aisle. Ryan was elated, and John beamed at Arley seated with Hope from Bandana Books and her book club.
Not everyone in this life got a happy ending. John knew that first hand. But somehow, he’d managed to get one, and he was never letting her go.
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About the Author
Jillian Neal is a Romance author that manages to blend her imagination, Southern sass, and loving heart in every novel she pens. She showed her talent for weaving intricate plot lines and showcasing dynamic characters in her seven-book, urban fantasy, series, The Gifted Realm. Her skillset continues to shine in her contemporary series, Gypsy Beach, which will leave you with a longing to pack your bags and move to a tiny beach town full of bohemian charm.
She lives outside of Atlanta with her husband and their children.
For more information on her and her stories, visit http://jillianneal.com
