by Lili Valente
Zoey nods soberly. “Some fish are friends; some are food. This is something that Lobster is going to have to learn if he’s going to be a part of this family.”
Family…
It’s the perfect word for what she, Luke, and I make together. And as we wind through the line, devour our dinner at a café table near the apple-bobbing station, and finally climb the stairs to the third floor of the old home, the last of my doubts about happily ever after fade away. The reason my first shot at forever failed was that Kim wasn’t the person for me.
No, my capital O “One” was here under my nose all along.
Thank God I woke up and saw the writing on the wall before it was too late.
“Okay, this is the spot,” I say as we reach the top of the stairs and step into the cozy reading nook on the landing, where there’s just enough space for an overstuffed chair, some bookshelves, and a small collection of jackalope-inspired art.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one’s followed us.
I know the Mortons don’t mind people who know about the secret passage bringing friends up, but they don’t want everyone and their uncle wandering around on their roof, and they absolutely don’t want kids up there unattended. “Keep watch while I pull the secret lever.”
Zoey nods, fingers drumming on her goblet in anticipation. “This is so awesome,” she whispers. “Where is the secret lever? And where is the door? It’s behind the bookcase, right? Just like in an English manor murder mystery!”
Smiling at her over my shoulder, I nod. “It is. And the secret lever is hidden in plain sight…” I reach for the antlers of the largest jackalope, gripping tight as I turn the entire mounted head to the left, triggering the mechanism that unlocks the bookcase.
It puffs open with a rush of night air, and Zoey squeals softly in response. “Perfect! Perfect, perfect, perfect!”
Grinning, I open the bookcase-door wider and motion for her to take point. “After you, my lady.”
Pausing to steal a quick kiss on her way by and whisper, “Perfect!” one more time, Zoey zips up the stairs in front of me, tentacles bobbing around her. After a deep breath and a silent prayer that this night ends the way I’m hoping it will, I follow her up onto the roof into the cool, starry night.
Chapter 21
Zoey
From up on the roof deck, the night is even more magical. The view of the neighborhood’s historic homes and the stars flickering in the velvety darkness make it feel like we’re floating on a fairy ship through the night sky. The roughly twelve-foot area is octagonal, lined with benches on each of its eight sides and ringed with a wrought-iron railing featuring frog and princess designs that make the story-telling part of my brain run wild.
“Why princesses and frogs?” I run my fingertips over the curve of a frog’s round cheek. “Were the original owners of the house hopeless romantics? Was he a frog she loved into a prince?”
“I’m not sure,” Tristan says, “but their last name was Frogge, so that might have had something to do with it.”
I turn to him with a wry smile. “Yeah? You think?”
“I think,” he says, setting his glass on the bench beside him with a rush of breath. “And I think there’s something I should tell you, Zoey.”
Sobering, I nod. “Okay. Is everything all right?”
He reaches for the lobster in his pants and tugs it out. “No, actually. There’s something absolutely not right, but Lobster and I made a trip to the hardware store today to fix it.”
Stomach dropping, I nevertheless force a breezy note into my voice as I set my own glass down. “So, the door’s ready? I can move back to my place soon?”
Tristan shakes his head as he moves closer, wagging the lobster until something falls out into his palm, making me realize the crustacean is a puppet and the…whatever that is…was hidden inside. “No, the door’s not ready, but this is.” He holds the object up in the dim light. As my eyes adjust, I make out the shape of a small, gold key. “I don’t want you to move out, Zo. I want you in my home, in my bed, in my life every second I can beg, borrow, or steal. I have never been happier than since you started sleeping over. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize how crazy I am about you, but I hope you’ll consider taking this key so we can keep making up for lost time.”
I blink faster. “You want me to move in with you? For real?”
“For real,” he says. His vulnerable expression makes it clear he means every beautiful word he just said. “I also happen to be falling completely in love with you. I hope that’s an acceptable part of the package?”
I cover my mouth with my hands as I nod, fighting happy tears.
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper-sob. “Yes, you can fall in love with me. Because I’m already so desperately in love with you.”
A smile breaks across his face as he reaches for me, sweeping me into his arms. “Thank God,” he murmurs as he hugs me close.
I return the embrace, so happy I feel like laughing and crying at the same time. As Tristan wraps his arms even tighter around me, lifting me off my feet—smearing purple body makeup across his shoulders and giving me a mouthful of King Triton beard, in the process—I know I’ve found my perfect match.
He is the sweet, sincere, sexy, hard-working, hard-loving man of my dreams and all the proof I need that miracles can happen.
I’m floating on air, drunk on love and hope and all the glorious possibilities stretching out in front of us, and so giddy and filled with gratitude that the last thing I want to think about is Kim, Bear, or any of the ex-related drama.
But as Tristan and I pull apart, a flash of bright red on the street below catches my eye. When I turn my head—it’s hard to ignore the bright blotch of crimson illuminated by the streetlight on the corner—I instantly recognize the woman dressed as sexy Red Riding Hood, complete with a long, flowing cape over a tiny pair of lederhosen.
The wolf she’s arguing with is familiar, too. His back is to me, but I would recognize Bear’s giant shoulders anywhere.
“Oh, man, don’t look now,” I grumble softly, nodding to the left. “It looks like we might have party crashers on our hands.”
Tristan’s brow furrows as his gaze shifts to the scene below. “Jesus… What is up with those two? I didn’t even tell Kim we were coming to the Mortons. And she usually hates Halloween.”
“I didn’t tell Bear, either. He asked what we were up to tonight, but I was vague, and he said he and Kim were going to a party at the Raven.”
Tristan turns back to me, nose wrinkling, making his beard shift higher on his face. “You talked to Bear? When?”
“This morning, he was hanging over the back fence again, pretending to pick oranges, and…” I trail off as my brain suddenly connects the dots. I look up at Tristan, eyes going wide as I pat his chest three times in rapid succession. “Oh my God, Tristan… They’re faking it, too. They’ve been faking it from the start!”
He shakes his head. “What?”
“Bear and Kim!” I keep my voice low on the off chance my words might be heard on the street below. “They’re not really a couple. They’re pretending to be an item to make us jealous.” I nod, chin bobbing as the pieces start coming together fast. “And I would bet my right hand that showing up at your brother’s wedding reception wasn’t a coincidence. They planned to be there, to shove their fake love in our faces while we were swept up in the romance of a wedding and use it to their advantage to make us start pining for them all over again.”
Tristan curses beneath his breath. “I would say that’s crazy, but…”
“But it’s not crazy.” I bite my lip as I probe my theory and find it holds water. “But they didn’t plan on us pretending to be together, too. Our pretend threw their pretend off-balance, and they’ve been struggling to find their feet ever since. That’s why Kim starting text-stalking you and Bear’s been lurking in wait every morning when I take Luke out to the backyard.
And then this morning, after Bear went back down the ladder, I heard Kim saying something about ‘running out of time’ and Bear telling her to be patient. I knew they were up to something, but I didn’t want to say anything to you until I’d put the pieces together.” I shake my head as I lift my spread fingers into the air at my sides. “Now it seems so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
“Obvious that the people we were trying to fool were already fooling us?” he asks, arching a brow. “Seriously, don’t be too hard on yourself. This entire thing is crazy.”
“It is, right?” I say, laughter bubbling up inside me. “So, so crazy.”
Tristan chuckles. “Seriously, it would be funny if they weren’t both such complete pains in the ass.”
“Well, to be fair, Kim is more of a pain in the ass than Bear,” I say dryly. “I mean, at least he hasn’t told any flaming lies in his attempt to come between us. He just drinks way too much fresh-squeezed orange juice and apparently loves chatting me up when I’m sporting PJs and an awesome case of bedhead.”
“You’re sexy in PJs and bedhead,” Tristan says, wrapping his arms around me from behind as we both gaze down at the couple still conversing in harsh whispers on the street below. “I wonder what they’re arguing about?”
“Hopefully Bear is refusing to crash the party,” I murmur, “Kim is coming to terms with the fact that she’s never going to win you back, and both of them will have left for Australia by tomorrow morning.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when Kim whips her cell from the back pocket of her lederhosen and starts jabbing out a message as she paces the sidewalk in front of a clearly frustrated Bear. A moment later, my bottom buzzes.
I glance over my shoulder, brows lifted. “Is that a vibrating lobster? If so, color me intrigued.”
Tristan grins wolfishly behind his beard. “Sadly, no. That’s my cell tucked into the waistband of my boxer briefs.”
I step back, watching him fish out his phone with amusement. “I could have brought a purse, you know. Carried your lobster and your phone for you.”
“Please, woman. A real man carries his own lobster,” he scoffs as he glances down at the screen. Immediately his grin fades. He lets out a tired sigh and turns the phone my way.
It’s a text.
From Kim.
“Please listen, Tristan,” I read aloud. “We need to meet. There’s more to the story I started this afternoon. I was afraid to tell you… I didn’t want to hurt you… But now I know I can’t wait any longer. I care too much about you to let you make a terrible mistake. I’m not backing down until we’ve talked for real, just you and me, someplace private where I can tell you everything.”
I let out my own tired sigh and lift my gaze back to Tristan’s face. “So much for coming to terms and going back to Australia. Are you just going to keep ignoring her?”
Tristan jabs the home button on his phone. “For now, but I’ve had enough of this. I need to figure out what I have to say to get her to leave us both alone.”
“Maybe it isn’t a matter of saying the right thing…” I press my lips together, gaze narrowing as Bear storms down the block away from the party and Kim—after stomping one red high heel on the ground and casting a resentful glare at the house—reluctantly follows. “Maybe it’s a matter of doing the right thing. Actions speak louder than words, right?”
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tristan asks, a smile in his voice. “Whatever it is, I want in.”
I grin, rocking back on my heels as I rub my palms together, evil villain style. “Well, it would have to be something dramatic. A big, bold gesture…”
Tristan’s eyes sparkle in the dim light reaching our perch from the lanterns below. “Big and bold. We pretend to elope?”
I clap my hands together, his words sparking inspiration. “Yes! But what if we take it a step farther?”
“I’m listening.” He leans in, clearly intrigued.
“What about a fake wedding in our very own backyard? We could exchange vows close enough for them to hear every word from the other side of the fence.”
“You really are brilliant.” Tristan’s hands circle my waist, squeezing lightly as he pulls me close. “And we’ll get some friends and family to come and play along. Make it look like the real deal.”
“And Violet can fake marry us.” I skim my palms up to his shoulders. “She’s an ordained minister.”
“And Luke can be the flower dog,” Tristan says, making my heart melt.
“Aw, he can. That’ll be sweet.” I cock my head, gazing up into Tristan’s face. “So far our fake wedding sounds awesome.”
“Totally,” he agrees, bringing his face closer to mine. “And it’ll be great practice, right? Just in case…”
“Just in case,” I echo, my heart beating faster as the meaning of his words hits full force. He means, just in case we decide to get married for real…
“Too soon?” he asks, his breath warm on my lips.
“No,” I murmur, heart singing. We just agreed to move in together. It should feel like too soon, but…it doesn’t. And I’m too happy to pretend the thought of marrying Tristan would be anything but a dream come true. “No, it’s not too soon,” I add in a softer voice. “I want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can. Today and every day for the foreseeable future.”
“Me, too,” he says. “I love you, Zoey Childers.”
“And I love—” His lips cover mine, cutting me off before I can finish.
But that’s okay. He knows what I was going to say. It’s clear in the way he kisses me, so sexy and sweet, each brush of his lips against mine a promise that we’re going to keep making all our dreams come true. No matter what.
Chapter 22
Tristan
It is a testimony to the awesomeness—and insanity—of my family that they met the news of my fake wedding to Zoey with general good cheer and threw themselves into making the occasion fun for all involved.
My brother Dylan offers to bring two kegs from his brewery, my brother Rafe and his wife, Carrie, insist on swinging by the farmer’s market to get fresh flowers to decorate, and my sister-in-law Emma calls in a favor with a caterer friend to hook us up with a borrowed wood-fired pizza oven to roll into the backyard and a chef to whip up pizzas for the reception. My nephews assure Zoey and me that they’ve got DJ-ing under control, my older brother Deacon promises to make sure the boys throw in some old-folk friendly music along with their favorites, and offers up the tux he got married in years ago.
And for the finishing touch, Violet swings by late Saturday night to squeeze in a fitting for Zoey, who will be wearing her old wedding dress.
“I’ll have it hemmed and let out up top and ready to go by tomorrow morning,” Violet promises, scooting through the living room with a garment bag under one arm and her sewing kit under the other. “I’m so excited! My daughters have already refused to wear my hideous old dress. I’m so happy it’s going to get another turn down the aisle.”
“It’s not hideous!” Zoey insists, hurrying to open the front door for her. “It’s gorgeous and elegant, and I’m so thankful. For the dress and the fake officiating and everything else.”
Violet wrinkles her nose as she flaps a hand. “It’s my pleasure. Anything I can do to help you two crazy kids get the crazier kids out of your hair.”
Zoey and I wave goodbye and settle in for a movie on the couch with Luke snuggled between us, but it isn’t long before we’re both yawning.
“Planning a wedding—even a fake wedding—in less than forty-eight hours is exhausting,” Zoey says, muffling another yawn.
“Agreed.” I click off the television and stand, stretching my arms overhead. “So, did we decide to sleep in separate bedrooms tonight? To add realism to the fake wedding?”
Zoey huffs. “Heck, no. I plan on seeing you the night before the fake wedding, the morning of, and all of the days after.”
I grin. “I li
ke your style, soon to be fake Mrs. Hunter.”
Her eyes twinkle. “I like the sound of that.”
So do I…
* * *
I like it so much that by the next morning, as I take my place at the end of the aisle, waiting breathlessly for Zoey to step out the back door and onto the white canvas runner Violet brought with her, I know I’m not going to be able to hold out for long. One month, maybe two—the bare minimum to ensure Zoey takes my proposal seriously and my family doesn’t insist we’re both crazy—and I’m popping the question.
Though, I doubt my family is going to prove much of an obstacle to our happily ever after. It’s clear they all love Zoey—from prickly, hard-to-impress Deacon, to the recently unjaded Rafe, to secretly soft-hearted Dylan and our even softer Pop, who I swear is going to bust a gut if Moo-donna doesn’t give birth soon.
“I’ve got Sophie from the coffee shop on birth watch,” Dad mumbles as he stands beside my brothers and me, looking dapper in his best blue suit. “She’s going to text if anything happens while I’m gone.”
“Sophie, huh?” I ask softly, keeping one eye on the door, not wanting to miss the moment Zoey steps through. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”
Dad clears his throat before adding a grumble, “Yeah, well…turns out there might be life after prostate cancer, after all.”
I put an arm around his shoulders. “Good. I’m happy for you, Dad.”
“And I’m happy for you, you pacifist nut job.” He grunts. “If it were me, I would have clocked Zoey’s ex in the face and told yours to stick her crazy where the sun don’t shine, but…” He shrugs, his lips curving. “But this works, too. She’s a sweet girl, your Zoey. Shame your mom’s in Italy. I know she’d love to see you so happy, even if it is all a bunch of performance art.”
