by Staci Hart
He took my hand and stepped into me. My chin rose so I could hold his eyes.
“I love you,” I said.
“Good, because I love you too.”
The brush of his lips against mine were too tender, too achingly adoring.
“Come on,” he said, towing me toward the back.
I chuckled, trotting to keep up. “We can go to my place, you know.”
“I know. But this … this is our place.”
The simplicity of the words didn’t undermine their weight. And I followed him through the moonlit greenhouse, carried on a cloud of perfume and hopes and starlight.
Storage was dark, but he knew the way. My hand was lost inside his, his free hand reaching for the outlet. When the golden fairy lights illuminated the space, it felt like we were standing in a dream. The dandelions he’d made surrounded us among the familiar furniture and frames, baskets and crates. And there in the middle was our hay pile, the home of my happiness and joy.
This. This was where I had fallen in love. This was where I’d learned to let go. This was where I’d found myself and where I’d found the man who changed my life.
When he kissed me again, it wasn’t a brush or a flutter. It was a claiming. He captured me with his arms, his lips. With his hands, so strong as he laid me down. With his hips, so insistent. It wasn’t slow, though it was deliberate—the way he undressed me, the way he touched me. The way he kissed me whispered a word to me, and my heart echoed another back.
Mine, his body said.
Yours, mine replied.
And he took the offering I gave with a declaration of heart, a promise of self, one I knew was forever.
Forever. I knew without knowing that he was my forever.
And I wouldn’t waste a minute.
Not one.
27
IMAGINE THAT
LUKE
Tess chuckled against my chest, and I pulled her a little closer, as close as we could get without tripping and eating sidewalk.
“Seriously, as much as I love the hay pile, can we please sleep at my place tonight?” she asked. “I’m going to be picking hay out of my hair for a week after sleeping there last night.”
“You say that like it’s something new.”
“I know, but now we actually have another option. My room is on the other side of the apartment, and Dad not only sleeps like a rock, but he has a white-noise machine. Please?” She was almost whining. “Just think—clean sheets and pillows and a nice, soft bed that doesn’t make us itchy.”
“You sure your dad is okay with that?”
“He says he is. I’m sure he’s not thinking about it in much detail.”
I laughed. “God, I hope not.”
“Honestly, I think he’s just so happy about the prospect of us and of me not ending up a spinster, he’d agree to just about anything.”
I kissed the top of her head. “All right, we’ll sleep at your place, but if I wake up with a rifle pointed at me, I’m out like disco.”
That earned me a laugh and a squeeze of her arms around my waist. “I’ll lock up his bullets at least.”
“Preciate’ that.”
We turned the corner toward the shop and my parents’ place where dinner with my family awaited. The last thirty-six hours, Tess and I had only been apart for a forty-five-minute stretch, so we could shower and deal with our families. Well, I’d dealt with mine and rushed off to her place as quick as I could.
Part of me worried it was all a trick of the mind, that I’d knock on her door and she’d be gone or we’d be kicked back to a few days ago when everything was suspended midair, when we were waiting to see what would happen when the chips fell. But she’d answered the door, flushed and smiling, hair damp and smelling of flowers.
It was as if she were composed of flowers. Roses, red and thorny, delicate and dangerous. And somehow, I’d eased my way through the brambles to lose myself in the velvety beauty of her.
We climbed the steps and walked through the door to the sound of the chaos that was my family. They were seated at the table, their faces swinging to us when we entered, followed by a chorus of cheering. Dinner was freshly on the table, and so we hurried to sit, somehow managing to simultaneously greet six people in the process.
“Well, I must say,” started my mother, “the sight of you two together warms my old, rickety heart. I can’t imagine why you kept it from me all this time.”
Kash snorted a laugh, shoveling a mouthful of potatoes into his mouth. “Sure, because you would have been so hands-off and kept completely to yourself, right?”
Mom made a derisive noise. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Kassius. And I would have been the very picture of restraint.”
Laney laughed. “Your first item of business would have been nailing down a wedding date.”
Mom gave her a look. “One day, you will have a brood of children, and then you’ll understand. Can you blame a mother for wanting her children to be happy and find love?”
“Only if she’s incessantly nosy and makes you go on dates with Jenny Arnold,” Marcus deadpanned.
With a wave of her hand in his direction, Mom said, “Jenny Arnold is a sweet girl. Don’t you worry—I’ll see you all happily in love and on your way down the aisle sooner than later. If you didn’t think I had Tess saved for one of you, you don’t know me at all.” She met my eyes, flashing a wink I don’t think anyone else saw.
Tess smiled from beside me, reaching for my hand.
“Now, I wonder which of you will be next?” Mom said, smiling sidelong as she scanned the table.
“Not it,” Kash said around a mouthful of dinner roll.
Echoing not-its made the rounds. Pretty sure Jett was last simply for the look of warning he shot at Mom, which we all knew was as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane.
But I held Tess’s hand and met her eyes. Her smile pressed a kiss to my heart.
And forever began.
EPILOGUE
TESS
The pop of champagne sounded with a yelp and a chorus of whoops as we stood on the sidewalk outside Longbourne, the lot of us smiling up at the brand new sign.
The last six weeks had been a heady whirlwind of action along with a settling in of routine. And this—the raising of the new sign—seemed to mark the end as well as it marked a beginning.
Mrs. Bennet raised her glass. “To Longbourne and all the people who love and care for her. May she bloom eternal.”
Hear, hear! we cheered and took our sips of solidarity.
I leaned into Luke, his arm around my waist and a smile on his face. I smiled back up at him.
“Show her,” I said quietly.
With a nod and the briefest of kisses, he let me go to reach into his back pocket. “Mom, I’ve got something you might want to see.”
She looked down at his hands as he unfurled the latest edition of Floral magazine. One gasp, and she was crying, passing her champagne to Mr. Bennet with her eyes locked on the cover.
Longbourne stood tall and proud with that pop of vibrant blue that Luke had painted the door jumping off the page. The installation sang on the cover, the words Love happens in moments across the windows framed the top of the page perfectly. And in the middle stood me and Luke, my arms around his waist and his around my shoulders. We were laughing, as we often were, the candid moment setting my heart skipping in my chest.
Mrs. Bennet couldn’t speak, overwhelmed as she flipped through the pages to the spread for the shop. The article was titled “Coming Up Roses,” next to a full-page picture of Luke and me in the greenhouse, arms full of flowers and smiles boundless.
This was the point when she burst into tears.
Luke pulled her into his side as she turned page after page. The last page of the spread was the entire Bennet family with Mrs. Bennet in the middle, holding a bouquet of roses in shades of fuchsia. At this, she turned into Luke’s chest and cried openly and without an ounce of shame.
The article re
counted the history of Longbourne, starting from its establishment and its legacy. Its decline and its resurgence. The work we had all done, the window displays and the innovative arrangements. And at the heart of it all was a theme no one could deny.
Love.
A family’s love. A love of growing and creation. The love Luke and I had found together, our partnership sparking change that tore through Longbourne like wildfire.
The Bennets watched their matriarch, their faces bent with emotion. Ivy and Dean stood off to the side, watching as I did, because the Bennets were their own entity, their own animal, their bond so strong and certain that everything else was left outside without intent. But we watched them with the love in our hearts as fierce as theirs.
And just beyond Ivy was Wendy, eyes shining and smile soft.
We’d had to work to convince her to come work at the shop. I won’t lie—I’d been more than a little worried about having her there. But she had been not only kind and brimming with deference, but eager and excited to learn. The extra set of hands left me more time to design the windows and come up with specialty seasonal bouquets, which had in turn blown up our deliveries.
My gaze moved back to Luke, my pride in him lighting me up from the inside. In a few weeks, he’d start trade school in the first step to getting his contractor’s license. He could learn new things, which was his favorite itch to scratch. And the second he’d decided, he’d thrown himself into a remodel of my bathroom in order to connect it to my bedroom, not even pretending like it wasn’t for his own benefit.
The second time my dad had busted him in a towel in the hallway was the last straw.
And as for me? Well, I’d proposed my book idea to Natalie, and she’d made me an offer last week—their parent company was interested in publishing a book on floral arrangements, and they wanted me to write it. It was my dream realized.
Things were coming up roses all right. And we all felt the effervescent joy and hope that came along with the success.
The Bennets converged around Mrs. Bennet, wrapping her up in a huddle of dark hair and brilliant smiles. And when they broke, Mrs. Bennet was in the center, swiping at her cheeks.
“I’m beginning to think you all enjoy watching me cry,” she said on a laugh.
Mr. Bennet smiled down at her. “Only when it’s with this much joy.”
She leaned into him, pressing her cheek to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.
Everyone began to chatter, the cluster breaking to head back inside. Everyone but me and Luke.
He snagged the last two of his boxes from just inside the shop, kissing his mom on the cheek as we passed. I wrapped her up in a hug of my own.
“Take care of him, Tess,” she whispered.
“Always and forever,” I promised.
And with a smile of understanding, we parted ways.
He carried the boxes like they were nothing, but I could tell by the hard bulges of his biceps that they were heavy.
“I think she liked it,” I said as if it wasn’t obvious.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t be sure. On the Mrs. Bennet scale, those waterworks were lackluster at best.”
A laugh slipped out of me. “Really, a poor showing if I ever saw one. I told you you should have proposed.”
He shot me a crooked smile. “Don’t tempt me, Tess.”
My heart and my stomach switched places, my smile wide and cheeks hot. “Luke Bennet, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you had plans.”
The look he gave me liquified my insides. “Oh, I have plans all right. And when I implement them, you’ll know. But first, move-in day. I’ve got to make sure you can handle Luke who leaves his socks lying around and doesn’t close drawers.”
“You act like we haven’t spent the last six weeks joined at the hip.”
“Joined at the something, definitely in the vicinity of the hip.” He waggled his brows as we reached the door to my building and headed inside. “Anyway, now you’re gonna get the real deal. The unabridged, unadulterated Luke Bennet. The one who never hangs up hand towels and puts dishes next to the sink instead of in it.”
I smirked at him as we climbed the stairs. “Are you trying to scare me off?”
“Nah, but full disclosure—I will leave laundry in the basket for a month if it means I don’t have to fold anything.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know. What are you even doing with me?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
He pouted next to me while I unlocked the front door.
But I smiled, clarifying, “If I could figure out one reason why you’re with me, I’d be satisfied.”
“Oh, I’ll give you a hundred, Tess Monroe.”
The way he said it was a promise or a warning—I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I wanted every one.
“A hundred, huh?” I turned for my room with him on my heels, hoping at least a few of them involved kissing.
“Mmhmm,” he hummed, kicking the door closed and setting the boxes down. He stepped into me with a predatory look on his face that hit me in every soft spot of my body. “For starters, your lips are the sweetest thing I’ve tasted. Your devotion to what you love inspires me. Forever used to feel like a cage, a trap, but then you taught me that forever is an adventure, and I want to spend every minute of it with you.”
I wanted to tell him all the reasons I loved him too, but he kissed me before I could. Laid me down in the bed we would share, in the room where we’d spend our honeymoon and where we’d conceive our own Bennet brood. I had a glimmer of it then, a tingle of hope, and a rush of possibility for a future that would come true.
I’d live every moment with joy.
And I’d love him with every heartbeat, to my very last breath.
THANK YOU
Every book we write is its own ride. Down a rocky hillside. On a bike with square tires. It’s a fun ride, but a difficult one nonetheless. And as such, there are always a lot of people to thank for riding on the handlebars with us.
At the top of my list is always my husband, Jeff. The man with the plan who always anticipates what I need, usually before I even realize I need it. You are my forever hero. Thank you for always believing in me.
The second person in my list is always Kandi Steiner. She’s the first person I say good morning to (as Jeff rises long before me in a feat of willpower I will never possess), and she’s the last person I speak to at night. She is privy to every little bump, every little scrape. Every high, and every low, she is always there, my Polly Pocket and best friend. I love you, babe. Thank you for holding my hand always.
I am fortunate—so fortunate—to have a tribe of women who are always kind, generous, and loving with their time and hearts and souls. Karla Sorensen, who is always willing to listen, always eager to help, unflinching and prepared for anything. Everything. Abbey Byers, who spends countless hours plotting with me, deconstructing characters, discussing the minutia of every scene, every moment between these people who aren’t people, but are. Kerrigan Byrne, my love and mentor, my guru whose imagination is bigger than the known universe, who is always prepared for a long string of what ifs and a blooming of a story into something epic. Sasha Erramouspe, who is always the first to offer to read the story just one more time, ad infinitum.
There’s Kyla Linde, my villain litmus. Jacqueline Mellow, who is always prepped to help this Texan girl bring New York to life. BB Easton’s always waiting to remind me that none of this matters and we’re all gonna die (burgers and fries, nobody dies. Aka, Frankie Says Relax). Tina Lynne is at the ready, just waiting to help however she can, usually by helping me run the insanity that is book signings and social media and book mailing and swag, forever and ever, amen. Carrie Ann Ryan always has words of encouragement to spare, even when she’s spread thin—though you’d never, ever know she was. She’s simply that kind.
My betas never let me down. When I make Kris Duplantier cry, it’s the equivalent of winning a major
award. Sarah Green always tells me the truth, even when it stings, following it up with all the ways she believes in me. Danielle Legasse forever makes me feel like a queen, even when I’m certain I’m pond scum. Heather Monroe gives the most sound, vital feedback, and has made this book so much better for it.
To my production crew—Jenn Watson and Sarah Ferguson at Social Butterfly, Jovana Shirley at Unforeseen Editing, Ellie McLove at Gray Ink, Nadine Richards at Inkstain designs, and Najla Qamber for putting together promotional resources. Every single one of you is vital to me, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you. Thank you, so much.
To all of my bloggers—you make the book world go ‘round. Thank you so much for all your hard work, dedication, and the joy of books that you bring to the world.
And readers—Thank you. Thank you for reading, for spending your time in my brain and heart, for loving books. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
ALSO BY STACI HART
CONTEMPORARY STANDALONES
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With a Twist (Bad Habits 1)
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Chaser (Bad Habits 2)
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Last Call (Bad Habits 3)
All he’s ever wanted was a second chance, but she’ll resist him at every turn, no matter how much she misses him.
The Austens
Wasted Words (Inspired by Emma)
She’s just an adorkable, matchmaking book nerd who could never have a shot with her gorgeous best friend and roommate.
A Thousand Letters (Inspired by Persuasion)
Fate brings them together after seven years for a second chance they never thought they’d have in this lyrical story about love, loss, and moving on.
