“Me too,” she gasps, her inner muscles beginning to clench around me. "Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t?—”
Her words dissolve into a cry as she comes apart beneath me, her body arching and trembling. The sight of her lost in pleasure, combined with the exquisite grip of her body around mine, sends me hurtling over the edge. I bury myself deep inside her one last time as my release crashes through me, wave after wave of intense pleasure leaving me shaking and breathless.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breathing. I roll to the side to avoid crushing her with my weight, but keep her close, unwilling to break the connection between us. She nestles against my chest, her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine.
In the quiet aftermath, with her warm and sated in my arms, words I hadn’t planned to say rise to my lips.
“I'm falling in love with you, Betsy,” I confess, the truth of it resonating through my entire being. “I think I have been since the moment I saw you.”
She goes still against me, and for one terrible moment, I fear I’ve ruined everything. Then she raises her head, her eyes finding mine in the darkness.
“I'm falling in love with you, too,” she whispers, a smile spreading across her face. “God help me, but I am.”
Relief and joy surge through me as I pull her closer, claiming her lips in a tender kiss that holds the promise of a thousand more. Outside, the Brooklyn night continues, but in this room, in this moment, the world has narrowed to just us two.
CHAPTER 15
BETSY
EPILOGUE : FIVE MONTHS LATER
“Just shift that support beam two feet to the left,” I say, pointing to the exposed framework where the conference room wall will eventually stand. “We need to maintain the sight line to the river.”
The foreman nods, scribbling on his clipboard. “Got it, Ms. Miller. Any other adjustments before we pour the foundation for the extension tomorrow?” I scan the partially constructed framework, mentally comparing it to the blueprints I’ve pored over for countless hours. This is more than just another project—it’s the expansion of Conor’s business headquarters, the physical manifestation of his growing success that I’ve poured my heart into designing down to the last detail.
“The skylights need to be angled five degrees more toward the south to maximize natural light during winter months,” I say, gesturing upward. “Otherwise, everything looks perfect.”
Dust dances in the afternoon sunlight as I make my way across the site, the familiar weight of my hard hatsnug against my scalp. My boots crunch over scattered pebbles and wood chips as I double-check measurements, running my fingers along the rough-hewn beams.
When I finally emerge from the construction zone, I spot Conor leaning against his sleek black Audi, aviator sunglasses catching the light as he scrolls through his phone. He looks up at my approach, and even from twenty feet away, I can feel the warmth of his smile.
“There’s my architect,” he says, pocketing his phone and pushing off from the car. “You know, you make that hard hat look sexier than anyone has a right to.”
I roll my eyes, but pleasure warms my cheeks. "It’s the sawdust. Very alluring. I made sure to dab some behind my ears."
“That must be it.” His eyes travel down my dust-covered jeans and work boots with undisguised appreciation. “How’d it go in there?"
“Just a few minor adjustments. The project’s right on schedule.” I reach up to remove my hard hat, shaking out my hair. “You’ll love it.”
Conor steps forward, brushing a smudge of dirt from my cheek with his thumb. “Not as much as I love the woman who designed it.”
He takes the hard hat from my hands, placing it carefully in the back seat before opening the passenger door for me. As I slide into the leather seat, a prickling sensation at the base of my neck makes me look up.
Across the street, partially obscured by a parked delivery truck, stands Devon. My stomach drops like I’ve missed a step on a staircase, a hollow feeling that spreads outward until my fingertips tingle. He’s wearing one of his impeccably tailored charcoal suits, complete with thesubtle pinstripe he favors —the one that costs more than my first month’s rent. His sandy blonde hair catches the sunlight, perfectly styled despite the spring breeze that ruffles the new leaves above him. His jaw is set in that familiar way—tense, controlled. He doesn’t wave or acknowledge me, just stands there with his hands in his pockets, watching with those pale blue eyes that give away nothing, his expression as closed as a vault.
Conor follows my gaze, his body tensing slightly beside me. “Is that?—”
"Devon,” I confirm, my voice tighter than I intended. “I haven’t seen him since...” Since that awkward encounter at the coffee shop months ago, I’d firmly told him I was moving on and meant it this time.
Conor slides into the driver’s seat beside me, his expression carefully neutral. “Do you want to talk to him?”
I twist the diamond engagement ring on my finger, watching how it catches the light. The weight of it still feels new, thrilling. We haven’t set a date yet, but we’ve started planning a fall wedding.
“Do you think I should tell him we’re getting married? I ask, still watching Devon across the street. “He’s going to find out eventually.”
Conor takes my hand, pressing his lips gently against my knuckles just above the ring. His eyes meet mine, calm and confident. "That’s entirely up to you, baby. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
The simple statement encompasses everything I love about him—his unwavering support, his respect for my choices, his quiet confidence that doesn’t need to control or manipulate.
