I move my hands from his arms to wrap around his neck, tugging him to me. Dom buries his face in my neck, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist as I stroke his hair. Sobs wrack his body, his solid, lean frame, and I absorb everything.
“She’s here, baby. That’s why she gave us a sign tonight. She’s always with us.”
And as tears slip down my cheeks, disappearing in his hair, I truly feel that presence. Gloria might not physically be with us anymore, but she’s in our hearts. Her spirit will live on in the legacy ofEver After, and what her nephew is evolving it into.
When Dom pulls back, he lifts his head and cups my face once more. “I love you, Penelope Elizabeth Adams. So damn much.”
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” The question escapes before I can help myself. Dom’s brows furrow, so I clarify, “When you said…wewere in this for the long haul. You meant the store, right?”
Despite the tears on his cheeks, Dom’s lips quirk up, a smile teasing on his lips. “You know I meant more than just the store.”
“Oh, thank god,” I sigh with relief. “Because I love you too, Dom. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
He brushes hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Really, hmmm? More than… Tobias?”
Playfully, I smack his chest. “You know I do.”
“Uh huh. Sure. More than… Draco?” I open my mouth to reassure him, but he continues. “Fan-fiction Draco?”
Well, shit. I can’t help it— I pause.
“Ah ha!” Dominic laughs, a warm, soft sound that slips inside my chest and curls tightly around my heart. “To be fair, that’s some real stiff competition. I really played myself with that question.”
Shaking my head, I wipe the remnants of tears from my cheeks and beam back at him. “Dominic Miller, I love you more than any fictional boyfriend.”
Like a switch has been flipped, Dom’s eyes darken with need. “Show me.”
And I do.
TWENTY-TWO
november
DOMINIC
Construction is a fucking shit show.That’s putting it lightly. I knew going into this process to expect pains— what else can you expect when the store is going through demolition and loud construction at the beginning of the busiest shopping season of the year?
“We should have waited,” I grumble to Grace at the register as I refill it with more singles and fives. This is the second time I’ve had to do this in the last four hours.
“Maybe,” Grace agrees. “Sure, it’s loud—” She cuts herself off as said loud sounds rip across the space from beyond the heavy tarp hanging across the recently demoed entry to the new space. She resumes when the noise stops. “And yeah, it’s dusty as hell.” Across the store, a woman wraps her scarf over her mouth while waving her hand to clear the air in front of her. “Combined with it being the weekend after Thanksgiving? Yeah, maybe it could have waited.”
Grace laughs and nudges me as I shut the drawer with a scowl. I’m glad that she and Pen have found humor in this mess, but I’m still pretty annoyed. The door to the back room bangsopen and Pen emerges, pushing a cart of new books fresh off a delivery.
“Is that the special edition of Sarah’s new book?” a sharp-eyed customer asks shrilly.
“Yes! We just got?—”
Pen’s response is drowned out by a crowd of customers surrounding her and the cart. No joke, I can hardly see her as the customers swarm like hungry little badgers, desperate to get their paws on the freshest meat.
By the time I make my way over, only one customer is left and she’s giving Penelope a hard time.
“I just can’t believe you’d allow this to happen to a book!”
From what I can see, the special editions Pen had on her cart are gone; this woman is holding the last copy and there’s a faint crease on the corner of the dustjacket. Pen, bless my beautiful woman, still has a smile on her face— a sincere, authentic smile. Not a forced one with gritted teeth, as I’m known to sport for the pissy customers.
“I’m so sorry,” Pen says gently, flashing her eyes to me in warning. She’s worried I’m approaching to intervene and be a dick. Which is correct, but those eyes? I know when to sit and stay like a good boy. “Unfortunately, sometimes the books aren’t packed perfectly when they’re shipped, which leads to?—”
“It’s unacceptable!” The woman shakes the book in Pen’s face and I curl my hands into fists. Demonstrating restraint at this point feels like a losing battle. “This book has been sold out everywhere! You shouldn’t have just wheeled this cart out here. You should have asked people to line up! You should have?—”
