When Ruby turns toward me, there is something open in her expression. Without a word, we step closer, drawn like magnets.
And that’s it. The end of every excuse I’ve made tohold back. I lean in, picking up her scent. Lilacs and vanilla.
I kiss her, softly, slowly. The feeling spreads from my head to my toes. To my heart.
Ruby sighs against my mouth, hands on my chest. The kiss deepens and I’m lost in her. Completely absorbed by this remarkable, unique woman who wears her optimism like a second skin.
When we finally pull apart, I say, “I’m done running, Ruby. I’m done pretending I don’t?—”
Her gray eyes search mine. “Don’t what?”
I cup her cheek with my thumb. “Don’t love you.”
Her lips part, a stunned sound emerging.
I go on, because she deserves every word. “I love the way you see the world. How you make everything brighter. I love you, Ruby. Completely.”
She exhales a laugh. That bright, snort-laugh that makes the whole room lighter. That I missed the second it was gone.
“You’re saying this two weeks after Valentine’s Day?”
I grin. “What can I say? I’m a late bloomer.”
She throws her arms around my neck. “I love you, too, Griffin.
When she kisses me, I know I’ve found my place. Here in Silver Pine, in Oopsie Daisies, in Ruby’s arms.
This isn’t the end of anything.
It’s the beginning. Of us.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ruby
Valentine’s Day
One Year Later
Oopsie Daisies floodswith winter morning light. I’ve got frosting on my sleeve from the cupcakes donated by Desiree and Mae. Customers trickle in, each one accepting a pastry with the café’s logo and number on the liner.
Gift baskets filled with flowers and books are neatly lined on the worktable, the Silver Quill’s and our logo prominently displayed on the wrapping. They’re ready for delivery to the bookshop’s corporate affiliates who promote our small-towncharm.
The shop is smaller by a third, but with creative rearranging, we’re doing fine. Desiree’s drama group loves their new space and our rent is now manageable. Somehow, we righted a sinking ship.
Griffin pulls a chair across from me, our knees brushing. He still won’t dance with me in the shop but since his son came for a visit, he’s no longer the official town grump. The reunion went better than either of them expected.
I hand him yesterday’s receipts which he photographs, uploading them to our new accounting system. Twice a week, he drives down to his Denver office and works remotely from Silver Pine the rest of the time. When things are super busy like today, he comes to help me in the shop.
“You were right,” he says.
“About what?” I ask.
“About blending our strengths. Your creativity along with my business sense.”
He takes my hand, rough from hours of trimming stems, then gives me the look that makes my knees go wobbly. I move to his lap, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“Remind me again why I agreed to keep this place,” he says, lightly.
