"Good. That thumb photo deserves tears."
I laugh despite myself, turning back to my laptop. "Well, if you're going to stay, you have to be quiet. I need to finish this proposal."
"I can be quiet."
He lasts approximately two minutes before: "That font is terrible."
"Grayson."
"I'm just saying. Comic Sans? Really?"
"That's the restaurant's current brand font."
"And you're keeping it?"
"No, obviously I'm changing it. See? Right here in the recommendations section."
He leans forward to look at my screen, and suddenly he's very close. I can smell his scent—ink and leather and something spicy that makes my heart race.
"Much better font," he says, his voice lower.
"Thanks."
"You're good at this. The marketing stuff."
"I know."
He laughs—a real laugh, the kind that makes him look younger. "Confident. I like it."
"Someone wise once told me to own what I'm good at."
"Sounds like a smart person."
"He has his moments." I save my work and turn to face him properly. "Okay, you win. I need a break anyway. What do you want to do?"
"Show me more terrible Instagram accounts."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely. This is the most entertainment I've had all week."
So I do. We spend the next hour going through the worst small business social media accounts we can find, critiquing everything, laughing until my sides hurt.
And it's easy. Comfortable. Like we've been doing this forever.
Like pack.
Chapter 29
Grayson
The next morning, I'm making coffee when Bea appears in the kitchen.
Alone.
She's wearing one of River's shirts and sleep shorts, her hair messy from sleep, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Morning," she says, her voice still rough.
