Inside that building was where he’d donned his first book boyfriend T-shirt. It’s where he’d first kissed Sophie. It’s where he’d met Poppie. It’s where he’d fallen in love.
“Thanks for the lift,” Stone said, hopping out of the cab.
The driver grunted and pulled away, tires squealing slightly on the asphalt.
Stone stepped inside the building and made his way to Sophie’s front door. She’d changed the sign. Now it read:Dreams do come true. Knock for your fairytale ending.
If he and Sophie were to get married, what would their front door sign say? “Not if. When,” he corrected his thoughts. After all, a man had to have hope before going into battle.
He rapped his knuckles against the door. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and he winced, not wanting to wake up Poppie. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. He waited, ears straining for any sign of movement from within. He glanced at his watch. After one a.m. Surely, she was home by now. Unless she wasn’t coming home.
When the door suddenly opened, relief flooded him. Not that it lasted long. One look at her frown made sure of that.
“Stone?” Her voice hinted that the frown on her face wasn’t a sign of confusion, but rather one of displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
He forced a smile. “I hear this is where one comes when they’re looking for their very own fairytale ending.”
When her brows creased, he pointed to the sign on her door.
“Oh. That.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come in before you wake up Poppie and get his hopes firing in directions that won’t pan out.”
Did that mean Poppie was rooting for him? Stone’s heart gave a hopeful leap. “I texted you,” he said, following her into the familiar warmth of her apartment.
“I haven’t looked at my phone since leaving for the ball,” Sophie replied over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. “What did you want that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the moment he had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure. “There’s something I need to tell you, Sophie.”
“Yes, I know. The secret. Considering how much I paid for it, I feel wine is in order,” she said, sounding wary.
“It’s not a bad secret,” he assured her, hating that he’d made Sophie E. Clark—Professional Daydreamer—afraid to hope for a grand secret.
“Good to know.” Sophie rummaged through several bottles before she grabbed a bottle of merlot out of the refrigerator, popped the cork, and poured two goblets. She handed him one. He resisted the urge to mention red wine was best served at slightly cooler than room temperature. Around sixty-six degrees. If she liked it cold, who was he to criticize.
Taking the glass, he cataloged the moment. The saying on her sleep shirt:Daydream Enabler. The heady fragrance of her skin after a shower: peaches and cream. The tightness in herlips right before she took her first sip of wine. Her lusty sigh of appreciation for the cheap, chilled vintage whose label read,Fairytale Celebration.
“Okay,” she said, walking over to the window. “I’m listening.” She turned and leaned against the frame.
“Maybe we should sit.” He motioned to the couch. He’d had it delivered after they had split, with explicit instructions to the delivery team that if she tried to bully them into taking it back with them, they were to make excuses as to why that wasn’t possible. It looked nice in her tiny apartment.
After a moment of hesitation, Sophie sat, and he sat next to her, their knees touching as they turned to look at one another. The lights flickered. Why had that happened? Was the spell Clarabelle had cast on him weakening?
“There’s no easy way to say this without it coming as a shock,” he began, reaching for her hands. Thunder boomed in the distance. “I’m about to tell you a secret I thought I’d take to my grave.”
“To your grave?” Sophie yanked her hands out of his, clearly taken aback. “You said it wasn’t a bad secret.”
“Not bad.” He reached for her hands again. “Sophie, I’m a bona fide Fairy Godfather.”
Lightning was quickly followed by a loud clap of thunder, and then the lights went dark, preventing him from seeing her reaction.
“Damn.” He quickly retrieved his phone, turned on its flashlight feature, and aimed it at her face.
Her eyes were wide, and her mouth open. “Define bona fide?” she squeaked.
“I have a wand.” He waited for the shock to wear off. When it did, he breathed a little easier.
A look of pure enchantment filtered over Sophie’s face. “Tell me everything.”
The lights came back on.
