She tried to keep her brain in charge, but her heart was already throwing confetti.
“Lucky for you,” she murmured, “I’ve decided my reject-all-apologies policy is no longer a hill I’m willing to die on.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m honored.”
She snorted. “Don’t be. From now on, forgiveness comes with strict fine print.”
“Fine print?”
“Those I love get a limited number. Since I’ve apparently gone and fallen for you, God help me, you get a few hundred. Use them wisely.”
His grin turned wicked. “I’ll try not to cash them all in before the honeymoon.”
She smirked. “Good. Because I don’t do refunds.”
He laughed, then pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a kiss that said more than any apology ever could. When they finally came up for air, the rooftopfelt smaller, more theirs, less like a battlefield and more like the start of something they could actually build.
“So,” Marcus said, tone light but edged with hope, “think you could handle living in Gi Gi’s Crossing? Full time?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”
He blinked, then laughed, a low, surprised sound. “Well. That’s definitive.”
Remembering compromise was apparently a cornerstone of functional relationships—her therapy book had underlined that twice—she softened. “But…I might be open to extended visits.”
“Really?”
The joy in his voice melted her insides.
“Gi Gi’s Crossing does have its quirks,” she allowed.
“I couldn’t agree more.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “And just so you know, I definitely caught that little love admission buried in all that sarcasm.”
She flushed but held his gaze. “I was hoping you’d missed it.”
“Oh, I heard it. Loud and clear.” His thumb brushed along her jaw, soft and sure. His next words landed like a vow. “You’ve been the spark that short-circuited all my careful wiring since the day you arrived, Frankie. And I don’t want it fixed.”
Her chest went tight, her heart kicking so hard she nearly forgot to breathe.
“Fine,” she managed. “Then I guess someone’s got to keep Harriet the Spy from getting elected to the new fashion board.”
He laughed, shaking his head like she was the best kind of trouble. “Fashion board?”
“Do you want to interrogate my intel or accept my compromise?”
He reached for her hand, grin warm and unguarded. “Extended visits. Deal.”
“Let’s just call it a test run,” she said, squeezing his fingers, letting him see the spark in her eyes. “And to be transparent, this doesn’t make me a small-town girl.”
He chuckled, brushing his thumb along hers, and then his expression turned serious. “Why didn’t you tell me the stiletto wasn’t a tantrum? It was…a good deed. A selfless act.”
Her chest cinched tight. “Because admitting that would’ve made me feel needy for your approval,” she said, sharper than she meant to. “And you see, my dad had this thing. He told me whiny girls were the worst. He would slap me when I cried.”
“Fucking asshole,” Marcus muttered.
Frankie nodded and continued. “I learned fast to swallow anything that looked like weakness. Even the good stuff.”
She paused, breath catching, a bitter laugh pushing at the back of her throat.
