All of him.
When we finally pull back, we’re both smiling.
“So,” he says, brushing his thumb under my eye. His hand cups my face, thumb brushes my cheek. “I could only book an hour.”
“Lucky me.”
“Although I was hoping to take you to dinner.”
I arch a brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I know a place,” he says. “Brand new. Opening next week. The chef’s kind of obsessed with you.”
I pretend to consider it. “Sounds risky.”
He grins. “Worth it.”
“Okay,” I say. “But fair warning.”
“What?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“Perfect.” His forehead nudges mine again, softer this time. “Neither am I.”
Epilogue
CASH
IKNOW, I know,” I say to the camera.
It’s already locked in the perfect shot. I lean forward, hands on the counter, and grin.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done a live. Don’t start yelling at me.”
Morning light cuts through the kitchen windows of our condo.
Our condo.
I love the sound of that.
“Before anyone asks”—I point a wooden spoon at the camera—“yes, pants are still optional on Saturdays. Some traditions survive success.”
