Page 176 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

But somehow, sitting here barefoot in a luxury suite, eating pizza with the man I love—it feels exactly right.

Perfect, even.

Chapter 37

Greyson

Holy fucking shit.

Clara looks like spring decided to take human form.

The second she steps out of the bedroom, I forget how to breathe.

She’s wearing sunflower yellow.

Not subtle.

Not muted.

Not safe.

Sunflower yellow.

And it’s absolutely my favorite color.

The gown skims her curves like it was made with her in mind—flutter sleeves soft against her arms, a long ruffled skirt that moves like liquid light when she walks.

Her hair is swept to one side, held with a crystal pin that catches the room’s glow, long dark curls spilling over her shoulder and brushing the curve of her chest.

She looks luminous.

She looks powerful.

She looks like she belongs nowhere except exactly where she chooses to stand.

And God help me, she looks like mine.

The thought is possessive and fierce and terrifying all at once.

The ring in my pocket feels like it’s on fire.

I wasn’t planning this tonight.

I meant to wait.

To stage something quieter. More private.

Mountain air and stars instead of cameras and champagne.

But watching her now?

Knowing I’m about to walk into that gallery and claim my name publicly?

I don’t want to wait.

We ride down in silence.

Get in the car.