Page 187 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Greyson shakes his hand firmly.

“I try not to be.”

“Good,” my father replies.

And just like that—my old life doesn’t drag me back.

It adjusts.

It recalibrates.

It sees me.

And I’m not some poor little rich girl who was taken in by a penniless playboy.

I’m my own person and I make my own decisions—I just happen to choose him.

And because I’m just that damn lucky—he chooses me back.

After all of that—all the messy and ugly confrontations of tonight—the magic doesn’t break.

It deepens.

Chapter 39

Greyson

After the last guest drifts out and the gallery lights dim to something softer, something private, I finally exhale.

Clara’s parents surprised the hell out of me.

Not because they were angry.

Because they weren’t.

Because after the confrontation, after Geoffrey was escorted out like yesterday’s trash, we actually talked.

Civilly.

Honestly.

And when I asked Clara to marry me again—right this time, beside the sunflower table, with Manhattan glittering through the glass—she said yes.

My girl said yes.

The ring that’s been burning a hole in my pocket for days now sits perfectly on her finger, catching the light every time she moves her hand.

We walk her parents out, promises made.

“We expect an invitation,” her mother says with a smile that’s far warmer than I anticipated.

“You’ll have one,” I answer.

Clara squeezes my hand.

Wedding.

The word feels huge.