“And third, trust. Not the easy kind. You have to trust that she’s not going anywhere just because you’re not in the same zipcode. And she has to trust that you won’t forget her the second you step on the plane. No games, no bullshit, no excuses. Just say it straight. And when you fuck up, and trust me, King, you will fuck up because we all do, own it. Apologize, fix it, don’t let it fester.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and something clicked in his eyes. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by something sharper and heavier—an older-brother warning wrapped in respect.
Because he knew exactly who I was thinking about.
And he was quietly asking whether I was man enough not to screw it up.
“She’s my sister, King. She’s tough, smart, and has a heart the size of Oregon. But she’s also the kind of person who will carry shit quietly until it breaks her. So, if you’re gonna do this, do it right. Don’t make her wonder where she stands. Don’t make her feel like she’s second to the game. Because if you do, I’ll be the first one in your face, and I won’t be nice about it.”
The table was dead silent now.
Pink exhaled, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Butif you do it right? If you show up the way she deserves? She’ll love you so hard it’ll scare you sometimes. And it’ll be worth every mile.”
I swallowed, throat tight. “I know.”
Pink nodded once. “Good.”
Then he reached for another slice of cake like the moment hadn’t just happened.
“The brown butter and vanilla bean is by far the best.”
A wave of laughter washed over the table. First Dani, then Soren, and finally Matty, who let out a relieved, “Damn, Pink. Who knew you were such a romantic?”
Pink flipped him off without looking. “Eat your cake, asshole.”
I took a bite of the brown butter cake with fluffy vanilla bean frosting sandwiched between each layer.
Goddamn.He was right.
About all of it.
And I was going to make damn sure Bella knew it, too. Every mile, every call, every stupid meme at 2 a.m.—she was worth it.
Every single one.
Bella
Six Weeks to Opening Day
The bell above the door at Smutty Buddies jingled for the fourth time that hour, but it was only Mrs. Delgado coming back for the sequel she’d sworn she wouldn’t buy.
Classic romance reader denial.
Xan and I exchanged a look and dove back into our “game” behind the counter.
“Okay,” Xan said, waggling their eyebrows. “Go.”
I tilted my head and studied the cover of the paperback in their hands. The title was embossed in metallic red:Blood Oath of the Shadow Prince.
“Alrighty.” I sat back and cracked my knuckles. “Ancient castle, leather pants, a sword that’s definitely compensating for something. I’m going to go with a cursed prince who's also half-demon, and the only way to break the curse is to . . . bone the twenty-first century librarian who accidentally time-travels back to his world.”
Xan cackled so loudly, Mrs. Delgado glanced over from the Rom-Cozy Corner. “Close, she’s a historian. And he’s a dragon shifter, not a demon.”
“I should’ve known.”
They set a stack of the Romantasy books on the counter, lining the spines up so the barcodes all faced the same direction. I logged them into the store’s computer system.
In true Mary Poppins’ fashion, we had taken one of the more mundane aspects of the job and turned it into a game.One involving shirtless men wielding swords and our imaginations. Then again, I actually enjoyed doing inventory. The spreadsheets, the order, the small satisfaction of numbers lining up the way they were supposed to. I loved turning chaos into something tidy and trackable.
