“And now?”
“Now I realize it was the best mistake I ever made.” I kiss him softly. “Every disaster you’ve caused, every ant invasion, every fire alarm, every chaotic moment that turned my perfectly ordered life upside down—they were all leading us here.”
Thatcher’s eyes are suspiciously bright. “So you’re saying I’m a Picture Perfect Mistake?”
“You’remyPicture Perfect Mistake,” I correct. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
Thatcher pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like promises and forever. When we finally break apart, his smile could light up the entire city.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me toward the bathroom. “We have a family dinner to get to.”
I follow him out of the bedroom, my hand firmly clasped in his.
This is my life now. Chaos and color and a man who turned every mistake into something beautiful.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
EPILOGUE
THATCHER
Eighteen months later
“Stop fidgeting,”Pierce murmurs against my neck, his hands working the buttons of my shirt from behind while I attempt to tame my hair in the bathroom mirror. “You look perfect.”
“I look like I’m about to throw up,” I counter, watching my reflection with growing horror. “Is it too late to cancel? I could fake food poisoning. Or an actual emergency. Do you think Alli would let me borrow one of her animals for a veterinary crisis?”
“You’re not canceling your own book launch.” Pierce finishes with my buttons and turns me around, his hands warm and steady on my shoulders. “This is your dream, remember? The one you’ve been working toward your entire life.”
“Dreams are terrifying when they actually come true.”
He silences my panic with a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens into something that makes my knees weak. His hands slide into my hair, thoroughly destroying the styling I just attempted, and I can’t bring myself to care.
“Better?” he asks when we finally break apart.
“Mmm. Maybe we should skip the party entirely. Stay here. Celebrate privately.”
“Nice try.” But he’s smiling as he reaches for my tie, looping it around my neck. “Your publisher would murder us both. And your family would break down the door.”
“They do have a history of that.”
Pierce laughs, the sound warm and familiar. A year of living together, and I still haven’t gotten tired of making him laugh. I hope I never do.
Our apartment—because it’s ours now, not just his—looks nothing like the monochrome museum I first walked into. Color explodes from every corner: my artwork on the walls, rainbow throw pillows on the couch, a gallery of photos from our first year together arranged above the fireplace. Pierce’s architecture books share shelf space with my art supplies, and somewhere in the chaos, we’ve built a home.
Our time apart was painful, but as it turned out, it was necessary. Thornton had assumed correctly that something was happening between Pierce and me. By the time he tried to gather evidence, we had already broken up and weren’t spending any time together.
The PI Lior hired to keep an eye on James and Thornton discovered that they’d hired someone to follow Pierce and me. With the gathered evidence, we threatened James with legal action if he didn’t leave us alone.
That was the last time we heard from him.
“Ready?” Pierce asks, handing me my jacket.
“No. But let’s go anyway.”
We’re almost out the door when I remember my portfolio with the original sketches that became my book, which my publisher wants to display at the launch. I rush back to grab it from the coffee table, not noticing the glass of water I left precariously close to the edge.
Pierce’s hand shoots out and catches the glass a millisecond before I knock it directly onto the leather portfolio case.
