Page 119 of Final Proposal

And there is no signage for the inn’s name.

I guess that would be my fault. He asked and I never delivered an answer. Maybe I felt like I didn’t deserve to, or that he’d moved on and did it himself. Or maybe I was afraid to permanently place my mark on something we’d never share again.

Stop thinking that way, Elle.

Start thinking positively. Take this next step forward. You’ve already negotiated with your stepdad and have officially bound yourself to S.I.N. for the foreseeable future in the hopes that Ford will see you’re ready to commit to something with him.

If he’ll still have you.

I push open the front door, expecting there to be a flurry of contractors and their significant others milling about the halls.

But I don’t see anyone.

I move from one location to the next, the silence of the inn deafening, and I check my phone to make sure I didn’t mess up. That this is the time the invitation said.

It is.

“Hello?” I call out, feeling like a stranger in something I own.

Partially.

Fifty-fifty.

The thought brings a ghost of a smile to my lips as an “Up here” calls back to me.

I make my way to the rooftop bar expecting the party to be up there but walk into a completely empty space.

My breath falters as I hold my hand to my mouth. It’s done and absolutely gorgeous. This was the last place to be finished and so I missed seeing it come to fruition, but . . . wow.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Ford asks from behind me, and my heart swells in my chest.

I hang my head for a beat, steeling myself for the visceral reaction I know will happen when I see him.

I only last seconds before I turn around to face him. He’s standing in the doorway with a Henley and a nice pair of jeans on. His hair is messy like I like it, and the hope in his smile owns every sad, scared, hopeful part of me.

I love him.

I get the chance to love him.

It’s the same thing I’ve repeated over and over for the past few weeks. The same phrases I’ve been teaching myself to not wince at or be on the defensive when I say them.

Because it’s true. As much as it terrifies me, I love Fordham Sharpe.

“You did a great job,” I say, starting easy.

“No, we did a great job.” He smiles softly. “You look good, Celery Ellery.”

“You too, Fordham the University. Where is everyone?”

He chuckles, looking down at the floor and then back to me. “They’ll be here in thirty minutes. I may have changed the time on your invitation so I could see you first. You know, I’m selfish like that.”

“Ford—”

“It was a joke, Elle. Aren’t we past that yet?”

“Yes.” Please still love me. Please tell me it’s not too late. “So you’ve seen me first, now what?”

“Several things.”