Page 68 of Final Proposal

“Cookies and cream and jamocha almond fudge?” I ask as I peer through the glass case that houses the ice cream.

When I look over, Ellery’s nose is scrunched up. “Eww. No. Mint chocolate chip and chocolate and peanut butter.”

“That’s a weird mix.”

“So is yours.”

“Okay. What about, chocolate ice cream and cookies and cream?”

“Really?”

“Really,” I say.

“No. That’s boring. Mint chocolate chip and cookies and cream.”

“Is that your final proposal?” I ask as I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile lights up the night as she remembers how we got here. The other final proposal I made.

“Yes. Final proposal.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Sinclair, making me forfeit one of my favorites.”

“It’s only fair that we each get something and each forfeit something.”

“True.” I nod. “Fifty-fifty.”

She throws her head back and laughs while I fish money out of my pocket to pay the cashier as the ice cream is being scooped.

“I told you this was a good combination,” Ellery says around a spoonful moments later as we stroll down the sidewalk.

“So . . . there is one thing we need to talk about,” I murmur as I motion for her to sit on a park bench. She does while we watch a group of kids see whose sparkler makes the best circle when spinning their arms.

She leans her head back on my arm resting on the back of the bench, a laugh falling from her mouth. “No talking about work when I’m tipsy.” She pushes one finger against my chest. “That’s taking advantage of me.”

There’s a whole helluva lot I’d take advantage of right now when it comes to her, and it has nothing to do with work.

“You’re the one making proposals over ice cream,” I tease and take another bite. “It needs a name.”

“What does?” she asks, but I see the recognition as soon as she says it. “I thought you wanted it to be a Sharpe Signature property?”

“I do, but it still deserves an actual name.”

“You mean you’re going to let me help name it?”

I stare at her, her brilliant blue eyes and flushed cheeks, and hold myself back from leaning forward and kissing her. “Of course, I am. Fifty-fifty, right?”

“I just . . . I mean good business sense says for you to slap the Sharpe name all over it, so I’d resigned myself to that. I didn’t expect—”

My lips find hers despite telling myself not to. It’s just a brush of connection, but it sends such a charge through me that it takes everything I have to drag myself away and leave it at that. “Fifty-fifty,” I murmur. “So start thinking of a name for it.”

The hitch in her breath is audible. I love knowing I do that to her. That she’s affected by my kiss.

It’s a fucking turn-on.

“Okay.” She nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as we stare at each other, goofy smiles on our faces. “Thank you. For this,” she whispers.

“It was good to get away for a bit.”

“It was.”