Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“You’re viral,” the birthday girl informed us, her phone trained on Briar’s ring. “Say toodles to the livestream.”
This would be karma making her presence known. I’d bullied Zach over his embarrassing public grovel only to top him.
I groaned, resting my forehead against Briar’s. “I think we might make that TMZ headline, after all.”
Dallas clapped from the couch, hopping up and down. “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”
Finally, someone with some sense.
The pianist began playing a song. Our song. I brushed away a rose petal from Briar’s eyelashes, and then I kissed her like she was meant to be kissed – passionately, endlessly, and full of reverence.
The world blurred around us and faded into nothingness. Briar threaded her fingers through my hair, tugging me closer. She tasted like roses, and sunlight, and mine.
This time, I made the right decision.
I chose her over the world.
Epilogue
Briar
Three months later.
Dallas Costa: So, is Briar actually showing up for Thanksgiving dinner, or am I “saving her a plate” in the freezer again.
Dallas Costa: And by that, I mean MY freezer.
Frankie Townsend: ur just salty bc romeo stopped u from guarding the pumpkin pie with ur life.
Dallas Costa: He shipped it in from Emporium!! I swear, for every minute she’s late, I’m taking a bite of her slice as compensation.
Briar Cooper: Sorry, sorry. Just landed. The flight got delayed twice.
Farrow Ballantine-Sun: Still dead set on commercial?
Briar Cooper: I’m wavering … Remind me again why the planet is important.
Dallas Costa: Um, where else will I grow pumpkins for pumpkin pie?
Farrow Ballantine-Sun: Is the farmer in the chat with us? I sure as hell know it’s not you, the Botanic Butcher of Potomac.
Dallas Costa: Someone needs to be the taste tester. It’s called delegating.
Briar Cooper: Ollie’s driver picked me up. I’m on my way.
Dallas Costa: Just make sure you’re here before the dogs eat all the food. They’re eyeing the turkey.
Briar Cooper: I’m a vegetarian …
Dallas Costa: Stop reminding me. My soul literally weeps every time you do.
Briar Cooper: I’ll be there in twenty. If I show up to an empty table, I’m suing you all for emotional distress.
I’m turning into my mother.
Not in the sense that I’m jail bound, too broke to make bail. (The judge set it at $2M a pop, given her and Jason’s history of country hopping. With the evidence Seb and Ollie compiled, the only sunlight they’ll see in decades is from the inside of a prison yard.)
I did, however, pick up Philomena’s penchant for tardiness in the past few months, shuffling from LAX to Dulles like the lone beer pong ball in a crowded frat house.
The car doesn’t even cruise to a full stop before I swing the door open. I hobble out of the Bentley with only one heel on, waving goodbye to the driver. The scent of cinnamon and stuffing wraps around me like a warm hug.
Dallas’ twinkling laughter dances into the foyer. I’m tempted to dip into the dining room and sneak a peek. Instead, I dash up the stairs, knowing Oliver awaits me in his brother’s wing.
The second I’m past the baby gates, an arm slips around my middle and pulls me back into a hard chest.
“Missed you.” With a groan, Ollie nuzzles his nose into my neck. “You should’ve let me pick you up.”
I lean my head back onto his shoulder. “This is your first time hosting Thanksgiving dinner. You can’t disappear. Someone has to keep the pie safe from Dallas.”
“I’m not stepping between that woman and her spiced pumpkin pie with a bulletproof vest, a first-aid kit, and a new pair of running shoes.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I wish.” He holds my hair up, tracing a path up the nape of my neck with his lips. “She spent an hour ranting about the gingerbread crust. I was seconds from orchestrating a national emergency just to interrupt the broadcast.”
I jut my lower lip out. “Poor baby.”
“You should kiss it better.”
Without a warning, he spins me to face him and sears my lips with his, threading his fingers through my tangled hair. His tongue shoots out, coaxing my mouth open and tangling with mine. Shivers dart down my spine.
The kiss is soft, and his stubble is hard, and I want nothing more than to melt into him. He tastes like vanilla, brown sugar, and mine. The feel of him on me sinks deep into my bones. It’s like the first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy night.
This, I can’t help but think, is where I belong.
“If you two are gonna fuck on my property, at least roll out a blanket to catch the fluids.” That comes from Seb, tucked away in one of his many rooms. “There’s no housekeeping here.”
Ollie pulls back long enough to shout, “Take it up with your landlord. Oh, wait. That’s me. Request denied.”
I try not to giggle, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Hello to you, too, Seb.”