Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
People laughed in the audience, and poor Vanessa’s tight smile evaporated into a look of horror.
I barely managed to comprehend what he was saying. It felt like an out-of-body experience.
Hunter Fitzpatrick was confessing his undying love to me.
Publicly.
So painfully publicly.
I’d told him I thought I was his dirty little secret, so he’d made a public declaration. In the car back from Maine, he’d asked what it would take. A ring…a contract… And what did I answer? To stop being ashamed of us. This was him proving to me that he never was.
“And of course,” Hunter spread his arms, continuing his monologue, “in true Fitzpatrick fashion, I had to go and fall in love with the daughter of a…” He paused, backtracking when he realized what he was about to say. “A legitimate businessman, unless proven otherwise.”
The audience burst out laughing, and I blushed. Hunter turned around, found my gaze, and smiled. It was a smile I’d never seen before. It wasn’t taunting or sexy or entertained. He looked boyish, almost sheepish. There was something deliciously innocent about that smile. I wanted to capture it, take a picture, frame it, and tuck it under my pillow.
“Fuck me, Sailor Brennan. You really did a number on my heart. I guess what I’m trying to say—while offending the ears of every middle-aged housewife in this state—is that this is real. It’s always been real. You said I never wanted you, but the truth was, I never wanted anyone but you. Not really. But I hadn’t realized it until you walked away, and for the first time in my life, I couldn’t eat, sleep, or breathe. I see you, aingeal dian, even when you’re trying to hide. Especially when you are trying to hide. I cannot unsee you. I’m like that kid from The Sixth Sense. Only you’re not dead, and I’m not hella annoying.”
More laughter. I realized some of the giggling came from my throat. I also realized I was choked up, my eyes coated with tears through which I watched him, blurry and defiant and a changed man, but still the same guy I’d grown to admire.
He walked to my seat, crouching down on one knee in front of me in an act of pure submission. “Angry angel. Aingeal dian means angry angel. The first time I held you in my arms, at the fundraiser event, two things occurred to me. The first was that I couldn’t let go of you, even if you asked really, and I mean really nicely. The second was that I was unworthy of keeping you. I ran away from you my entire life without even knowing you, Sailor. But the moment I met you—okay, maybe a few weeks after that—I figured out not having you was not an option. So, here I am, asking for a second chance. And some ass. But the ass can definitely come later. I just want us to be us. Together. Exclusively. DoorDash and Netflix galore. Like a real couple and shit.”
“Mr. Fitzpatrick!” Vanessa gasped, putting a hand to her chest, pretending to be scandalized. “For the love of God, language!”
Hunter and I shared a conspiratorial grin.
“My bad. Anyway, that’s the bottom line. I’m stupid in love with you, Sailor Brennan. Will you have my dumb ass? Flaws included. No returns.”
“Fourteen business days to return said butt, and I get my full heart back if your performance is not to my satisfaction.” I started bargaining with him on live television.
This was what we did. We bantered.
His eyes lit up with mischief. “You never complained about the performance during your free trial period.”
“Meh.” I shrugged. “It was free. Paying for something with hearts and other organs is a completely different matter.”
“Fine. I believe in my product. You got yourself a deal.” He stood up in front of me. I reached my hand between us to shake on it. He took it and jerked me up, engulfing me in his huge arms.
He pressed a kiss to my mouth, a Hollywood-worthy kiss—the type you see in ’90s movies seconds before the credits roll.
I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, an unlikely heroine in my own story.
I heard the audience stand up and cheer for us, clapping and whistling and laughing with joy. In the background, Vanessa was talking about young love and about finding yourself in another person. It sounded like she was reading it from the back of a Philosophy skincare bottle.
Hunter’s lips left mine for a beat, and I growled my protest immediately, searching for them again.
“Say yes,” he breathed into my mouth. “Say you’ll never leave.”
“Never,” I murmured. “I love you so much, Hunter. It terrifies me how far I’ll go to save you.”
“However far that is, know I’ll go even farther for you.”
He kissed me again, and the universe tilted, shifted, wiping everything clean: other people and trees and birds and buildings. The only thing left standing, upside-down, were the two of us, clasped in each other’s arms, defying gravity. It felt surreal. Unreal.