Manhattan Cinderella

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I look up at the darkened sky and take a deep breath. Cole doesn’t want to be with me, he doesn’t love me like I love him, and I need to accept that. I turn and take the first steps back across the bridge to Manhattan, my feet as full of lead as my heart. I came here with high hopes, and now the only thing left for me to do is slink home to lick my wounds.

  It’s then I see him. Cole, walking toward me with his long-legged stride. Confident. Here.

  My heart stills. Disbelieving, I think, “He’s let me down, he hasn’t shown up. He doesn’t love me.” But, still it’s him, here, aimed straight for me, dressed in his flannel shirt and work boots, just as he had been the day we met.

  As he reaches me, I tell him I’m sorry, tell him I love him. He stops me with his warm, soft lips in a kiss so full of unspoken lust and love and need, it’s breathtaking in its intensity. He wraps his strong arms around me and holds me tightly against his body, our kiss long, lingering, full of so much everything.

  As I breathe in his wonderful, uniquely Cole scent, the deep sense of loss and hopelessness I felt only moments ago evaporate into the night sky, and my heart soars above the tallest skyscraper, right up to the stars.

  Cole is here, and he’s mine.

  We break our kiss and I pull back from him. Catching my breath, I look up into his soft brown eyes. Giddy with joy, I say, “What took you so long, Tennessee?” My voice choked with emotion as fresh tears prick my eyes.

  His smile does deeply wonderful things to my insides. “Would you believe I couldn’t get a cab?”

  Laughter bubbles up inside me. “Actually, I would. But I thought you weren’t coming. I thought it was over between us.”

  “Over?” He shakes his head, his eyes smiling. “It’s only just beginning.”

  His smile drops, the passion in his eyes intense. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me on the forehead. “Gabby, you apologized to me in that video. It’s my turn to apologize to you.”

  I shake my head. “No, you don’t have to. It was my fault. I should never have told Cece in the first place, I’m not even sure why I did it. You trusted me with something so personal and I let you down.”

  “You couldn’t know Sylvia would overhear and tell the world. That’s not your fault.”

  “It wasn’t Sylvia. It was the boy Cece brought, Thaddeus. She was trying to impress him so she told him about you and Rex. He put the story up on his Instagram feed, and, well, the rest is gut-wrenching history, as they say.”

  “You know what? Thaddeus, Sylvia, whoever. I don’t give a damn. Let the world know. They’ve moved on to the next story, anyway. But the night of the concert, when I walked out on you, I was madder than a wet hen.”

  I smile at his farm reference. “I’m not sure how mad hens are when they get wet, or when they’re dry for that matter, being a city girl.”

  His features are soft when he says, “Take it from me, hens definitely don’t like to get wet.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t grow up on a farm, but you know an awful lot about animals, Tennessee.”

  “Do you mind if we focus?” he says with a laugh. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

  I wrap my arms around him and look up into his eyes. “You’ve done that. Shall we agree that the universe tried to drive us apart, and it didn’t work?”

  “Are you saying we kicked the universe’s ass?”

  My grin is so wide it reaches my ears. “I guess I am.”

  We stand together on the bridge, the lights of the skyline twinkling as people pass us by.

  “I didn’t come to New York to fall in love. I never expected to find someone like you, not when I wasn’t looking. But, from the moment I caught you in my arms, you dripping in that green kale goop, it was you. Gabby, you’re the one.”

  I bite my lip as the crushing feelings I have for this man threaten to swallow me up. “My God, I love you so much.” I reach up and touch the back of his neck, pull him down to me, and kiss him long and slow. Every nerve ending in my body perks up, and my heart is fit to burst with the love I feel for this man in my arms.

  “I love you, too, Gabby Davis, with every part of me.”

  “Every part?” I raise my eyebrows, grin, and slide my eyes down to his jeans and back up to his handsome face.

  He laughs. “Every part. And I want to show you how much you mean to me, each and every day.”

  “Well, in that case, I suggest we start by getting off this bridge.”

  He laughs quietly, and it reverberates through me, making my insides tingle in the most exquisite way. “Sounds like a plan to me, Kermit.” He slings his arm around my shoulders, and we make our slow progress along the bridge toward the island I call my home.

  He glances to the side, and I remember his phobia. “Are you okay being on this bridge with your fear of heights and all?”

  “I’m working real hard at not thinking about that right now.”

  “Got it.”

  Once we reach the sidewalk, I feel him relax at my side. He stops and looks at me. “Who knew all this would happen because of that one lost shoe,” he says. “One lost, very sexy shoe.”

  “Stop it,” I laugh, “You make me sound like Cinderella.”

  “Prince Charming, at your service.” He waggles his eyebrows and grins at me, and I let out a giddy laugh.

  Whether I’m Cinderella and he’s my Prince Charming or not, I know this is our fairy-tale ending, and I have got to be the happiest girl in Manhattan.

  Epilogue

  Gabriella

  “Thank you!” I say into the microphone over the cheering audience. I’m breathless from the exertion of performing my latest single to a packed audience, the upbeat number a departure from the softer ballads I’ve become known for since my first album hit.

  “It is so good to be back here at The Garden.” The cheers intensify. I smile at the packed arena. “Today is a super special day for me, and it’s amazing to get to share it with you all here right now. As you might know, this is where it all began for me, as a Pop Princess, all that time ago. It was awesome to have them support me tonight for my very first solo concert here.” The audience erupts and a broad grin busts out over my face. “Wow, that feels like a lifetime ago!”

  My mind turns to Sylvia and her daughters—formerly known as the spawn, although Kylie for one has shed her spawn-like exterior these days. Britney? Hmmm, not so much. Right now, they’re recovering backstage from their energetic performance. It was my idea to have them support me on this tour, and considering they never quite lived up to the moniker “the new darlings of pop,” thanks to their music careers plateauing firmly in the C-grade, I wanted to give them this chance. After all, if I hadn’t become a Pop Princess for those few months back when Britney broke her leg, I might not be where I am today: headlining at Madison Square Garden, the final concert in my nationwide tour.

  Kylie and I may have made our peace some time ago, but Sylvia is still . . . Sylvia. That hasn’t changed. As much as we all want it to be, life isn’t a Disney movie and the bad guys don’t always get their just desserts. Shame, right? Sure, Dad divorced her, and she left with her tail between her legs, but the woman has moxie, and like cockroaches surviving the demise of the dinosaurs, so did Sylvia Tremaine survive Dad’s rejection. She’s moved onto other things. Well, another man, to be specific: Thaddeus Kensington II, father of the boy whose Instagram post nearly ended it all for Cole and me. I think it’s a case of birds of a feather, but my friends are a lot more cynical about it than me. Izzy even has this crazy conspiracy theory that the son was in on it from the start. But I think that’s taking things way too far for even Sylvia.

  “You know it was two years ago to the day that I met this super cute guy here in Manhattan. I managed to slop a kale smoothie all over myself. But you know what? Even covered in that goop, he fell for me anyway.”

  There’s a roar from the audience and I turn and find Cole. He’s standing by the thick black curtain that separates the s
tage from backstage. I throw him a smile. “Everyone, please welcome that super cute guy I crashed into, the guy I could not imagine my life without, my new husband, Mr. Cole Grant.” I stretch my arm out to welcome Cole onto the stage as the noise from the crowd reaches fever pitch.

  His guitar slung across his back, he saunters onto the stage, still wearing that jeans, T-shirt, and boots combo that works so well on his athletic frame. He flashes the audience his thousand-watt smile, the one that still makes me go weak at the knees, even after two years of being in one another’s lives. He reaches my side, and my belly does the flip it always does when our gazes lock. “Hi there, Kermit,” he says into my ear before kissing me on the cheek.

  “Glad you could make it, Tennessee.”

  Not interested in fame, Cole only agreed to join me on stage tonight because it was such a special concert for me, well, for us. As talented a performer as he is, he prefers to stick to song writing, which he’s been doing a lot of—with me as well as for a host of singers around the globe. He’s carved out a new career for himself, and like his new wife, he’s making a living from what he’s passionate about.

  Cole being here with me tonight—where it all began and nearly ended for us—is the massive cherry on top of my fully iced cake. And I adore him all the more for it. Not that I thought that was humanly possible.

  “Thanks for having me,” Cole says into his mic to fresh cheers from the audience. He strums a few chords on his guitar. “This is a little song we wrote together. It’s called Eternal.” His eyes flash to mine and we share a private moment. We wrote the words of this song about us. It’s our song.

  Our love, eternal.

  The slow beat kicks in and I nod along. Cole begins to strum the soulful melody on his guitar, a country ballad like the one he played at the open mic night at The Mandolin. That night when we first kissed. He sings the opening line, his gaze on me. I stand listening to him, watching the way he performs so naturally, with an instant confidence I have to fake every time I step foot on the stage, until I become lost in my music.

  As we sing, we gaze at one another, and I feel such a swell of love for the man at my side, it could take my breath away. As he reaches out and takes my hand as he sings the word “eternal,” my throat tightens and my eyes become wet.

  At the end of the first verse, we sing the chorus, our voices melding perfectly together as they have the countless times we’ve played this song together, just him and me. We’ve only performed it publicly once before. It was in Nashville last month, watched by Cole’s family: his mom, his cousin, and her kids. Rex was there with his wife, Letitia, lurking backstage, and I could tell by the way he greeted Cole afterwards he was deeply proud of his son. If he had his way, Cole would be his musical “heir,” as he always put it. But he respects Cole’s decision to keep his passion behind the scenes where he can cherish it as his alone.

  As the song draws to its last notes, I step into him and we wrap our arms around one another, holding tight. “Thank you,” I say into his ear. I know being in the spotlight is not his choice, and I know he’s doing this for me.

  “For you, Kermit, anything.” His smile is warm and cheeky, and the happiness I’ve known every day since that night when Cole walked back into my life on the Brooklyn Bridge radiates through me.

  I turn and thank the audience for a wonderful night, and together, Cole and I leave the stage, hand in hand, to uproarious applause.

  We’re still on a high when we reach the new condo in Downtown Manhattan that we bought after our beautiful, small, and very private spring wedding in Tennessee. No media, no stepmonster, and the most exquisite pair of sandals on my feet—a new pair Cole bought me to symbolize our love.

  And he says he’s not a prince.

  “Did I mention you knocked it out of the park tonight, Kermit?” Cole says outside our front door as he pulls me into his warm embrace.

  “You did, but I’m more than open to hear it again,” I tease as I wrap my hands around the back of his head.

  He leans down and kisses me on the lips. “You.” He kisses me again. “Were.” Another kiss. “Incredible, Mrs. Grant.”

  I tell you, a girl could lose her head with all the kissing and compliments. Especially when they’re from Cole Grant.

  “You were, too, Tennessee. Can you believe it’s been two years since we met?”

  “The best two years of my life.”

  The door opens, startling us both. “Oh, there you are,” Raffy’s beautiful face is beaming. “Okay, take five from all this love stuff. You can get back to that later.”

  “Oh, we plan on it,” Cole says with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

  Raffy takes me by the hand and pulls me into the condo where we’re instantly surrounded by our friends and family, congratulating us with hugs and kisses.

  Once we’ve done the rounds and greeted everyone, Izzy thrusts glasses of champagne in both my hand and Cole’s then raises her own. “To Gabby and Cole, a ridiculously cute, talented, and adorably romantic couple who brought the house down tonight at The Garden.”

  “Do we have to say that whole thing?” Raffy says. “How about just ‘to Gabby and Cole?’ Much easier. No offense about the cuteness thing, guys.”

  Cole laughs. “None taken.”

  “To Gabby and Cole,” Dad says with a wink, and I smile at him, my heart brimming over with love. In the two years since Dad’s been back, not only did he kick Sylvia out on her bony ass, but he worked his own ass off trying to make it up to Cece and me. He’s been a loving, kind, and, most importantly, present parent in both of our lives, and when I moved out of the penthouse to be with Cole, I knew Cece was in the best hands she could be.

  “To Gabby and Cole,” the room echoes as they raise their glasses and take a sip.

  As people talk more amongst themselves, I clink my glass against Cole’s and smile up at him. “To you. For saving me.”

  His soft laugh rumbles through me. “I think you’re the one that did the saving, Kermit.”

  “Shall we agree we saved each other?”

  He leans down and kisses me on the lips, and I swear my feet leave the floor. “We saved each other.”

  Because we did. We saved each other. Sure, I was a Cinderella, working like a slave for my stepmonster, insisting loudly to anyone who would listen I was anything but. He was a prince, of sorts, an heir to Rex Randall’s musical kingdom, a title he never wanted. But it was both of us who tried not to fall in love but did it anyway, both of us who had to face our fears to be with the one we loved.

  And that, as they say, is that. Our fairy-tale ending. Our happily ever after.

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you loved Gabby and Cole’s story as much as I did writing it. Giving them their happily ever after felt so good after what I put them through!

  There will be a second book in Fairy Tales in New York series, entitled Manhattan Beauty. It’s a retelling of the classic fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast, and one of The Ellas is Beauty. It’s coming later in 2019, so sign up to my newsletter for updates.

  If you’ve enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and Bookbub. Reviews help other readers find books and they are the lifeblood of us authors. Thank you so much.

  Have you read my other new romance, The Right Guy? Here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter . . .

  Sneak Peek at The Right Guy

  Have you ever noticed there are two types of people: normal, rational thinkers and people who will believe in practically anything? Well, I definitely fall into the rational thinkers’ camp. If you want me to believe something, you’ve got to prove it to me first.

  Leaps of faith are so not my thing.

  I knew someone who went to see a psychic who told her she would meet “the one” and get married within twelve months. Well, she did just that, marrying her Prince Charming with all the usual white wedding fanfare. I know what you’re thinking: so romantic.


  Wait, there’s more.

  What wasn’t so romantic was when her so-called prince got caught banging his assistant in the disabled bathroom at work after just three months of wedded bliss. I mean, you haven’t even unwrapped all your gifts by then, right?

  Now she’s bitter and alone. And do you think she makes huge, life-changing decisions based on predictions from psychics anymore? That would be a big fat no.

  True story.

  So, when I find myself standing outside a tent at Fisherman’s Wharf one gorgeous San Francisco Sunday morning, a sign declaring Kosmic Kandi, Psychic written in looping text above the entranceway, my eyes are already rolling before my best friend even opens her lip-glossed mouth.

  “Come on, girl. Give it a shot.” Ashley’s eyes sparkle as she places her hand on my arm. “It’s just for fun, even if you don’t believe any of it.”

  “Which I don’t.”

  “I know, Taylor. We all know.”

  “You first,” I counter.

  She shakes her head. “If I go first, you’ll find a way to get out of it.”

  She knows me too well. Dammit.

  I throw a critical eye over the tent. “Seriously, Ash, her name is Kosmic Kandi,” I point at the sign, hoping she will see some sense, “with Ks.”

  I didn’t take a pay cut to join my dream recruitment agency as an assistant consultant to go wasting my hard-earned cash on the likes of someone called Kosmic Kandi. And anyway, why did my best friend have to be a sucker for this sort of thing?

  I open my mouth to respond when a peal of laughter catches my attention. I glance over to see a young girl out with her mom. They’re laughing together, having fun. A pang of sorrow worms its way across my chest, the love between the two obvious to anyone who cares to look.

  I shift my weight, pressing my lips together. “Let’s just go get a burger, ’k? I’m starving.” I know how much Ash loves Joe’s Burger Joint. Sunday lunch at Joe’s is a long-standing tradition of ours. Now, she’s wrecking it all by marrying Tim.