by Lauren Runow
“So, the ending to your book,” he says, “she walks into the shop because she knows all of these things, but what does she tell the hero?” He looks to Sydney and winks. “That’s me, by the way.”
I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so damn determined to get this guy to realize how serious I was about him. He’s not making it easy though.
“She could say …” I pause and swallow, looking up to him. Then, I say with conviction, “I haven’t changed my view on if a forever kind of love exists because the past hasn’t been kind. However, I can’t deny how truly, madly, deeply in love I am with you, and I’m willing to lay it all out and see where this love takes us. Because I’d rather be scared and in your arms than safe and lonely because you’re gone.”
His mouth rises in a genuine smile as he lays his hands on the counter and asks, “Is that all?”
Jeez, he’s not going to let me off at all. I have many more things I should say. A thousand things I feel. But I’m wiser than he thinks.
With a lift of my chin, I say, “Then, she asks him to tell her how he feels. I didn’t know what to write, so I thought I’d ask you for some input.”
Seeming intrigued, he nods with a grimace as he looks down. “Interesting. You know, she did break his heart pretty bad. Everyone saw how in love she was with him, except for her.” He turns to Sydney. “Even her best friend was on his side.”
Jake stands tall and slowly walks around the counter. “His sister, however, gave him a task. She told him to read the books. So, he did. He read all of her self-published romances with an open mind, and an open heart.”
“You really read them all?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“I did. Well, the hero did, and he’s exhausted. Stayed up way too late last night, reading the last one. Turns out, his sister was right. The books were an inside peek into what he’d already known. Your past might have hurt you, but it also built you.”
“Then, why didn’t he come back home?”
He stands before me, and I tilt my head up as he gently explains, “It wasn’t to be cruel. It was because it’s what she needed. She doesn’t need a man coming into her life and telling her what she wants. She deserves a man who will let her figure out what she desires on her own.”
My heart leaps, and I bite my lip to control my smile. “She desires him. Enough to get all gussied up in a gold dress and do her hair and makeup because she knows he likes the way she looks in that dress.”
“He has inappropriate dreams about her in that dress.”
“Can we please stop talking in third person?” I ask.
He grins. “Under one condition. Tell me what happens after she professes her love to him.”
“He tells her he loves her right back. And then he comes home.”
“Lacey?”
“Yes, Jake?”
“I love you right back.”
I smile. “Thank God. Because I’m never doing this kind of thing ever again.”
His hands snake around my waist as he pulls me in for a kiss. “Fuck that. Your boyfriend is a romantic, the center of your universe. I expect bells and whistles all the time.”
I grip his hair and yank him closer. “Maybe.”
He leans back, keeping the kiss from my lips.
I relent. “Always.”
“Better,” he whispers against my lips, pressing into them.
We kiss in a flower shop in the heart of Chicago. We kiss in front of a couple who probably doesn’t know what to do with themselves right now. And we kiss for the first time in what will be a very long and devastatingly beautiful love story.
Except this story will never, ever end.
Epilogue
This past year has been an absolute whirlwind. After the release of The Artist, my sales skyrocketed to levels I hadn’t known were possible. I signed the contract with Winston Arms, and the third and final book in my newest series just released.
It’s been interesting, not having complete control of the releases like I did in the past, but the publisher has given me opportunities to reach readers outside of my initial fan base. My back catalog sales have tripled, and I’m closing out the year with the best income I’ve ever had. Plus, my readers, who have been true supporters from the beginning, are beyond happy with the new books. That is the best reward.
Oh, and I made the New York Times Best Seller List so that didn’t suck.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you needed help,” Jake says as he carries another box of books over to my table at the book signing we’re doing.
“Our girl is a ticketed author now.” Charisse nudges me as I grin and sign a paperback for a reader.
Yes, I have both Charisse and Jake assisting me today at the Wisconsin Romance Event. And, yes, I’m a ticketed author. There might be fifty authors at the signing, but two other authors and I have been flagged as hot-ticket authors. I’ve had readers form lines to see me but never so many that they needed a ticket. It’s a bit surreal.
“Why do they need a ticket again?” he asks as he takes a spot next to me.
“Do you see how long this line is? You get a ticket with a number, and when they call your group, you can get in line,” Charisse explains.
I glance around the room, seeing the people waiting in line just to meet me. I can’t believe it.
I’m so happy to have my two favorite people by my side. With over two hundred preorders and the other hundreds of books I brought, I knew I’d need as much help as possible. We have an assembly line going, where Charisse takes the new orders and Jake finds the preorders.
My life has become everything I ever wanted. I have my dream career, my dream best friend, and even more, my dream boyfriend.
“I’d gladly take a ticket for a minute with this one.” Jake kisses my head.
A pretty woman with brightly colored hair steps up to my table with the biggest smile on her face as she grips three of my books close to her chest. “I’m so excited to meet you, Lacey,” she says.
“Hi! I’m just as excited to meet you. What’s your name?”
She sets her books down, so I can see the name tag she was given when she entered the event. “Oh, sorry, I’m Trudy.”
“Do you live around here?”
“I do. And I was so glad when I heard you were coming to Milwaukee. You’re my unicorn author, and I never thought I’d get the chance to meet you.”
“Aw, thank you for enjoying my books. And, yes, this was an easy signing for me to attend, as I only live a little over an hour away.” I pick up the books she put on the table and start signing each one with a quote from the novel.
She makes a gasping sound, and I look up to see if she’s okay.
“This is him, right? This is Jake? The man you used as a muse for The Artist?” she asks, nodding her head and pointing toward Jake, who stands taller, making sure she sees his shirt.
Yes, he is very proud of the shirt he had made that says, Her Inspiration, across the front of it. I can’t help but laugh when I notice him showing it off like a damn peacock.
“I see you follow my social media,” I say as I raise a brow to Charisse.
She’s made it her job to share as much of my and Jake’s real-life love story on my Instagram as she can get away with. I had to hold her back on using a photo she’d found on my phone of a naked florist in a hot tub.
Jake takes the opportunity to lean forward to reach his hand out to shake Trudy’s, who visibly swoons at his Colgate smile and soft-as-satin touch. I turn to Charisse, who laughs as I roll my eyes in fake annoyance.
The truth is, I love how comfortable he is in his own skin. It makes me feel better in my own. Our lives even blend together so easily. I write while he’s at work, and we spend every free minute exploring the city or curling up on the couch, watching a chick flick. We hang out with Charisse and Melody as a couple at least once a week, and he has introduced me to half of Chicago since he seems to know someone everywhere we go. I still need my space though, so I partake in m
y weekly girls’ night and have coffee with my mother. If I’m on a deadline, I’ll park myself at Starbucks for a few hours. Jake says he hates being apart, but I think the space makes him want me more, so it’s a win-win.
I hand Trudy back her books and take a photo with her before saying good-bye and welcoming other readers.
I have my head turned, taking a quick sip of water when, to my surprise, I see my mom standing in front of my table, carrying my most recent book.
“Mom?” I ask, not sure if I’m seeing things clearly.
She grins from ear to ear.
“What are you doing here? Why are you in line?” I ask, looking around like I’m missing something.
She beams with pride. “I’m here to have my daughter’s book signed.” She hands it to me.
“I could have signed it anytime for you. You didn’t have to drive all this way, and you certainly didn’t have to wait in line. My goodness, how long have you been waiting?”
She shrugs. “I wanted to experience the signing. Someone”—she points a finger toward Jake—“thought it might be good for me to witness the fandom for myself. I must admit, hearing the chatter around me of how moved people are by your prose has made it all worth it. It has been … quite an eye-opener.”
“Really?”
“You’ve always been brilliant. I’m just so proud of how many people you’ve touched with your words.”
I stand up with tears in my eyes and wrap my arms around her. “I love you, Mom.”
She hugs me back just as tightly. “You should be very proud of what you’ve created and who you’ve become. I know I am.”
As I step back, I wipe the tear falling from my eye. I’d be remiss if I didn’t give my mom a little credit for the success of the new series with Winston Arms. Complex issues and real-world troubles are woven into these stories. They have heart—and not the overly fanciful kind. It’s the kind that makes you believe that not only does love exist, but inner peace too. My mom showed me that was possible.
“Here, let me take a picture of the two of you,” Charisse says, holding up my phone and motioning to the both of us.
We stand next to each other with huge smiles covering our faces.
I ask her to stay and hang out with us, and before long she’s assisting Jake with the preorders, becoming a great addition to our team. Every once in a while, my mom walks over and rubs my back—her silent way of saying how proud she is of me.
After the signing, we pack up and then exchange pleasantries with the other authors. Mom and Charisse both want to get home at a decent time, so I take the very small box of books we have left after the signing and load it into Charisse’s car to bring back to Chicago before they bid me and Jake goodnight.
When they’re both safe and driving away from the hotel, I turn to Jake, who runs his hands up and down my arms.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home too?” I ask him.
He takes my hand and pulls me into the lobby. “And miss a night in a hotel room with the sexiest woman in publishing? Never.”
“Yes, but you could have a night in the wonderful house in Lincoln Park.” My attempt to persuade him to go home fails.
“My mother is still shocked I convinced you to move in with me.”
“I didn’t just move in. We bought a house. You do realize what this means for my fear-of-failing-relationships heart?”
He pulls me close and kisses me firmly. “That you know this one isn’t going anywhere.” His words are spoken against my lips.
I grin with a shake of my head and follow him into the elevator.
I’m amazed we still want to be with each other every waking moment since we bought the house a month ago. Moving in wasn’t a big deal for us, as we’d basically lived together already. Living next door to one another made it hard to go home. It was just a matter of whose bed we were sleeping in each night.
The first night we had attempted staying at our own places for the night ended with him trying to talk in Morse code through our thin walls. It was cute for a little while, but it only made me want him lying next to me more. A half hour later, we were making love on my living-room floor.
Our leases were up for renewal around the same time. That was when Jake floated the idea about buying a place of our own. I was thinking we’d get a bigger apartment. He had grander ideas. The house is a gorgeous Tudor in upscale Lincoln Park and way more home than I have ever had. I was hesitant and about to say no way until he showed me my office. With built-in bookcases and a picture window overlooking the backyard … I was intrigued. When he told me his idea to have a reading nook built under the slanted eaves … I was sold.
He had a designer come in and work with the two of us to combine our styles. His high-end with my wine-stained one seem to blend together quite nicely.
While I love my house, I’m content with sleeping anywhere as long as Jake’s there.
God, I’m such a sap.
And I love it!
He slides the key card into the door, and we walk into our suite at the Milwaukee Regent. I run to the bed and plop down on it, lying with my arms out wide.
The emotions and feelings running through my body are always intense after signings. It’s like a huge crash from the highest of highs. I was a ball of nerves before, convinced no one would show. Then, they showed, and I was anxious not to disappoint them. I kept a smile and stayed on point for hours, talking to hundreds of people until my throat hurt. My nerves were kept tight, and now that it’s all over, it’s like a whoosh of energy leaving my body. I just want to crash. So, I am. Into the fine thread count of this very fancy bed.
Jake walks over to his suitcase and pulls out a bottle of my favorite cabernet. “Shall I open it?” he asks with a shit-eating grin on his face.
I hold up my arm in the air with my thumb held high as my answer.
He laughs as he taunts, “Come on. You’re okay. You weren’t that busy at the signing.”
I sit up straight in shock. “Not that busy? My wrist has a cramp, which, for the record, I am not complaining about! I just can’t believe how long some people waited in that line. I remember being that reader, waiting to see E.L. James and Colleen Hoover.” I close my eyes, still not able to fully digest how enormous this all was.
Jake sits next to me on the bed, handing me a glass of wine. “You’ve had an amazing year, and readers are literally lining up to read your books.”
I laugh and hit his stomach with the back of my hand at his little joke. Then, my smile fades because as happy as I am, I’ll always feel hesitant in my gut.
“It scares me. The success,” I confess. “The bigger I get, the more people to disappoint.”
“Well, that’s true. You’re always going to have critics. There’s also more people to inspire.”
I stare into his gorgeous brown eyes. “You always know the right thing to say.”
He kisses my lips and then pulls back. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
I smile brightly. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
I lean in to kiss him again, making sure he knows just how much I cherish him. When he pulls back, his grin shows he knows what I meant.
“You knocked on my door and yelled at me for playing music too loudly.” He squeezes my leg and then stands to walk to the table that has the room service menu. “What do you say we blow off our reservations for tonight, stay in, and order one of everything on the menu?” He raises his eyebrows in my direction.
“As long as everything includes a cheeseburger with a brownie for dessert, then I say, that’s a plan.”
“One cheeseburger and a brownie coming up!” He picks up the phone to place the order.
“Really? You’re okay with staying in tonight and not exploring the city? I thought you had a friend who had a friend who owned a restaurant.”
“Tonight’s your night. If you’re exhausted and you want to relax, then that’s what we’ll do. Funny how the nights in become much more f
un than nights out. Plus, I packed a seafoam-green towel I plan to model for you.”
If I didn’t already love this man, his ability to compromise would have me swooning hard for him.
We had plans to eat at a super-fancy restaurant he had been looking forward to, so I’ll make it up to him another night. For now, nothing sounds better than taking a hot bath and lying around in Jake’s arms for the rest of the night. After he models that seafoam-green towel, of course.
When I wake up, it’s to an empty bed. I glance around and find Jake standing next to the window, staring out at the beautiful view around us, as the sun peeks through the curtains.
“How long have you been awake?” I ask as I stretch.
He turns, and I see the long-stemmed rose in his hand.
He slowly makes his way over to me. “Since five.”
“Five? Why? Go back to sleep,” I say, pulling the covers up closer and telling myself the same thing.
“I can’t. I had a dream.”
“Everything okay?” I ask sleepily.
“It was a revelation.” He sounds so prophetic.
I open my eyes and tilt my head in question when he continues, “You said, ‘We don’t get to choose our family. We only get to choose who we love.’ You were wrong.”
I blink my eyes, wondering if I’m still asleep because those words sound very familiar, like I’ve heard them before. I definitely didn’t say them to him though. It doesn’t make sense to my sleep-fogged brain.
Before I can ask for clarification, he continues again, “I didn’t choose to love you. This love chose me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It seeped into my skin every second since until my entire body was consumed. It’s brilliant and scary as hell.”
My eyes open wide as I realize what he’s doing. These are my words. Not from my mouth. They’re words from one of my books, and he’s reciting them back to me.
Sitting up, I stare at him, bewildered. “How do you have my quotes memorized like that?”
His mega-watt grin shines as he takes a step toward the bed.