by B. Cranford
Something they both had wanted for so long, and hadn't believed could happen for them again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brighton moaned into the kiss, the feel of Sebastian’s hands on her butt making her entire body sing.
It felt good. It felt right.
They had a long way to go, but they were on their way, and they were headed to wherever life took them together.
Right then, though, it appeared life wanted to take them to a bedroom, their hands becoming ever more insistent, as Brighton snuck hers up the back of Sebastian’s shirt after pulling the button-down out of his pants. He’d discarded his jacket sometime between leaving her apartment and waiting here for her to decide what she wanted.
The feel of his warm, strong body under her palms made her moan a second time, and it was then she knew she had to break the kiss or else their new neighbors would be getting a free show.
That’s one hell of an introduction to the neighborhood.
She removed her hands from Sebastian’s back, moving them to cup his face, applying enough pressure to break their lips apart. Panting, she held up the key and nodded toward the house, words failing to form on her kiss-swollen lips.
Sebastian appeared to be afflicted with the same absence of words and simply nodded, before grabbing her hand and leading her up the two steps that led to the porch and the red front door. There he kissed her again, a swift, barely there brush of lips, because they both knew that if it was any more than that, they wouldn’t make it inside.
Brighton kept her eyes on Sebastian, knowing that he was working up to something. “I wanted it to be perfect. For you.” His free hand reached out for hers and he pressed their palms together, turning her slightly so they stood face-to-face, hands joined. “Dad brought me here last night. And I got so wrapped up in planning for our future that I forgot to be a part of it.”
“Seb, don’t. It’s done,” she said softly, reassuring him that they were fine. He was forgiven and so was she. “We’re moving on.”
“We’re moving in, I hope.” They shared a smile, and he began to tell her what had kept him from her the night before. “I wanted to show you what it would be like. I wanted to have at least part of it ready so you could see it and feel it.”
She tilted her head at his words, asking what are you talking about? though she didn’t say the words, instead letting him explain. “I cleaned it up some because, fuck me, two years of dust is a lot of dust.”
A laugh that couldn’t be held in escaped, as she envisioned Sebastian dressed as a French Maid, cleaning away years of dust and neglect.
“Laugh it up. You have no idea.” He laughed along, though, so she knew he was enjoying the moment as much as she was. “Anyway, I fixed a couple of little things, but I didn’t have enough time. And I didn’t have you.”
“Me?” she asked, wondering what he meant.
“You, here, to tell me what you want. So I could give it to you.” He pressed another swift soft kiss against her lips, like he couldn’t bear to go too long without it.
“What I want is to live in my dream house. With my dream guy. But since Chris Pratt is married to that blonde chick, you’ll do.” She laughed as his mouth dropped open. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
“You wound me. I might not be Star Lord, but I can make you say ‘Oh, Lord.’” He let go of Brighton’s hands to air-drum a rim shot, while Brighton buried her face in her hands, helpless giggles escaping her as she marveled at how much had changed in just a few hours. And how cheesy Sebastian was.
That morning, she’d been stressed, worried, doubtful. Now, she was standing on the porch of her house—and how she was ever going to thank Sebastian’s parents properly she didn’t hardly know—laughing at terrible sexual innuendo courtesy of the man she’d once thought she’d hated.
“Goofball. Let’s go in, shall we?” She turned away, still struggling to contain her laughter, and placed the key in the lock.
“I’d love to go in.” Sebastian’s voice was close to her, his warm body suddenly aligned with hers, his chest to her back. She could feel how ready he was to go in, and it made her laughter stop and something else start.
That twinge—the one she’d been startled to experience even when she was so angry with him she could have happily slapped him—was working triple time, pinging through her body like a ball through a pinball machine. She was lit up, her hands starting to fumble as she turned the door knob and opened the front door.
Reaching down to grab one of Sebastian’s hands that lay on her hip, Brighton began to step over the threshold before he stopped her with his words. “It was the best day of my life, Bright, the day I found home again.”
She wanted to blush, expected to feel that familiar rush of blood to her cheeks as she thought of that day in Panera, the day she’d thought of as the worst of her life.
Like Sebastian, she now thought of it as the best. And as she finally took that first step into her house, into their future, she knew it was inevitable where they’d ended up.
Here. Together. Forever.
Epilogue
One year later
The sound of the front door closing startled Brighton out of the Patrick the Panda-induced reverie she’d been in. Turning, she watched as Sebastian strode into the room, not stopping or hesitating as he made his way towards her.
“Bright, I’m home.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he grabbed her from her chair, not caring she was in the middle of working, and began to kiss her like he hadn’t seen her in years when in reality, it had been less than a week.
At their feet, Stormtrooper—Storm for short—their little white cat, with two black markings making him look like he was an evil henchman, weaved his way between their legs. In the background, the sound of claws scrabbling through the house signaled the arrival of Lowe, the dachshund who was Storm’s best friend and greatest enemy.
A few weeks after they'd settled into their new life together, Sebastian had taken Brighton to a nearby no-kill rescue shelter, so they could finally get their pet. She still wanted a cat and he still wanted a dog—a big one—but they agreed to just see what happened. And what happened was Bright fell in love with Lowe the second she saw him, lifting him into her arms and then turning him towards Sebastian, and, in the cutest worst faux-dog voice, begged Seb to bring him home.
He caved. Of course he did, because it was what Brighton wanted. So, while she began the paperwork to adopt Lowe, the whiskey-colored wiener dog named because he was so low to the ground, he wandered over to see a new litter of abandoned kittens.
It was the littlest one, white with black rings around its neck and torso that captured his heart.
Which was how they ended with her dog and his cat, living in their dream house. Together. Finally.
“How was it?” She was breathless from their kiss as she asked, trying to find out if the trip he’d taken with his father to a client’s cabin in the mountains had resulted in new business. A lot of new business, from what she understood.
“Amazing, though not as amazing as being with my North Star again.” Sebastian’s fingers grazed her hip, over the place he knew her tattoo lay, having mapped it time and again with his finger, his lips, his tongue.
He never made love to her without first kissing it or touching it, letting her know that its meaning hadn’t lost any of its sparkle in the year since they’d first got back together.
“I missed you, Bright,” he whispered in her ear as he began to dance them around the room he’d painted for her before they’d moved in together.
It was theirs now. This home that had once been ground zero for their fallout.
Brighton had insisted on having Sebastian added to the deed, a show of trust that had leveled him, and had resulted in several orgasms for her and a certainty that life couldn’t get any better for him.
Unless, of course, she said yes.
He swayed them to the sound of their animals clicking around the room,
finishing up over by Brighton’s favorite rocking chair, which was angled just so, so when she read in the late afternoons she could watch over the small garden in their front yard and laugh at the antics of their neighbor’s four-year-old son who seemed to have an aversion to clothes and an affinity for watering the garden.
Applying just enough pressure to encourage Brighton to sit, he went to his knees before her. Not one, but both, because kneeling before his Bright Star was the very place he knew he belonged.
In a show of solidarity, as though they knew what was coming, Storm and Lowe sat on either side of him, their little bodies still for a change.
She smiled at the three of them in front of her, happiness and trust glowing in her green eyes, and he nearly lost his words, as he so often did around her. “Brighton.”
“So serious,” she teased, raising a hand to his brow to smooth out the furrow that had formed as he tried his best to remain calm.
“I am serious. I’m seriously in love with you.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and drew her hand down from his forehead to his lips, kissing her palm, the tip of each finger, and then placing it over his heart, over his own tattoo. “I’ll never forget what it was like to be without you. How hard it was to get through the days knowing I’d disappointed you, let you down. I vowed then I would never do it again, and that I would do everything in my power to get you back. And keep you. If you’d let me.”
Brighton’s eyes began to fill with tears, as the moment dawned on her. His heart thundered under her palm, beating a rhythm that told the story of their love, of his devotion, of his promise. “I’d really like to know if you’d let me, Bright. Because you’re not just my Bright Star, you’re my North Star, my home, and I was hoping, maybe, you’d be my wife, also?”
His free hand, the one not anchoring her hand to his heart, fumbled in his pants pocket, a quiet, “oh, fuck” making Brighton snicker, before he produced something she didn’t think she’d ever see again.
Her mother’s engagement ring.
“Where did you . . .” She trailed off, looking at the pear-shaped diamond glinting in the late afternoon sun, thinking back to her mom telling her that she’d given it away and her anger at the thought of a stranger wearing her ring. She'd hated being mad at her mother when she’d been sick and getting sicker but Brighton had wanted that ring, a reminder of the love her parents had shared.
A love she wanted for herself.
“When I got the book from her, she gave me this, too. She made me promise I would only ever give it to you, like I’d even consider anyone else. I wanted to tell you sooner, but . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. You kept it. You have it.” Brighton’s mind ran through the facts. The book, the ring, they were both gifts from her mother, given to her via Sebastian, before Rebecca had lost her battle with cancer, but after Sebastian had lost his to addiction. And yet . . .
And yet, he held them both back. Despite their value, despite his addiction, he hadn’t gambled away this part of her past, instead waiting until they were both ready, and giving them back to her.
“Is that a yes?” His brow furrowed deeper still, as Brighton realized she hadn’t officially said yes, yet. Lowe yipped, Storm purred and Sebastian held his breath.
She nodded fervently, a smile forming on her lips. “That’s a yes. I’m betting on us, Seb.”
“It’s not a bet, Bright Star.” He slid the ring onto her finger, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss. “It’s a sure thing.”
Acknowledgments
Okay, wow, I never really thought I’d be writing this part of a book. It’s quite daunting—and exciting—because there are so many people that helped make this possible.
(I feel a little like I’m about to give an Oscar speech… Weird, right?)
Charles, I love you. Nearly eleven years of marriage, and I’ve only considered locking you in the closet (okay, out of the house… same diff) six, maybe seven hundred times. Pretty sure we’ve nailed this matrimony business. Thank you for always supporting me, and for our two babies. Damn, those kids are cute.
Mum and Dad, Lauren and Evan. I miss you all so much. Let’s all hope enough people are interested in my book that I can come home for a visit soon, because it’s been far too long. Mum—thanks for reading this (let’s just pretend there were no dirty bits, that I didn’t giggle outrageously) and for making sure I didn’t mess it up too much. There is no-one I trust more than you, you are a GDFL.
My mother-in-law, Linda. I know a lot of people complain about their in-laws but I couldn’t have done this without you taking my children off my hands, spoiling them and sending them home exhausted. And for the multitude of other things you do for me, and for us.
Jess, it’s been three years since we awkwardly started chatting on Facebook and now I feel weird if we go longer than a day without contact. I love you.
Macey, I’m so glad you started KUBR, because that’s what brought us together. Well, that and Kate Canterbary. I can’t imagine not calling you my friend. Thank you for reading as I wrote, and for my cover. It’s almost as beautiful as your heart.
George, Karen and Shelly, my beta readers and, more importantly, my dear, dear friends. You read my words and encouraged me to keep going. You bolstered my confidence that I could do this, and you gave me all these amazing suggestions and ideas for making it better. Thus, if it’s crap, it’s basically your fault. Thanks a lot.
Missy, Editor Extraordinaire and Little Spoon. ← Official title. You’ve read so many versions of so many things, and you’ve always guided me in the right direction. Also, you’re an expert cuddler.
Becca, my Charlie; Bianca, my bestie who introduced me to Nalini Singh and romance; Lisa, my most adorable (and only) SW; and the following groups of women: the Back Deck Mafia, the Delta Beta Squad, and Boo You Whores. (It’s faster to name the chats than the people, but each and every one of you is loved. If not by me specifically, then by someone else, I’m sure.) What would I do without the unending support and love I get from you?
Sawyer Bennett, Brooke Blaine, Kate Canterbary, ES Carter, Ella Frank, KP Haigh, Beth Michele, Melanie Moreland and, ahhh, all of the incredibly talented women who write and inspire me, who listen and advise, who support and care. Who help selflessly. I adore every last one of you.
Kylie McDermott, my fellow Aussie. If not for GMB, I would still be on the other side of this crazy, remarkable book world. Thank you for teaching me. For bringing me into your blog and giving me friends and books and support. And for hosting my promo—you are the guru.
Bethany, Laurie, Linda and Sarah, and all of the bloggers and PR girls, you guys rock my world. Seriously.
Everyone out there who bought or borrowed The Brightest Star, including the two friends of my Dad who he said he’d make read my book, THANK YOU!!
And finally, to anyone out there battling mental illness, I know what it’s like in the dark, and I know that it is possible to find a way; just look for the brightest star.
(The orchestra is officially playing me off now, so if I am forgetting anyone, I’m so sorry. You have NO IDEA how sorry.)
About the Author
B. Cranford is a proud Australian living in the USA, a lover of books, breadsticks and bed, and the mother of two children who are far too similar to their father for her liking. A lifelong reader, she dove into the romance genre on the recommendation of her best friend and hasn’t looked back since. After three years as a blogger, she decided it was high time she finally finished one of the 12,002 books she’d started writing, and the end result was The Brightest Star.
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