Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
All the tension drains from her body, and she leans in, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me. Jaymes isn’t the girl of my dreams. I never allowed myself that luxury.
She’s the girl who has taught me how to dream.
I don’t know what to say about her father. Fear of saying the wrong thing has a choke hold on me.
Her delicate hands frame my face; residual tears cling to her eyelashes. “Why is the date and hotel address on the bottom of my shoes?”
The rapid subject change draws a laugh from me. I glance over my shoulder at said shoes. “Will thought you’d want something to commemorate the day you lost your shoes so you could find me. He’s an idiot.”
“That’s so romantic.”
I roll my eyes.
“Do you think Mrs. Wilke will be my matron of honor?”
This. Woman.
How does she do it?
How does she open her heart so wide it can encompass the grief of losing her father and my need to breathe—my need to escape the gravity of the moment?
Not much brings me to tears, but Jaymes Andrews owns my emotions. She knows me better than anyone, including myself. And it has nothing to do with “getting to know me.” She simply gets me.
“I haven’t asked you to marry me. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” She remains statuesque, silently calling my bluff.
“I don’t have the ring,” I say, knowing that I’m going down. I know it. She knows it. But I think she’d be disappointed if I rolled over too easily.
She blinks. That’s it—a single blink.
I grin.
Her soft lips twitch into their own tiny smile, and her thumb slides along my cheekbone.
“For the record,” I continue, “I was coming to get you before I knew you were in town for the weekend. I didn’t consciously know it, but that beating thing behind my rib cage knew it. So we’re not giving Will credit for everything.”
The sparkle in her eyes shines a little brighter the longer I hold out. All she’s giving me is a knowing grin.
I can’t let her win. I’ll propose when I’m ready.
“I don’t know the moon cycles. I’m going to mess things up. I think I’ll be a good father, but we don’t even know if my testicles can be fixed.” Now I’m just grasping.
She breaks form just to give me a slow, reassuring nod.
“But I’m him.” My fingertips stroke the back of her neck. “When the world’s most fascinating woman stops by my work on a random Wednesday and offers me sex, I’m him. I’m the guy who will drop everything to have sex with her.”
My confession threatens her composure as she rolls her lips between her teeth to hide her smile.
I turn my head so her palm brushes my lips, and I close my eyes and kiss it. Fuck it. She wins.
“Be my wife, Jaymes Barbara Keane Lanette Andrews.”
When I open my eyes, more emotion fills hers.
I ghost my lips over her mouth and whisper, “I will love you like a hero. Jump without looking back. I will fight for you. I will save us.”
Her soft laugh comes out as a tiny sob. “You’re him.” She kisses me. “You will always be him.”
Epilogue
JAYMES
Ten days ago, Dwight Keane left this earth to reunite with his wife and the unborn child he never met. I believe he’s making amends for his mistakes.
I believe there’s life after death.
Today, I’m letting him go in a graveyard of burned trees—thousands of skewers pointed toward the blue sky, memorializing a tragedy while slowly fading into the lush green forest floor.
“You’re not an easy person to find.”
I startle, glancing over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?” I barely have a voice. “You’re supposed to be at the Kinney Park fire.”
Fitz retrieves a water bottle from his backpack and takes a long swig. “I heard your father died. Why didn’t you text me?”
Staring at the jar of ashes in my hands, I murmur, “I thought it was good timing. You were busy. Nothing needed to be awkward. I could do what I needed, and that would be that.”
He surveys the area, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind while he squints at the sun slicing through the tree skeletons. “Did you know”—he grins, waiting for me to recognize that he’s using my line—“that the cones of certain species of trees need extreme heat to release their seeds? A resin has to be melted for the seeds to be set free. And these seeds grow best in burned soil. Sometimes, for something beautiful to take to life and grow, everything around it has to be sacrificed. All we see is the destruction, but if you wait long enough—if you’re patient—magic happens.” Sticks and crushed rocks crunch beneath his boots while he approaches me.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper.