“Do you hate it?”
She snorted, pulling back to look at him. “I can’t believe you remembered all this.”
“I remember, Chloe.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “I’m ten years too late, I know, but I’ll make up for lost time. We can make this happen. You deserve it.”
“My own bakery,” she mused, looking around again. “Yellow Daisy Bakery.”
“It’s a disaster area now, but can you see it?”
Her silent contemplation took a few years off his life.
“I can see it,” she finally said, her smile encouraging. Then her mouth quirked. “But I can’t smell it. We’re gonna need an air freshener. And a big dumpster.”
He felt optimistic for the first time since those lights and sirens.
“Does this make you my landlord?” She tugged on his shirt, dragging him closer. “Because I have no money for rent. I can pay you in baked goods or sexual services.”
He’d take both.
“We can barter,” Jameson said instead. “I need a place to live. You have a house I’m partial to. How do you feel about sharing Maine Lane and the Yellow Daisy Bakery?”
“Hmm, are you willing to do maintenance?”
“I’d be happy to check your oil every night.”
Her blue eyes sparkled, and she smiled broadly. “I’ll agree to that.”
“How about meals? You wanna share those too?”
“Lobster rolls, double cheeseburgers, and pink champagne?” When he nodded, she winked at him, flirty and fun-loving. “Then, hell yeah, Jamie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She raised a brow, her smile knowing. “Goodbye guy?’
“No longer applies.”
Grabbing his hand, she threaded their fingers. “Well, what should I call you, then?”
“Husband,” he said, suddenly serious. Suddenly nervous. “Share my last name, and call me husband.”
Shock replaced her smile, and he kissed her before she could decline. He’d kiss her until she said yes, no matter how long it took.
But breathing was a real thing.
“Marry me, Chloe.” His proposal, in the middle of a dilapidated building, was long overdue. “Ten years and a shit ton of heartache later, forgive me for being an asshole. Marry me, despite myself.”
When she didn’t immediately refuse, he took heart.
When she didn’t immediately accept, he took a knee. And begged.
“Please. I don’t have the ring yet, but I will tomorrow morning. It’s being sized.”
He had to rush two things before they were ready, thanks to Nico’s shitty timing. The bakery reveal and the ring reveal.
“You are so sexy when you grovel.” She leaned down to kiss him. “I quite like looking down my body and seeing your face.”
“You can have me in this position anytime you want, cupcake.”
“You know if I marry you, you’ll have to call Genevieve Mom.”
Rising up, he gagged, and it had nothing to do with the smell of dead animal carcasses. “If that’s the only way you’ll agree, I’ll do it. I’ll need a shower after each time, and you’ll have to scrub my body with a wire brush, then hold me while I cry, but . . . okay.”
“How many kids do you want?”
He looked around. “A baker’s dozen, silly.”
She laughed shortly. “Not this baker.”
“The first kid turned out pretty great. We make beautiful babies.” He ran a finger down her nose, fully aware she’d yet to say yes. “The next ones will come when they come, but marry me first so I don’t have to physically fight Graham. Sound good?”
“Oh, my God!” Her face lit up with surprise. “That’s why you brought champagne last night! You wanted to celebrate the dive shop?”
“Don’t forget this piece of shit,” he deadpanned, circling a finger in the air.
“It was a good celebration too.” Her cheeks pink, she grinned. “Even if I didn’t know why we were celebrating.”
“Are we gonna have anything to celebrate tonight?” he asked impatiently. “’Cause you haven’t said yes yet.”
“Can we have the ceremony on the grounds of Maine Lane?”
“Of course.”
“Can I have bath bombs in the shape of purple penises at my bridal shower?”
“Who am I to keep you from your sex toys?”
Her eyes got all misty, and she nodded. And said the words he’d not heard from her in ten long, lonely years.
“Each for the other. Two against the world.”
Three Years Later
The walls were pistachio.
A putrid shade of green appropriate for a hospital, but not the specific ward she’d been admitted to.
Here going on forty-eight hours, she’d felt every laborious one of them, but already Chloe Morgan loved the color pistachio.
Not as much as she loved him, of course.
“Or you,” she whispered, looking down at the precious bundle in her arms.
Pistachio was a color she’d changed her opinion on. Might even paint the powder room in Maine Lane the same shade.
Wincing in pain with every shift and slide, she sat up straighter in the hospital bed. Propped the pillows behind her.
Stared at the closed door in front of her.
Willed him to open it. To walk through and whisk them away. Never let them go.
A few minutes later, he did.
“Got it,” Jameson said, holding up the thin box. “I can’t believe I forgot it.”
“Well, our boy did surprise us by showing up two weeks early.” Smiling, she lay the newborn on her lap. “And in about four hours.”
A blessedly quick labor with no drugs.
She wanted to remember it. Everything.
Carefully lifting the lid off the box, Jameson pulled out the thin receiving blanket, thirteen years old. Pre-washed, of course, in preparation for bringing their newborn home, he’d folded it with precision and placed it back in its original box.
Shaking out the soft cotton, little yellow daisies dotting it, they wrapped their second child in their first child’s blanket. A connection between brothers, via a shared gift from their father.
“You did good, cupcake.” Jameson kissed her forehead, his gaze barely leaving the face of his newborn son. “We did good.”
Good was an understatement.
Life was better than Chloe ever imagined. Thanks to a team of employees, Something Borrowed was in full swing, Maine Hardware was bustling, and Montauk Dive Shop thrived. And the Yellow Daisy Bakery drew visitors from miles away—all to enjoy the baker’s specialty, bourbon-spiked banana chocolate muffins.
Genevieve stopped by often, but the baker was always unavailable. On occasion though, Chloe offered a brief hello, to which her mother was genuinely grateful. Forgiveness was a process.
And speaking of the bakery, there was a batch of gourmet cookies shaped like machine guns in the cooler, awaiting the arrival of the newest Maine.
A beautiful baby boy who looked so much like his big brother it brought clogging emotion to Chloe’s throat.
“He’s like Johnny’s twin. They look so much alike it takes me right back there.” She ran her fingertip along his cherub face, dewy and soft.