But besides the communicating, she’d jumped right in when we’d arrived two days before, teasing and joking, cooking—more than just blueberry pancakes—and sharing set secrets with Colleen and my mom.
In many ways, she was unrecognizable from the woman I’d known over the years.
And yet, she was the same.
Just . . . freer.
I nipped her ear and reached past her to grab the now naked potatoes, bringing them to my cutting board and cutting them into smaller chunks as my mom had ordered. Then into the pot they went. The turkey was done and cooling on the counter, the stuffing crisping in the oven, corn and bean salad on the table, along with rolls, and a side of tortillas Eden had insisted on making because she’d perfected the process.
She brought me the last potato when she finished it, which I cut and put into the pot.
Now finished with our assigned jobs, I snagged her hand and tugged her out into the backyard. My mom, elbow deep in pie crust, gave me a knowing look as we went.
Knowing because she knew what was in my pocket.
What was burning a hole in my pocket.
“Everything okay?” Eden asked.
I tucked my arm around her and guided us over to the steps, sitting down and tugging her into my lap. “I’m good. Just wanted a moment alone with you.”
“A moment away from your family and the risk of you wearing that red, curly wig?”
“It doesn’t go with my complexion,” I deadpanned.
She laughed, rested her head on my shoulder, but didn’t press me further.
We’d had a lot of moments like this over the last months, quiet and still, enjoying each other. Though, they were usually bookended by cameras—on set and on the street—and yelling—by fans or directors or paparazzi—but eventually, we always found our way back to quiet.
“Here,” I said, reaching into my pocket and dropping the contents into Eden’s palm.
Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open in surprise when she saw the dough I dropped into her hand.
Reasonably so, since it was out of left field.
“Um.” She squeezed it lightly. “Is there a reason you’ve given me raw tortilla dough?”
I kissed her neck. “Not tortilla dough.”
She spun to face me. “What?”
“It’s pizza dough.”
Her brows pulled down. “Still not making sense, baby.”
“It’s Thursday,” I said.
“Yes, Thanksgiving typically does fall on a Thursday.”
Those brows came up.
“It might be Thanksgiving, but it’s still Pizza Night.”
I saw the moment it clicked on her face, green eyes warming, her shoulders shaking, arms wrapping around me, lips pressing to mine. I kissed her for long minutes, but when we broke apart for air, I took her hand with the dough in mine and brought it between us.
“You’re supposed to look inside.”
“Look inside the ball of dough?”
I nodded.
One red brow lifted. “Are balls of dough known for containing surprises?”
“This one is.”
She glanced from me to the dough then back again.
Sighing, I took it from her and tore it open . . . to reveal the ring inside.
Her breath caught. “Damon?”
“I love you, Eden,” I said. “And I want to marry you, but if this is too much too soon, we’ll shove it back into the ball of dough and keep it for another Pizza Night, one far into the future, one when you’re ready.”
“You’d put it back?” she asked, eyes serious.
I nodded, gut clenching. With everything going so well, I hadn’t thought this would be too soon . . . but we hadn’t even been dating a year and had been apart some of that. Not to mention her past.
“Yes,” I said, stomach clenching. “I would.”
“Because”—a shuddering breath—“this is a lot and—”
Mischief.
Creeping across green eyes.
I would have missed it if I didn’t know her so well.
“Eden.”
She giggled.
“I think I’d better put it back.” I reached for the dough, started to fold it back around the diamond ring.
She gasped. “Don’t you dare!”
I stood, dumping her onto the step next to me. “Nope. You don’t want it and—”
Eden lurched off the deck and into my arms. “Stop, Damon. Don’t get any more dough stuck in that gorgeous diamond setting. I want it. I want the ring and the Pizza Nights and I want you.”
My heart leaped.
Her fingers brushed my jaw. “I love you so much and want everything I never dreamed I’d have.”
I tossed the dough aside and slipped the ring on her finger. “I want everything with you, too,” I told her. “I want our Pizza Nights and to keep finding ways to slip you away from set to sneak in a kiss. I want FaceTime and in person time and to hold your purse while you stand in front of the cameras capturing you in a beautiful dress at your premieres. But most of all, I just want you in my arms, as much as possible, for as long as possible.”
She smiled. “I want that, too, Damon.” A beat as her lips lowered to mine. “But sometimes I might wear pants.”
“Well, I’ve already established that your ass looks amazing in pants, so I can deal with that.”
She smacked me lightly.
I cupped her cheeks.
Then I kissed her.
And kept on kissing until Colleen threatened me through the kitchen door with that curly red wig again.
Eden giggled as she broke away, tugging me toward the house.
“Can’t have that,” she said as we went. “That’s special for Christmas!”
Green eyes warm with laughter, with happiness and hope. Armor hung up on pegs.
The past. The present. A new family. A bright future.
Eden finally had it all.
And she’d given it all to me.
Epilogue
Part Two
Maggie
My cell vibrated just as the minister declared, “You may kiss the bride.”
Slipping out of my chair as Eden and Damon locked lips, but before they vacated the altar, I sprinted down the aisle and toward a tree, hustling behind it.
Only five people were currently on Do Not Disturb.
Eden—who was otherwise occupied.
Three additional equally important clients. All of who were either in attendance—and Pierce and Artie were not likely to be on the phone as they watched the bride and groom get hitched—or on the opposite side of the globe—and Talbot was probably sleeping.
The last was my father.
Who never called unless something was on fire, someone was bleeding out, or an asteroid was heading toward the planet.
I glanced at the screen, not realizing how much I’d been hoping it was Talbot with some earth-shattering crisis until I saw “Dad calling” flashing across the surface. “Shit,” I muttered, swiping a finger and bringing it up to my ear. “Hi, Dad. Everything okay?”
“It’s not Dad.”
Hot then cold. Goose bumps on my arms. The past shoving its way firmly into my present, because his voice was ice and it broke my heart.