Chapter Twenty-Three
Mal
Mal’s first event as a published author had been subpar. He’d hosted it, at his mother’s behest, at a local Barnes reflexively, she stepped back, steadying herself with a hand against a shelf
behind her. “Thank you for the flowers. Nice nod to Dusk .”
In response, Jo reached around him for the bouquet on his signing table, snapped off an orange daisy, and tucked it behind
his ear.
“I’m a fan, remember?” she said. Her fingers lingered on the side of his face, brushing ever so softly against his cheek.
“How could I forget?” Mal said.
Jo blinked away, and Mal studied her, fascinated by her shyness. Just hours before, this same woman had snatched a microphone out of his hands to lay claim to him, and not too long before that, she’d saved a man’s life with the efficiency of a soldier. Maybe when they first met, he would have thought that sort of boldness was just in her nature. But Jo wasn’t driven by impulse. She moved with intention.
He realized then that Ezra Adelman didn’t matter. He could try all he wanted. When it came down to who could love her harder,
Mal would not be beat.
“So I’m yours, huh,” he said, tilting her chin up to him.
“If that’s okay with you,” she said softly.
“It is,” Mal said, “but only if you promise to be mine too.”
Jo bit back a shy smile, finally meeting his eyes. “If I’m not too late,” she said. “If you still want me.”
Mal dropped his forehead against Jo’s, stifling a snort. He’d wanted her since the moment he’d perceived her. Since the second
she’d taken his hand to shake.
“Always,” he said, and when he kissed her, it felt like breaking through a finish line, like diving into the deep end and
coming up for the first gulp of air.