Chapter 46 Amelia
amelia
. . .
When I wake, the first thing I register is heat.
Maverick.
He’s sprawled half on top of me, his face buried in the curve of my neck, one arm flung across my stomach as if he’s guarding me even in his sleep. His hair is a mess, his mouth open, soft snores puffing against my collarbone.
I’m about to close my eyes again when movement catches at the edge of my vision.
I blink. Then blink again.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, trying not to laugh.
Rex, my grumpy, naked little gremlin of a cat, is perched proudly on Maverick’s broad back. His tail flicks lazily, and he’s actually purring. Purring.
I slap my hand over my mouth, muffling the laugh bubbling up, then shake Maverick’s shoulder. “Baby. Wake up. You have to see this.”
He groans, voice muffled against the pillow. “If you’re trying to seduce me awake, dollface, it’s working.”
“No, idiot, look!” I whisper-shout, jabbing my finger toward his back.
He cracks one eye open, confused. “What?”
“Don’t move, Oh my god, look.” I grin, eyes wide, pointing again.
He shifts slightly, glancing over his shoulder, and then freezes.
The second his brain processes the wrinkly, alien-looking creature perched on him, his entire body tenses. He lets out a muffled scream into the pillow. “What the fuck—Amelia!”
I collapse into laughter, clutching his arm before he can fling Rex across the room. “No, no, don’t move—he’s purring!”
Maverick stiffens. “He’s what?”
“Purring,” I say between giggles, reaching out to stroke Rex’s bony back.
Maverick cranes his neck, his expression horrified. “That thing makes noise?”
I snort, burying my face in his shoulder. “Yes, he makes noise. It means he likes you.”
“Or he’s plotting my death,” Maverick mutters, voice muffled against the pillow. “I swear to God, Amelia, if this thing claws me, I’m drafting a will.”
Rex flicks his tail against the back of Maverick’s head, still rumbling away, and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
“Congratulations,” I manage, wiping tears from my eyes. “You’ve officially been accepted.”
Maverick groans dramatically, his face buried again, but his hand squeezes my hip under the sheets. “This is not how I imagined my Sunday morning.”
I giggle against his shoulder. Rex stands up, yawning, and jumps off Maverick’s back, retreating from the room.
Maverick sighs, “Thank, fuck.” He leans in, smirking against my lips. “Stay here. I’m making you breakfast.”
Before I can argue, he’s already rolling out of bed, tugging on his sweats, and padding downstairs barefoot, humming something off-key.
I smile to myself, stretching across his side of the bed, before slipping into the bathroom.
That’s when I see it.
Folded crookedly and taped to the mirror, a sticky note in his messy scrawl.
Don’t disappear on me, dollface. I’ll hunt you down.
– HR (aka Hot Roommate, aka Your Husband)
My laugh escapes before I can stop it, bouncing off the tile. God, he’s such a troublemaker. But my chest swells anyway, stupidly warm, because this is how Maverick Hayes shows love, loud, ridiculous, and impossible to ignore.
I tuck the note into the pocket of his hoodie hanging on the back of the door and head downstairs, still smiling.
The smell of bacon hits me first, then the sound of him humming in the kitchen. Maverick’s shirtless at the stove, flipping pancakes with dramatic flair, hair sticking up in every direction.
I slide onto a stool at the counter, sipping an iced coffee he made for me. “Do I get a say in breakfast?”
He grins over his shoulder. “Options are pancakes, bacon, or me. Strongly suggest all three.”
Before I can answer, the front door bangs open.
“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Catalina’s voice rings through the house.
Maverick groans. “I knew I should’ve changed the fucking locks.”
Carter follows behind her, muttering, “You didn’t even knock.”
Maverick sets a plate of pancakes in front of me with a triumphant grin. “See, baby? Perfect golden brown. You’re welcome.”
I smirk, cutting into one. “Thanks, baby.”
Catalina leans her elbows on the counter, eyes gleaming. “So…” Her gaze flicks between us like she’s about to detonate a bomb. “Since you two made up…”
I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. “Cat—”
“…are you pregnant yet?”
I choke so hard on the bite I almost die. Pancake crumbs spray across the counter, and Maverick immediately thumps me on the back, sputtering with laughter.
“CATALINA!” I cough, my face flaming.
Carter groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, woman.”
Maverick, of course, is eating this up. His grin stretches ear to ear, dimples flashing as he bites into a strip of bacon. “Well, dollface? Wanna tell them, or should I?”
“Maverick!” I swat his arm, mortified.
Catalina gasps, eyes widening like she just uncovered state secrets. “Wait. WAIT. Are you?!”
I slam my fork down. “NO!”
She narrows her eyes, pointing the bacon at me. “You paused too long.”
“I paused because I was CHOKING,” I snap, but she’s already smirking.
Maverick leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking smug as hell. “Wouldn’t complain if you were. It’d be so fucking hot watching you waddle around with my kid.”
I gape at him. “HUH?”
Carter slams his coffee mug down hard enough to rattle the table. “For fuck’s sake.”
Catalina beams at him, completely unbothered. “Relax, daddy, I’m just saying. They’ve got the newly reconciled glow, and they’re for real married now. Don’t act like you weren’t crawling all over me after our first big fight.”
Oh my God, did she call him daddy? That’s fucked in so many ways.
Carter levels her with a glare, then kisses her anyway, shutting her up in the most Carter way possible.
Maverick gags dramatically, shoving his plate away. “I swear to God, if you two keep slobbering in my kitchen, I’m moving.”
I bury my face in my hands, half laughing, half mortified. “Why do I hang out with any of you?”
“Because we’re family,” Catalina says sweetly, licking syrup off her finger. “And because I’ll be the coolest aunt your kids ever have.”
“You’re staring again,” he says, his grin spreading.
I don’t look away this time. “Maybe I like what I see.”
His head whips toward me like he’s not sure he heard right. His grin falters into something softer, almost stunned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “You’re… good, Maverick. Better than I ever thought I’d get.”
For once, he’s silent. Just driving, jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as if he’s swallowing hard. Then he brings my hand to his lips and kisses it gently.
“Dollface…” His voice is low, rougher than before. “You can’t just say shit like that while I’m driving. You’re gonna make me crash.”
I smile, leaning closer until my shoulder brushes his. “Guess you’ll just have to keep both hands on the wheel, quarterback.”
He laughs, shaking his head, but there’s something in his eyes when he glances at me, soft, worshipful, like I hung the damn stars.
And for once, I let him look. I don’t shy away, don’t cover it with sarcasm. I just let him see me the way he’s always wanted to.
Maverick’s hand never leaves mine. His thumb maintains a steady rhythm over my skin, grounding me, as if he’s memorizing me through touch alone. Every now and then, he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles, the heel of my palm, and even the inside of my wrist until I feel warm all over.
“Tell me something,” he says after a stretch of silence, voice warm but curious.
“Like what?”
He shrugs, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Something small. Something you don’t tell anybody else.”
I hesitate, chewing on my lip, but the truth slips free before I can stop it. “I hate falling asleep without you.”
His head tips slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, eyes on the passing fields. My voice feels too raw, but I force it out anyway. “Because since laying next to you… I don’t have nightmares anymore.”
I finally glance at him. His knuckles are white on the wheel, but his eyes are soft, glinting in the sunlight. Like my words just knocked the wind out of him.
He exhales slowly, dragging our joined hands to his mouth. He kisses the back of mine, once, twice. “Dollface…” His voice breaks a little. “You don’t know what that does to me. Knowing I can give you that.”
My chest aches, a lump catching in my throat. “You do. Every night.”
He squeezes my hand, his backwards cap tilting as he shakes his head, like he can’t believe I just handed him this piece of myself. Then he leans over and presses his lips to my temple, lingering there. “Then you’re never sleeping without me again. Not if I can help it.”
The city engulfs us as we exit the interstate, glass skyscrapers shining in the late afternoon sun. Nashville buzzes with its usual hustle, music pouring out of every bar, neon signs flashing above busy sidewalks, the aroma of barbecue and beer filling the air.
Maverick’s hand stays on mine as we move through the streets.
He’s in his element — tall, broad, with his Mustangs shirt stretched over his shoulders, backwards hat shadowing his grin as he nods politely to those who recognize him.
But his focus never wavers from me. His thumb gently strokes my knuckles, steadying us both.
I tug on his hand. “Are you going to tell me what this surprise is, or are we just going to keep walking until my combat boots kill me?”
He smirks, dimples flashing. “Patience, dollface. We’re almost there.”
We turn down a quieter street, away from the loud noise of Broadway. My brows knit as he slows in front of a tall brick building sandwiched between two shops. Its windows are dark, and the door is locked with a heavy padlock. A faded “For Lease” sign hangs limply in the corner.
My confusion sharpens. “Maverick…”
He digs into his pocket, pulling out a key. My stomach flips.
“You didn’t.”
He shuts the door behind us, slips the key into his pocket, and leans against it as he stares at me. His eyes are gentle, steady, almost nervous.
“Remember that night?” he says softly, walking toward me. “When I dropped the bomb about my fake marriage scheme, and you agreed?
My pulse stutters. I remember. God, do I remember. The way I crossed my arms, chin lifted, spitting terms like it was a business deal. And how I’d added, almost as an afterthought, “Fine. But I get something out of this, too. My own studio.”
My throat tightens as he stops in front of me, pulling his cap off and raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You said you wanted your own shop. A space that’s yours. No strings. No one telling you how to run it. Just Amelia Hamilton, owner of her own damn dream.”
He gestures around us. “Well. Here it is.”
My lips part, but nothing comes out.
“Mav…” I whisper, shaking my head, tears already burning behind my eyes. “The contract, it’s gone. You didn’t—”
“I did.” His voice is firm, no room for argument.
“Because it was never about the contract. Or Maggie. Or any of that fake shit.” He steps closer, cupping my face in his warm hands.
“I got this for you because you deserve it. Because I believe in you. And because when I picture our life together? This is part of it. You, in your studio. Doing what you love.”
The tears break free, sliding down my cheeks.
He brushes them away with his thumb, his voice rough. “I wanted to keep my promise, dollface. Even if you don’t believe me yet, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it. You’re mine. And your dreams are mine too.”
The sob escapes me before I can stop it. My knees weaken, and I stumble against his chest, burying my face in his shirt as he holds me tight.
Because this—this man, this moment, this building—is everything I never thought I’d have again.
And he gave it to me anyway.
I’m still pressed against him, tears soaking into his shirt, when he tilts my chin up with the crook of his finger. His blue eyes are focused on mine, shimmering with something that takes my breath away.
“I left it empty on purpose,” he says softly, sweeping his hand across the wide room. “These walls? They’re yours. Draw on them. Paint them. Cover them in sketches if you want. I want your fingerprints on every inch of this place before it opens.”
My lip trembles.
“And when it comes time to fill it,” he continues, “whatever you want to buy—chairs, machines, paint, lights, hell, even a neon sign that says ‘Hot Girl Ink’—” a small grin tugs at his mouth, “—you take my card and you don’t think twice. You hear me? You want it, it’s yours.”
My heart feels like it’s cracking wide open, too big for my chest.
And then he reaches into his pocket.
My breath stalls as he pulls out the ring, my ring. The emerald cut emerald I gave back to him that night I spewed those nasty words. He holds it between us.
His voice drops to a whisper, “Marry me for real this time, dollface.”
The tears spill faster, hot and unstoppable, down my cheeks.
“You want a big wedding?” he goes on, his thumb caressing my undereye. “I’ll give you the biggest damn wedding Tennessee’s ever seen. You want it small? Just us and a courthouse? Done. Whatever you want, Amelia. Just… just say yes. Because I don’t want fake. I don’t want deals. I just want you.”
My vision blurs, my chest heaves, and my voice breaks as I choke out the only words I can.
“I don’t care about the wedding,” I sob, reaching up so I can cup his face with both hands. “You’re everything I could have ever wanted, Maverick. Your sillyness, your heart, and overall, just you, baby.”
For a heartbeat, he’s still. Then his mouth crashes into mine, desperate and trembling, as if he’s been holding his breath since the day I entered his life and is finally, finally allowed to exhale.
And as he slips the ring back onto my finger, his hands trembling, I know this isn’t fake.
It never was.