Chapter 50
Fifty
Faye
“Hey, Red?” he asks a long while later.
After my aborted call to Luna, Gray had distracted me, and yeah…
Turns out makeup sex is pretty great.
As was the warmth in his eyes when he propped up the shadow box with my first book near the window in his kitchen.
“Because this is where the dream began,” he told me quietly.
Then because neither of us had slept the night before—Gray because he was in an uncomfortable middle seat on the only flight he could get on such short notice, me because I was reeling from what I thought I’d lost—we’d lazed on the couch, action movies playing in the background as we napped the day away.
Now, our bellies have awakened, so dinner is in the oven and I’m doing what I do best— aside from writing, that is.
Baking.
“Yeah?” I ask, mashing the bananas.
“Thanks for not giving up on me.”
My heart pulses and I turn, weaving my free hand into his hair. “Promise to not give up on me back?”
“Never again, Red.” He brushes his lips over the sensitive spot behind my ear, murmurs, “You’re stuck with me.”
I lean more heavily against him, loving the scent of him in my nose, the feel of his body pressed to mine. “Sound like the perfect place to be.”
We stand there in peaceful silence until the timer goes. Then he pulls away, going to the oven to pull out the tray of lasagna. At the same time, my phone, which I only turned back on a few minutes ago, rings.
Since it’s Luna, I pick up the call. “How dare you—?”
“Hush,” she says.
My formerly spent temper begins to boil up.
“Hush?” I ask. “Hush?”
“Yup.” Her tone is completely nonplussed. “Both of you were about to throw away the best thing you’ve ever had, so yes, hush. I did what I had to do.”
I blink.
Stare at my phone, expecting to hear something else. Like an apology.
Then—when I don’t—I blink again.
“Luna,” I begin. “You crossed a lot of lines.”
“Yup,” she says proudly. “I sure did. And I’d do it again. Because I love you, and you’re my family, and so is Gray, and I do what I have to do for my family.”
I still, fingers tightening around the fork I’ve been smashing the bananas with, her words rushing through me with all the force of a tsunami.
I’m not alone.
I won’t ever be alone again.
My throat tightens, eyes beginning to well up.
“Dammit, Luns,” I whisper, blinking rapidly.
“You both deserve to be happy,” she says, her tone going gentle.
God, I really love this woman.
I sniff.
She sniffs.
“Luna,” I begin, temper gone, love for her welling up. “I need you to know I—”
“Nope,” she snaps, cutting me off before I can tell her what she means to me. “No sappy stuff or you’ll face the wrath of pregnant woman tears.”
I’m smiling.
When a second ago, I wanted to cry, and thirty seconds before that, I wanted to throttle her.
Such is the power of Luna.
Shaking my head at the tiny tornado that is my friend—no, my family—I remind her, “I’m still mad at you.”
“You’ll get over it,” she says flippantly. “Is Gray flying out in the morning?”
“Yeah.” He needs to rejoin the team on the road trip.
“Right. Enjoy him”—her voice turns mischievous—“I’ll let you yell at me again later.”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest. “Deal.” Then before she can hang up, I say, “Luns?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
I grin, somehow unsurprised at the rapid turn of events, thus just shake my head as I hang up.
Because I know she means exactly that.
“Babe,” Gray calls not much later.
“Yeah?” I say distractedly as I serve up lasagna.
“Yeah, want me to open this box for you?”
“Box?” I frown.
“The big one by the door.”
Oh, right. The box Bri brought in for me last night—or the one I hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, anyway.
“Did you do something else exceptionally sweet that’s going to make me cry and curse your name again?”
“No.”
But the way he says that sounds very much like…yes.
I grin.
Such a big, tough hockey player…and such a soft, soft heart.
“You can open it for me, honey,” I say, thinking he probably wants to give me whatever he bought me in person now that we’ve made up. “But then food’s ready, so let’s eat.”
“Got it.”
I hear cardboard tearing.
Then a strange hiss.
“Gray?” I call as I set down the spatula.
Because that sounds…not right.
The hiss grows louder and I hurry into the other room—
Pop!
I blink.
Then do it again.
Hot pink paint has splattered all over Gray and the door and the floor and…
Oh, my God.
There’s glitter too.
Clinging to the paint, coating him practically head to toe.
“What the fuck?” he growls, reaching into the box and pulling out a piece of paper.
One that has him going still as he reads it.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
“Courtney sent this.” A beat. “For you.”
I bite my lip.
Because…seriously?
Leaking manuscripts and planting stories and trying to break down front doors…and glitter bombs that don’t even hit their intended target?
He scowls. “Don’t you laugh.”
“I—”
I try not to.
I really do.
But pretty soon my amusement is bubbling up in my chest, my throat, escaping off the tip of my tongue. “I-I’ll just g-get some p-paper t-towels,” I force out through my giggles. It’s not funny—except it is. A big, sexy hockey player covered in neon pink paint and gold glitter and…
After everything she’s done, is this really all Courtney can dish out?
I turn for the kitchen.
“Faye,” he growls.
“Be right back,” I chirp, still laughing.
A hand lands on my arm.
A paint-covered hand.
“Gray!” I screech as he yanks me into his arms.
But then he’s kissing me.
And then I’m not laughing.
Because he’s pulling off my clothes and he’s using his mouth for things that have absolutely nothing to do with laughter and all to do with pleasure.
And love.
And the understanding that it’s time for us to move forward.
Together.
Later—much later—the rug in the entryway a complete and total loss, our naked—and paint-covered—bodies still intertwined, I call his name.
He trails his fingers through a splotch of paint on my side, making even more of a mess—though I know he’s looking forward to washing it off in the shower just as much as I am—and asks, “What is it, Red?”
I snuggle closer. “I just think this begs the question…what the hell are we going to do about Courtney?”
His eyes come to mine.
And instead of the anger I expect, there’s plotting.
And humor.
And suddenly I understand that in finding myself amongst the ashes and glitter, burned loaves of banana bread and heartbreak, I’ve also found a world that’s messy and imperfect and…so much more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
And better yet?
I have man who proves exactly that with his next words.
“We’re going to sic Luna on her.”
I freeze.
Then smile wide.
Because that’s the most perfect idea I’ve ever heard.