Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
After a while, I can’t stand it anymore. I grab her hips, driving up into her, and she gasps, fingers digging into my chest. I flip us, pinning her to the mattress, and she laughs, breathless.
“I thought I was in charge,” she teases.
“Next time,” I promise, and slam into her, over and over, until she’s writhing, legs locked around my waist, nails scoring red lines down my back.
She comes first, body arching off the bed, and I follow, coming so hard I see white.
We lie there, tangled and spent, my face buried in the curve of her neck. Her skin smells like sleep and lavender mixed with something sweet, and I never want to leave this bed again.
Eventually, reality intrudes. Hazel’s stomach grumbles loud enough to wake the dead, and she laughs, embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly.
I roll out of bed, pulling on boxers, and gesture for her to follow. “Come on. Let’s get you fed.”
She tugs on one of my shirts that swallows her whole, the hem reaching mid-thigh. My body responds instantly to the sight of her swimming in my clothes. She follows me down the hall, bare feet padding against the hardwood. Morning light floods the kitchen through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything gold as the city stirs beyond the glass. She slides onto a stool at the island, knees pulled up, while I set the coffee brewing and swing open the refrigerator door.
“You want eggs?” I ask, pulling out a carton and some cheese.
“Scrambled,” she says. “Heavy on the cheese.”
I whip up a breakfast that would make my mother proud, plating it with a flourish and sliding it across to her. She digs in, moaning with every bite, and I realize I’ll happily make her breakfast every day for the rest of my life.
We eat in companionable silence, trading bites and sips of coffee. When the plates are clean, I lead her out onto the balcony overlooking Worthington Park. The air is already warm, but there’s a breeze, and the view is perfect—green lawns, the running trail, the glassy blue curve of the river in the distance.
Hazel leans over the railing, mug in hand, eyes closed as she soaks in the sun.
“This is the best morning I’ve ever had,” she says quietly.
“Every morning with you is the best morning ever,” I tell her as I pull her back against my body.
We stand there for a while, listening to the birds, watching the city come alive. I want to freeze this moment, keep it forever, but I know the only way to do that is to make it official. To take the risk.
I reach into my pocket with my heart hammering against the inside of my chest wall.
“Hazel,” I say, and she turns, hair backlit by the sun, face open and unguarded.
I hold out a box. It isn’t fancy, just a simple blue velvet, the kind you’d get at the jeweler on Main Street, but the ring inside is perfect. It’s a platinum band with a large oval solitaire circled by tiny diamonds— elegant and understated, like her.
Her eyes go wide. “Preston,” she breathes, voice trembling.
I go down on one knee and hold it up to her. “I know it’s fast,” I say. “But I love you more than life itself. You’re my everything, Hazel. Will you marry me?”
She stares at me for a second, like her system just crashed and rebooted, and she hasn’t found the words yet. Shock, wonder, and happiness all battle it out on her face. And then her arms are suddenly wrapped around my neck, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe.
“Yes,” she whispers, and it isn’t just once, it’s yes, yes, yes, like she’s trying to tattoo the word onto the moment.
My hands are shaking when I slide the ring onto her finger, and it fits like it was made for her. Which it was.
She kisses me so hard, the world blurs out, and for a second, there’s nothing in the universe but us.
When we break apart, Hazel grins, cheeks flushed, eyes wet.
“Guess we’re really doing this,” she says.
“Hell yes, we are,” I answer, and pull her in for another kiss.
The world kind of blinks out around us, and I realize I’m right where I want to be. I’m not sure life could get any better than this but we’re going to give it a try.
EPILOGUE: HAZEL
SIX MONTHS LATER
In the hour before sunset, our new apartment glows. The floor-to-ceiling windows, Preston’s pride and joy, turn the open concept living space into a lightbox. Outside, the city is peachy and bright; inside, it’s exactly how I envisioned it.
There’s a giant sectional couch in the center of the room, deep blue and so soft it basically begs you to nap on it. And I have. Multiple times. With and without pants. Preston picked it out, while I chose all the funky, vintage throw pillows that cover it. There are also a couple of plush armchairs and real live plants everywhere, because Preston read one article about air quality and went wild at the garden store.