Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(69)

Grace nods, still looking miserable. And I haven’t yet delivered the news she really doesn’t want to hear.

“Given enough time,” I tell her, “I imagine you’ll fade from my memory in the same way.”

Her shoulders roll forward with the blow, telling me everything I need to know.

Everything I knew already.

Grace is terrified of loving me. But she may still love me.

God, I hope she loves me.

“Gracie Lou, I need you to hear me.” I want to touch her so badly I have to ball my fists at my sides to keep from doing it. She stands rigidly before me, afraid of what she thinks I’m going to say.

My girl bravely meets my eyes like she’s facing a firing squad. But she’s got it all wrong.

“I don’t want you to fade. I never want to forget the exact way you look when you say my name.”

Her expression softens.

“I don’t want any part of you to blur in my memory—not your beautiful face or when you wear your hair curly. I never want to forget what you feel like against me when we dance.” I swallow around a thick lump of anxiety and add, “I never want to forget the way it felt when you told me you loved me.”

Her eyelashes flutter and she sucks in a shaky breath.

“Davis,” she whispers.

“Like that.” I take her purse, freeing her hands in case she wants to touch me. “What I should have told you the other night was that I don’t accept the terms of the breakup. What I did instead was believe you when you weren’t telling either one of us the truth.”

Please, God, let me be right about this.

“I’m not risk averse, Gracie. I’m a betting man. I’ll venture to guess you regret saying goodbye to me.”

“I…” she starts, then has to lick her lips to continue. “I don’t want a Mark.”

“I’m glad. I don’t think I can be Mark.” I smile cautiously. We’re not out of the woods yet.

“Grace? Do you need me to kick his ass out of here?” comes a raspy call from behind me.

My two minutes must be up.

Grace doesn’t take her eyes off me when she answers Candace with a “Not yet!”

That’s a good sign.

“I lied to you.” Grace’s voice is small. I can barely hear it over the bar racket. It grows smaller still when she all but mouths the words “I love you.”

Those tears—now those are beautiful.

“I lied to you too.” I thumb away one tear as she steps into the circle of my arms. I lower my lips to her forehead. “That wasn’t your last chance.”

She wraps her arms around my back and squeezes. I hold her to me and damn, she’s perfect. Like she was molded to fit against me.

My eyes close and I breathe in her scent. Cinnamon and flowers or vanilla and amber. Hell, I don’t know. She smells like Grace. She smells like mine.

“Davis?” She lifts her face to mine.

“Yeah.”

“No more blondes, okay?”

I chuckle as I take her face in my hands. “I love you. Only you. Unless you change your hair color, there aren’t going to be any more blondes in my future.”

She smiles and I smile, and when neither of us looks away for a very long time, I know we’re going to be okay.

We’re back.

Bigger and better than ever.





Epilogue


Davis


My shoes are filled with powdery white sand as I watch the end of a long, white runner for Grace to appear.

The eighty-degree weather makes Cancún a welcome destination in February, but even so, sweat prickles my brow. I’ve been in a frighteningly similar situation before—at the end of the aisle, waiting for a woman to advance toward me.

But this is Gracie we’re talking about. She’s not going to let me down.

The music swells and she steps out of the resort’s main building and glides toward me like she’s walking on air. Grace is like a living, breathing flame.

Her smile is a million watts, her bouquet shades of robust red matching her hair, and her bridesmaid dress a deep rust-orange. Ruby lips part to smile and she winks at me. From my seat in the second row on the bride’s side, I wink back.

Roxanne and Mark kept their wedding party small, but an impressive twenty-some friends and family members were able to make the trip on short notice.

One other bridesmaid follows behind Grace, but my eyes never leave my girl. She maneuvers to the front and stands, creamy shoulders bare, her hair curled and pinned close to her head, her smile genuine.

She’s happy for Roxanne.

But also: She’s just plain happy.

I’m happy. We’re happy.

Grace’s father passed away last month. I was there for her at the funeral and afterward. When she grieved, I held her. Even then I didn’t doubt that she’d find her happiness again. She went to a few lunches and several coffees with Raphael Buchanan. He made his peace, and she accepted him for who he was. It’s all any of us can ask.

Roxanne makes her bridal debut to the tune of a Red Hot Chili Peppers song in lieu of the traditional “Wedding March,” and I have to smile. The crowd applauds, and then they applaud again when Mark kisses his bride.

After the formalities, when the guests have filtered to the reception area farther down the beach, Grace wraps her arms around my neck, compliments my beach-inspired linen suit, and thanks me again for coming with her.