Kiss My Cupcake(88)

I chuckle and bend to kiss her. “And cupcakes. So we’re in this together?”

“There isn’t anyone else I’d rather do this with than you.”

“Let’s go tell Gramps the good news. He’s been hounding me to ask you.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A while.” I’ve thought about it since I won Best Bar. But I started falling for her long before that.

I tug her by the hand and give Lars a covert thumbs-up on the way over to the table where Gramps is sitting. Lars gives me a quick nod and pulls his phone out of his back pocket, speed typing a message.

I survey the booths close to Gramps’s table, glad everything seems to have fallen into place today. Like fate has stepped in once again and thrown something undeniable in my path, forcing me to stop and see what’s in front of me. Or in this case, hugging my arm and practically skipping toward Gramps.

His gaze meets mine, and anticipation churns in my gut. He and I have sat down countless times over the past several months, hashing this out, me questioning whether I’m moving too fast, him telling me I’m moving too damn slow. I’ve been worried about making more changes to The Knight Cap, but he’s assured me that Grams would be all for it. Grams always said it wasn’t about fixing broken things; it was about giving them a lift to make them feel new again.

And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

Gramps pushes out of his chair, a little unsteady, just like me. “So? Do you like the idea?”

Blaire laughs and releases my arm so she can hug him. “I love it. I think it’s perfect.”

He hugs her back and winks at me over her shoulder. “I knew you would.”

When he releases her I step in and give him a hug. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Always, son, always.” His voice cracks, and I feel the emotion rising, the sadness over our mutual loss—first his son, and my father and mother, then Grams. But he gives me a pat on the back, then he takes my hand in his, giving me the last piece of the puzzle. “Now stop stalling.”

I nod once and turn to face Blaire, who looks like she’s on the verge of tears—happy ones, though—and I drop to one knee.

Her eyes flare with surprise, but stay locked on mine as understanding dawns. I’ve taken a lot of big risks today and I’m about to take the biggest one of all.

I smooth my thumb over the worn velvet box, finding strength in it. It isn’t a new ring, but it’s special and it has meaning, because it was my grandmother’s. I flip the lid open, the diamond catching the light, and rainbows dance across the back of my hand and Blaire’s dress.

“Oh, Ronan,” Blaire whispers. Shaking fingers touch her lips and she smiles behind them, even as a single tear tracks slowly down her cheek.

“Blaire, for a long time I didn’t want to fall in love, because the reality of losing someone you love is so hard, especially when you don’t expect it. But this, being here”—I motion to the bar, and all the people in it, watching me take a huge chance on the woman I love—“and meeting you changed everything. You came slamming through that door and you made it impossible not to fall in love with you and your determination and your beautiful, creative mind.” I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. “I want you at my side every day. I want your good days and bad. I want your fight and your warmth and your effervescence lighting up my world. I want your forever. Marry me, please.”

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

I slip the ring on her finger and push to a stand. “She said yes!”

Everyone bursts into raucous cheers as I wrap my arms around her waist. I kiss her, probably longer than is appropriate with the number of people watching. But I don’t care, and neither does she, apparently. We’ve found forever in each other, and now I never have to let her go.

Blaire

6 months later

“One year ago today I stepped in a pile of dog crap.”

My stylist, Frangelica—yes, like the liqueur—meets my gaze in the mirror briefly and smiles. “Oh?”

Daphne snorts and takes another photo.

The cameraman steps to the right, presumably so he can pan in on my face.

“Is this the story of the first time you met?” Tori asks.

She popped in as soon as my makeup was done so she could get a few minutes with me while Fran finishes up with my hair. It’s my wedding day and I’m clearly nervous since it’s going to be livestreamed on Tori’s YouTube channel.

“It is.” I’m about to nod, but remember Fran is working on my hair.

“Oh! I’ve only heard Ronan’s version! I want to hear yours!” Tori claps her hands excitedly.

So I tell her my version, including all the little details, the bang we thought was an earthquake, the broken unicorn glass, the way I lost my ability to speak and string together logical sentences because he was so disarmingly handsome and ridiculously composed. I recall how annoyed and flustered I was, so much so that I stepped in the dog poop I’d marked with a flower and forgot about. Recounting the story helps settle my nerves.

So much has happened in the past year, but the last six months have been an amazing whirlwind. Lars recorded Ronan’s proposal and shared it on social media after I said yes. From there things went a little crazy, especially with the incessant requests from people who wanted to see us tie the knot live.