Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(86)

He waited for her to say something else, to make some kind of move that told him how he should respond. But all she did was stand there looking at him, and the hope he’d felt upon first seeing her started to whither.

“I should probably go back in, then,” he said a little awkwardly. “I came here to see those kids play—I don’t want them to think I skipped out on them after two songs.”

“Right, of course.” She stepped back. “Go ahead.”

“But thanks for coming to talk to me. It means a lot.”

Feeling like absolute shit, he gave her the best smile he could muster, then forced himself to turn away. To head back inside the club.

He never made it. Instead, she threw herself at him so hard he stumbled. And then she was there, pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face nuzzled into his neck.

“I love you,” she murmured into his skin. “I love you and I’m sorry and I want to try again. Please, please let me try again.”

He pulled her away from him—not because he didn’t want her touching him, but because he wanted to make sure he’d heard right. Wanted to make sure she meant what he thought she did.

“Say it again,” he told her, voice hoarse with more emotion than he had let himself feel in a long, long time. Maybe in forever.

She bit her lip, looked at him out of eyes he knew were going to break his heart again and again through the years—in the best possible way. “I said I love you,” Poppy told him. “I love you so much, and I know it isn’t going to be easy. I know we’re going to screw up. But I promise you, no matter what happens, that I’ll be honest with you. That I’ll be here for you. If you relapse, if you decide you don’t want to drum anymore, whatever it is. I promise, I’ll be here. I love you, and if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“Wait.” Suddenly he couldn’t feel his hands. “Wait. Wait just a minute. Are you proposing to me?”

She turned pale under the parking lot lights. “Ummm… Do you want me to be proposing to you?”

“It doesn’t work that way! You can’t answer a question with a question!” he told her, panic and joy and love welling up in him like a crescendo. “Especially not a question like that!”

“Why not? You just did.”

“I did not. I asked— Oh.” So she had been proposing to him. Holy shit. Holy. Shit.

“I know. It’s too soon. And we’re a mess.” She started backing away. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked. Just—”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, sweetheart, but I’m pretty sure there are no takebacks on wedding proposals.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you, the wedding proposal police? Since when have you been so big on rules anyway?”

“Since the woman I am head over heels in love with just asked me to marry her. You don’t actually think I’m going to let you weasel out of it so easily, do you?”

“I don’t weasel out— Wait a minute.” If possible, she turned even paler. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you! You’re smart and funny and kind and warm and beautiful, inside and out. Plus you have amazing taste in music and you love my band. How the f*ck could I not love you?”

“I don’t know. I just—I can’t feel my feet.”

“That’s okay. I can’t feel my hands,” he told her with a laugh.

She laughed, too, at least for a second. Then she sobered up. “No jokes, Wyatt. I can’t take them right now. What does this mean?”

He pulled her into his arms then, cradling her head against his chest as he slowly rocked them back and forth. “It means yes,” he said, right before he took her mouth with his own.



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Acknowledgments

Wow. Just Wow. This book has been a long time coming and I’m so, so grateful to my fans for waiting nearly two years for it. Your excitement for the series—and for Wyatt, in particular—means the world to me. Thank you for giving Shaken Dirty a try and thank you for making the series the success that it is. I love and appreciate every single one of you.

I have to thank Stacy Cantor Abrams, who I adore and who put up with every excuse imaginable from me over the last two years—and whose patience, enthusiasm, and editorial skill finally managed to whip this book into shape.

Thank you to Liz Pelletier for being such an amazing publisher and for sticking with me, and to Jessica Turner for being the best marketing director on the planet (and a great friend, too)!!!!

Thank you to Emily Sylvan Kim, my amazing, wonderful, awe-inspiring agent, who is always, always, always there for me and without whom I would be lost.

Thank you to Emily McKay and Shellee Roberts, the best friends and brainstorming/writing partners a girl could ever have—I don’t know how to thank you two enough for everything you’ve done for me through the years. A special shout-out to Emily for all the whining she put up with during the writing of this book and to Shellee for reminding me all those years ago that “Drummers are always the f*cked-up ones.”