If that was what needed to happen, I’d do it. Our writing styles would mesh perfectly. “So, Foster & Peabody would be working together to solve crimes and take down bad guys.” I liked the sound of that.
“Foster would be the straight man to Peabody’s comic relief.”
That could be interesting.
He came around the counter to stand next to me. “It would be similar to the collaboration between Williams and Jones.”
“You mean Williams and Anson.”
“No, Williams and Jones. It makes sense, right? To team up to write since we’re already teaming up in real life?”
I pulled him into my arms. “Absolutely. Partners in business, partners in life.”
“Wait. Does that mean I need to sign over half the store to you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You could cover half the expenses.”
I laughed. “I see what you did there, sneaky.”
“What?” His question dripped with fake innocence.
“I’ve seen your spreadsheets. Good thing you love this business because any financial advisor would tell you to board it up and cut your losses.”
“But cutting my losses would only be the easy way out.”
A deeper meaning was behind that statement. He could’ve easily cut his losses with me. But he stuck it out, no matter how much of an asshole I was to him.
When the man got his teeth into something, he did not let go.
Like Onyx and my damn socks.
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
“I want to do whatever makes you happy,” I answered. “If you want to write a series together, I’m on board. If you want to keep doing the indie thing, I’ll support you on that path. If you want me to help shoulder the burden of this store, I’ll do that, too. Whatever you want, Rett.”
He splayed his fingers along my cheek. “Would I sound greedy if I asked for all of that?”
“No. You gave me my life back. In turn, I want to give you the world.”
Rett had done the same for me as I had done for Thomas. Or tried to, anyway. Even though I failed, Rett had been determined enough to achieve his goal.
The man had gumption I wish I could harness and sell. If I could, we’d be living large on a private tropical island with our feet in the sand and cold cocktails in our hands.
Though, if that happened, I’d miss our little cabin that had become our home.
It would take some convincing for me to move anywhere else. It might not be a tropical paradise—especially during winter—but it was our paradise. One we created together.
It couldn’t get any more special than that.
“I don’t need the world, baby. I just need you.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips. Before I could take it deeper, he stepped back. “Now, let’s go celebrate with dinner at The Eagle’s Nest and drinks at The Roost. Let’s let someone else do the cooking and the dishes for once.”
“Ah. That was why you lured me off the mountain and away from my laptop.”
“Mmm hmm,” he murmured.
“You always have an agenda.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “That I do. Are you complaining?”
“Hell no, because it gave me you and a future to look forward to.”
“See? Step one, approach the new grumpy guy in town. With caution, of course, because he bites. Step two, force him out of the past and back into the present. Step three, make him fall in love with me.”
“That wasn’t difficult to do.”
“Which part?”
“Making me fall in love with you. I’m just surprised you fell in love with me first.”
“It proves I should’ve went to therapy.”
I snorted. “You won’t get an argument from me about that.”
“Ah, but look at us now. We’re perfect.”
Perfect was a bit of a stretch. “Hardly, but close enough.”
“Close enough,” he agreed. “Together we can get through anything.”
“Somehow I don’t find you being right about that so annoying this time.”
“Progress!” he said on a laugh.
I grabbed him and hauled him against me to give him a kiss that smothered that laugh.
That night we celebrated in another way.
We didn’t do it by going out for dinner and drinks.
We did it by staying in.
“A person’s tragedy does not make up their entire life. A story carves deep grooves into our brains each time we tell it. But we aren’t one story. We can change our stories.” ~ Amy Poehler