Page 158 of Bitter Rival

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“You think you can boss me around?” I plant my hands on my hips. “That’s not gonna fly with me. Luckily, I want the same thing you do.” He laughs when I throw my arms around his neck with so much enthusiasm he has to grab my waist to steady me so we don’t both go down.

And then he lifts me right off the ground in the baggage claim at the San Francisco airport and we kiss each other dizzy.

It feels like a scene straight from a movie but it’s infinitely better because this is real life.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says, burying his face in my hair.

“I missed you too. So much.” I pull back and look into his eyes. They’re not cold at all. Not even a little bit. I wonder if he can see that I have hearts for eyes. “Don’t ever pull that crap on me again. Because I love you. And I don’t want to have to leave your ass.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” He lowers me to my feet and grabs my bag that toppled to the ground and carries it by the handle instead of rolling it like a normal person would.

We barrel through the doors with my hand in his and flowers blooming from my chest.

The sky is gray, the air cold, but I barely notice the winter gloom because I’m home.

When we reach his car, he tosses the bag in the trunk and pushes me against the side of the car, caging me in his arms.

Then he cradles my face in his hands and kisses my lips. “I love you, Daisy Larsson.”

He gives me another soft kiss. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

He kisses the line of my jaw. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

He kisses the side of my neck. “I choose you.”

Another kiss on the lips. “I will always choose you.”

Book boyfriends have nothing on Beckett Heyward.

EPILOGUE

Beckett

June

I jog up the stairs and survey my handiwork from our bedroom window then jog back down and make a few minor adjustments to my artistic display before checking the time.

Daisy should be home any minute now.

A few months back, she bought an art gallery and has been busy getting everything ready for the grand opening. In addition to art and photography exhibitions, Daisy wanted to find a way to use art as therapy so there’s a designated space that will be used as an art therapy studio. She named the studio and the garden after my mom, as well as the scholarship fund she set up.

I made a large contribution as did Grayson, but all the credit goes to Daisy who has been working tirelessly to bring her vision and her dreams to life.

On the terrace, I uncork the bottle of Daisy Maja rosé with a watercolor floral label—we’ve renamed most of our wines, and after much debate, agreed on the design and the story on the back of each bottle—and stash the wine in the ice bucket next to the bowl of strawberries. I picked all the ripest ones especially for Daisy.

Now that I’m a vineyard manager, I grow all her favorite fruits and vegetables.

Come to think of it, just about every damn thing I do is for Daisy. But I’m not even mad about it.

I step back and take inventory, checking that everything is ready to go.

Charcuterie board. Check.

Playlist. Check.

---