Page 29 of One Weekend in Quebec City

I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears. “I panicked. I thought I screwed everything up, too. I thought you’d be angry because of the way I left, and that you’d never want to see me again.”

Spencer closes his eyes and exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and frustration. “I was angry, Shelby. But not at you, honey. At myself, for not being honest with you sooner, for not telling you how I truly felt.”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. “I came to ask for the truth, Shelby. In person. All cards on the table. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. And I’m not going to find the answers I need in your article.”He holds it up. “Which is brilliant, by the way. Honest. Sharp. It sets the record straight. But it’s not the whole truth.”

“No,”I whisper, my heart pounding and my body tremblingwith excitement. “It’s not.”

“I need to know if what happened in Quebec meant as much to you as it did to me.”

“It did,”I say, the words barely a whisper of a breath. “I was scared because I felt so much too quickly. I told myself it was just the weekend, just a story, but that wasn’t true. Not even close. People don’t really fall in love that quickly. But I did.”

Spencer smiles, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. “I don’t want just a weekend, Shelby. I don’t want just a short story. I want the late nights and the early mornings and the inconvenient travel and the way you drink your coffee like it’s a religion.”

A laugh breaks out of me, wet, shaky, and full of something dangerously close to joy.

“I want you, Shelby Bailey,”Spencer says, his voice low, measured and jam-packed with emotion. “Even if you run. Even if we have to figure it out across cities and borders. I want you with every fiber of my being. I need you in my life.”

I squeeze his hand, grounding myself in the reality of him standing in front of me, tall, handsome, and he smells goodtoo. “I want you too. And I’m done running.”

Spencer drops the piece of paper, and it drifts to the floor. He cups my face, eyes searching mine. “Good. Because I don’t plan to let you go again.”

And then he kisses me, soft and slow and sure, right in the middle of my office where anyone could walk by, but I don’t care.

I kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding in, with the longing and the guilt and the aching hope that maybe, just maybe, a weekend fling wasn’t all I’d ever have.

When we part, his forehead rests against mine.

“What happens now?”I ask, breathless.

“Now?”Spencer murmurs, smiling. “Now we figure it out. Together.”

And just like that, the weight I’ve been carrying lifts.

“The board loved the article,”he says, a smile spreading across his face. I can see the relief in his eyes,and it makesmy heart swell with pride. “They’re impressed with how it portrays the company and me. They’re finally starting to see that I’m not my father, and that I’m serious about the business.”

A wave of relief washes over me. “That’s amazing, Spencer. I’m so happy for you.”

His eyes shine with gratitude. “And Linda says Hayden is back in town. He’s ready to step up, to take on more responsibility in the company. It looks like things are finally coming together.”

“That’s wonderful news. It sounds like everything is falling into place.”

Spencer takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “It is. And it’s all thanks to you. You’ve changed everything for me. You’ve given me a chance to show the world who I really am.”

My eyes fill with tears, my heart overflowing with love and happiness. “And you’ve changed everything for me. You’ve shown me that love doesn’t happen on a prescribed timetable. Two years or two days, it doesn’t matter. If it’s right, it’s worth taking a chance on.”

Spencer leans in, his lips brushing softly against mine. “I love you, Shelby. And I’m never letting you go again.”

“I love you too, Spencer. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Epilogue

Shelby

The snow falls in delicate, glittering spirals outside the wide-paned windows of our suite at the Auberge Saint-Antoine, dusting the rooftops of Old Quebec in a soft, shimmering white. The city feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for the turn of the year, waiting for midnight to strike and sweep us into the next chapter of our lives.

I rest my hand against the cold glass and smile as I watch the flicker of lights reflecting off the icy cobblestones below. Quebec City at Christmas is a dream with its twinkling fairy lights on every street corner, the subtle scent of sugar and spice lingering in the air, andthe sound of carolers drifting up from the square below.

It’s only been half a year, but it feels like I’ve known Spencer for most of my life. Back in the summer, when I agreed to do an article on him, I never even imagined meeting my soul mate and falling in love over a long weekend. The whole whirlwind affair has been something I thought could only happen in the movies or books. We came back in the fall to oversee the official photoshoot for the magazine, and then he surprised me with a trip to the same place for New Year’s.

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