Page 87 of Beautiful Mess

She doesn’t correct him, and neither do I.

The rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, I sit off to the side, watching Grace and Louis work side by side making something called“kouign amann,”which I’m told is a caramelized, buttery, flaky pastry from France that I’ve never heard of, nor can I pronounce. The process is slow going as they make the dough, let it rise, then chill before they can move forward. The entire time they’re working, they’re also talking, laughing, and he’s bestowing his wisdom on her while she takes it all in and asks questions.

Grace, with all her sunshine and southern charm, convinces Louis to turn on her favorite baking playlist, and even has him dancing around the kitchen to Shania and belting out Celine lyrics into wooden spoons with her at one point. This world famous baker, whom Grace looks up to and admires, is enthralled with her, and I’m not even a little bit surprised. It’s heartwarming to witness.

I may not understand anything they’re talking about, but I can’t help but watch Grace in her element. How carefree she looks, how focused she is as Louis tells her about this or that, and how every so often, she’ll glance over at me, cheeks round and pink, her smile wide, with love and glee pouring out of her gaze.

When she’s not looking, I pull my phone out and record them working—and dancing and singing—together, sending the videos to her sisters. They may have only helped pick out the one restaurant for this trip, the rest all my own ideas, but I still let them know everything I had planned, and I swear, they were almost as excited as Grace when I told them about this. I’ll admit, it was no easy feat booking this with Louis. Grace wasn’t lying when she told me about this guy and how he only holds these private classes a few times a year, alternating between New York and Paris. Luckily, I know a guy—someone I’ve worked with on several projects over the years and have developed a solid camaraderie with, who owes me a favor or two—whose wife has all kinds of connections due to her “influencer status”—whatever that means—and she was able to put me in touch with Louis directly.

After about an hour, Grace grabs the dough from the fridge, where it was placed to chill. Turning her head, bright, sparkling eyes find mine. “Come here,” she murmurs softly. My chest swells as I walk over to her and Louis, taking the rolling pin she hands me. “Wanna do the next step?”

“Ah…” Looking from her to Louis, then back to her again, I say, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to mess up.”

Grace’s gaze softens as she leans over and nudges my arm with her shoulder. “You won’t,” she offers quietly, the look in her eyes making my heart race, with how much care is staring back at me. “I’ll show you what to do.”

As if he can sense my uncertainty, Louis adds, “Don’t worry,monsieur, this is an easy step. Very difficult to mess up.” Gesturing toward the dough, he says, “Give it a try.”

So, I do. And admittedly, itiseasy to do. Grace watches me the whole time, a sweet smile tugging the corner of her mouth as her gaze alternates between my face and the dough I’m rolling, while Louis continues to educate us on the pastry and why each step is necessary. Once I’ve got the dough rolled out into a rectangle, I set down the rolling pin as Grace rises to the tips of her toes and rests her hand on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“See,” she breathes softly against my skin. “Told you that you could do it.” When she pulls back, our eyes meet, a smile meant just for me curled on her lips, and my breath catches in my throat. Grace is always beautiful, but right here, in her element, with her hair tied in a messy knot on top of her head and a dusting of flour on her cheek, she’s even more breathtaking.

After I wash my hands, I resume my position across the kitchen, watching as they work side by side. It’s late in the day by the time they wrap up, and after we all sample the pastry—I may not be able to pronounce it, but it sure as hell is good—Louis packs up the rest for us before sending us on our way. Our driver is waiting for us in the parking garage, and the trip across town back to the hotel is quiet—not bad quiet, but comfortable. Thoughtful. If I had to guess, Grace is trying to process the events of today, and every time she peers over at me, I swear she’s on the verge of tears.

Taking the elevator up to our floor, the air between us is crackling. It’s a repeat of yesterday after lunch but, if possible, more intense. I unlock the door to our room, and as soon as we’re inside, Grace shakes out of her jacket, tossing it on the desk haphazardly before closing the distance between us. A dark, heady look flashes in her eye a moment before she jumps onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist as my hands slide over her ass. Her mouth crashes into mine, and I swallow her moans as we devour one another.

Grace is the first to break the kiss. Bringing her hands to my face, she lets out a shaky breath. Moisture fills her eyes, the green of her irises looking even more vibrant than usual, and when she opens her mouth to speak, her voice trembles. “You remembered,” is all she manages to get out before the first tear spills over her lash line.

My throat is tight, heart wild in my chest, as I think back to when this all started, the moment I knew it wasn’t just an attraction I felt toward Grace. To her, in my kitchen, and me, unable to look away. Unable to ignore how comfortable and right it felt having her in my space. To her telling me about Louis and this dream she had—a dream she never thought she’d be able to do.

“Of course, I remembered.”

Her lip shakes again as more tears fall. “Nobody has everdone something like that for me, Conway.Nobody.” Her words come out cracked as she blinks away more moisture. “Butyoudid. The thought and planning that must’ve gone into this. I—” Words get lost as she smiles, shaking her head as she swallows a few times. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Conway. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Today means more to me than you will ever know. This whole weekend, actually.”

My chest squeezes as I watch her bottom lip quiver before she sinks her teeth into it, gazing at me, misty-eyed, like everything is coming together in her mind.

A small, breathy laugh rolls off her tongue as her eyebrows cinch together. “Nothing you do is ever simple or thoughtless.” Grace’s voice is rough, the emotion shining through each word as she references the conversation we had at the restaurant yesterday. “In fact, every single thing you’ve done for me are actually themostthoughtful things anybody has done for me because they prove just how much you pay attention to me, that you truly seemeand hearmefor who I am.”

A single tear spills over, falling down her cheek.

“I mean, my god, Conway, you’ve continuously and selflessly shown up for me, and I’ve been too jaded to see it. You’re—” Grace pauses as her voice cracks. Blinking away more tears, she clears her throat before continuing. “You areeverythingI havealwaysyearned for, but never thought I deserved, Conway. Do you realize that? Every fairytale I ever dreamed about as a kid and everything I cried about wanting in my journal, it’s all you. Wow.” Bringing a hand to her mouth, she lets out a shaky breath.

Grace continues with what appears to be a stream of consciousness being thought out loud, almost more to herself than me. “The one who cared enough to help me years ago at that bar when I was drunk and desperately needed someone. And the way you never held it against me when I was awful and mean to you after I tried to kiss you that same fucking night. Even back then, when I was nothing more than your son’s girlfriend, you showed up for me. You cared, even though nothing was in it for you, and I’ve been too stupid to see what’s been right in front of my face foryears.”

A bitter taste sits on the back of my tongue, hearing her say that about herself. Reaching across the table, I squeeze her hand with mine. “There isnothingstupid about you or the way you’ve chosen to protect your heart, Grace. I will not tolerateanybodytalking about the woman I love like that, do you hear me?”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nods, moisture spilling over her tear-soaked eyes. My gut twists at seeing Grace cry, and I have to swallow around the emotion rising in my throat a few times before I can keep going.

“I would do anything for you, Grace.” There’s conviction and a world of emotion in my words, and I don’t doubt that we both know how true they are. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see you smile the way you did back today. I would move mountains with my bare hands if it meant making your life easier. I love you with every single thing in me, Grace Astor. My love for you is so strong, so natural, soright, I’m not sure how it took this long for me to figure it out, but now that I have, I will never stop making your dreams come true. Never stop doing anything in my power to erase every ounce of doubt or fear or insecurity away from you. You deserve the world. Hell, you deserve the whole universe, and I won’t rest until I give you just that.”

“I know I’ll never be able to take away the scars caused by the hurt and disappointment you’ve been through before me, but that won’t stop me from trying. All I can do is promise to always be a man deserving of your love, to never stop reminding you how special you are, and how getting to love you—unconditionally, faithfully, and without any bounds—for the rest of my life will always be a fucking privilege I willnevertake lightly. Then maybe eventually those scars on your heart will fade enough that one day you won’t even notice they’re there anymore.”

“How the hell are you real?” Wiping away the tears streaking her cheeks, Grace breathes out a small laugh. “Until now, I was convinced men like you simply didn’t exist unless they were fictional and written by a woman, but my gosh, if you aren’t sitting here proving me wrong.” Pausing for a moment, she brushes her thumb along my cheek softly, reverently, her chin quivering as she lets out another shaky breath, and says, “I love you.”

The feeling starts in my chest, a galloping heart against my ribs, and from there, it spreads like wildfire, setting every inch of my body ablaze, leaving a trail of goosebumps along my flesh as I suddenly struggle to find my voice. Even more so when she says earnestly and with the slightest tremor in her voice, “I’m in love with you, Conway. I know I didn’t say it when you did outside the art gallery, and it wasn’t because I didn’t feel the same, but because I hadn’t fully let myself believe it yet. But I do, Conway. I really fucking love you. I love the man you are. I love your heart, your kindness, your compassion. I love watching you be the best dad to your kids, watching you show up for them no matter what, and knowing that Willow will grow up knowing how it feels to be loved fiercely by a good man, she’ll never have to question how a man should treat her. But also, I love the way I feel when I’m with you, the way your arms feel like home. I love howsafeI feel with you. Everything you are, I’m so in love with.”

Pressure stings the back of my eyes, and I can’t hold back any longer. Tears matching hers spill over and cascade down my cheeks as I bring my hand to the back of her neck, the warmth of her soft skin grounding me.

“Grace, for as long as I live, you will never have to wonder, never have to question my love for you, or question your worth, because I plan to spend the rest of my life proving that to you every single day. There aren’t enough words in the world to express how much I truly love you, inside and out, or how much being loved by you means to me. You may test my patience more than anybody I know, with your stubborn self and that smart little mouth of yours”—Grace breathes out a laugh before she chews on her bottom lip—“but you also bring me a happiness and a comfort I’ve never felt before. It’s me who should be thanking you. Lord knows I’ll thank the universe for all of eternity for bringing you to me, for letting me experience your light and love and warmth.”

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