Page 29 of The Mechanic's Virgin

Tentatively, I peel the envelope open and find myself staring at legal forms I’m not sure I understand. I do, however, see the names Sheila Cosgrove and Nash Emerson. I swallow hard and look up at him.

“What is it?”

“It’smyrestraining order,” he says triumphantly. “Got it today. My lawyer expedited it. Sheila will never bother us again. Not unless she wants to end up in jail.”

My eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”

“Damn right I am.” He nods. “The cops told me she’s already skipped town. Got out as soon as the process server showed up.”

This is almost too much for me to handle. My heart is pounding so fast I swear everyone in the garage can hear it. I glance back at Emily, who is smiling at me. She gives me the thumbs up.

“So she’s…gone?” I ask Nash.

He leans in and kisses me.

“Gone.”

“So this is what you were doing today?” I ask. “When you said you were going to sort things out for us?”

Nash nods, and a curious smile twists over his lips–a smile unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And before I realize what’s happening, he drops to one knee.

My heart stops.

He pulls out a small velvet box and presents it to me. “I felt so bad about not having a ring. I had to make it official and let the whole world know that you are mine.”

He opens the box, and I gasp. Inside is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen, and I’m a rich girl who has been raised around all kinds of jewelry. It’s not the most expensive ring in the world, or the most ornate, but something about it isme. It’s like it was custom made to fit my personality. And somehow, Nash knew it when he saw it.

Tears spill from my eyes as he slips it onto my finger. “Grace Sinclair.” He smiles. “I know you already said yes, but will you tell me one more time that you will marry me and let me love you forever?”

“Yes!” I blurt out, gasping for breath as I’m overcome with joy. “Of course I will, baby! Of course!”

EPILOGUE

NASH

Four years later…

The soundof your children’s voice is the best kind of work interruption.

“Dad, Dad, Dad, look!” my son, Benji, shouts, his voice still baby-soft, despite the feisty speed at which he barrels into the garage.

I set down my wrench and wipe the grease from my fingers and manage to squat down just in time to snatch up my boy as he flies into my arms. His brown hair is especially wild today, and his T-shirt has crumbs and chocolate smudged across the front. He must have gotten into the cookies Grace baked last night. He’s also holding something in his right hand–something he definitely wants to show me.

“What do you have there, pal?” I ask, grinning as he opens his chubby little fist to reveal a stone.

“It’s a rock!” he says proudly. “But it’s shiny.”

I take the rock from him and examine it like I’m Indiana Jones. “Are you sure it’s a rock and not a meteorite!?”

His eyes go huge, and he does a little jump. “Like from space!?”

“That’s right.” I smile, ruffling his hair. “Only the bravest of boys collect meteorites.”

His smile lights up the garage as I hand him back his rock. He’s such a pure and sweet soul. I see so much of his mother in him.

“Benji!” a softer voice calls from the house. My daughter, Kate, appears at the door. She’s barely two and a half and is pure sunshine. She’s got Grace’s hair, but she has my eyes. I’m already worried about just how cute she’s going to be when she grows up and how many boys I’m going to have to fend off. She’s holding a plastic tiara in one hand and dragging her stuffed bunny in the other.

I have to pause to take in the moment.

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