Page 73 of Catch and Release Groom

“How about I do you one better, and throw in a first date?”

Imogen flashed him a wide grin before remembering she looked a hot mess and probably had bad breath along with that. This wasn’t the moment she’d accidentally-on-purpose fantasized about while pounding raw cookie dough straight from the package the other night.

Suddenly self-conscious, she lifted a hand to her snarl of a bun and then tapped a finger to her forehead to confirm, yep, dried-on zit cream.

“You look gorgeous,” Easton said. “The sort of pretty that seems unfair to the sunrise, remember?”

Of courseshe did. The fact that he’d made her feel so seen and desired from the very beginning was one of the reasons she’d struggled to forget.

“So? What do you say?” He dipped his head enough that his mouth barely brushed hers as he spoke the rest of his words. “See, I’m a man who prides himself on keeping his word, and”—upon the next meeting of their lips, he teased hers open for a soft kiss—“I owe you a trip to Rome.

“Since we’ve already been on a honeymoon, it seems only fitting we spend our first date seated at a wrought iron table in a cobblestone alleyway as we eat our gelato.”

The romantic setting crystalized in Imogen’s mind, the colors extra vivid due to the countless times she’d placed herself in that very scene. With Easton at her side, it didn’t matter if his version was slightly different than the one she’d originally imagined. “They have a place like that in Georgia?”

“No,” he said, “we’re gonna have to fly to Italy.”

Time stopped. Her lungs did, too.

As soon as Imogen recovered enough to form sentences, she rushed to clarify. “Wait, are you saying…? You’re asking me to go with you to Rome, Italy, for our first date?”

A hint of uncertainty flickered, and then the cocky man she recognized snapped back into place. “I am. I bought tickets, and packed my bags, and came to collect the woman I’m in love with for an adventure. All you have to do is say yes.”

“I love you, too,” she blurted, excited and relieved to finally say it and give her affections the weight they deserved. “Which is why I want you to follow your career dreams. I’d never ask you to choose.”

They crashed in the middle, kissing and groping, and stumbling into Mallory’s apartment to avoid causing a scene in the hallway.

As they neared the couch, Easton slowed the pace, tangling his fingers in her hair and tilting back her head for a languid kiss.

“My answer is yes,” she whispered. “In case it wasn’t clear. Even if you weren’t offering my fantasy vacation on a silver platter, and without hesitation or advance notice, I’d go anywhere with you.”

He kissed her again, sliding his hands to her ass and boosting her into his arms like he had that day on the dock.

Imogen linked her ankles and clung tightly, and if she had her way, she’d never let go. “That said, for packing purposes, how long are we talking?”

“Our flight leaves late tonight, and a week’s as long as I can sneak away. As far as the rest goes…” The world melted away as he recaptured her mouth and reminded her exactly how passionate he could be. “I figure we start with Rome and then talk about forever.”

Epilogue

Evening sunlight filtered through the large, west-facing window of the fishing shop, illuminating the decent-sized selection of poles and gear, the fridge that held bait, and three shelves of lures that glimmered and winked. Easton’s dream had finally come true, and it was fucking beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, there was the bonus part of the dream he hadn’t expected—she was pint-sized and curvy, with long dark hair and bright red lips. Across the shop, he watched as Imogen stepped over the giant malamute prone to snoozing the day away in the center of that warm, sunny square, and asked a customer if he needed help.

On their fifth night in Rome, Easton told her he wanted to take her home with him, and she’d replied there was nowhere she’d rather be. A serious conversation stemmed from that one, and there’d been some logistics to figure out, but a month after their return from Italy, Imogen quit her job and moved halfway across the country to live with him.

She’d been instrumental throughout the process, reviewing the lease and terms he hadn’t even known existed to securing a small business loan. She’d pored over documents and went back and forth with the lender until they’d walked away with a rate he could hardly believe.

When he’d found an old kiln and fixed it up, along with a section of his shed she could use as her art studio, you would’ve thought he’d gifted her the moon and stars, to boot.

Three months later, with a little help from his friends and local business contacts, they opened the shop.

“It’s that one up there,” a woman in the mid-sixties range said, pointing to the highest shelf on the back wall. “The teal teapot with the wooden handle.”

Easton lifted onto his toes, hyperaware of where he braced his weight as he snagged one of Imogen’s best-selling pieces. Once she’d added in elements from nature, like driftwood and rock, her ceramic creations had taken off. Since this stretch of road catered to tourists, they’d combined their passions and boosted both sides of their business in the process.

Most days, he led a fishing expedition or two, while Imogen tended shop. Since they spent the majority of their days together, she often disappeared into her studio during their down time, although they always snuck in time for poker night and a date, either snuggled on the couch or out and about. If anyone asked him to choose, he’d be hard-pressed to decide which he favored.

With the older woman browsing the racks of clothing, he headed to the lures to see if he could provide any assistance, although he and Imogen often joked they were better at selling each other’s stock.

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