Page 113 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

“Can I see you for a minute?”

He nodded and led the way. The moment the kitchen door finished swinging shut behind us, closing us off from the other guests, his handsome face lit up with an enormous grin. “Finally ready to talk to me, huh?”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why’d you do this? I could have bombed. You and Colin risked your company’s reputation on this dinner.” They’d risked it for me.

He waved it off like I was talking nonsense. “Please. Neither of us was worried. We knew you’d nail it.”

I swallowed a breath and tried to calm my racing heart, but it was hopeless, especially the longer I was near him. He looked so happy, so sure, and I didn’t get it at all. I wasn’t his girlfriend anymore.

Had he done this as, like, a consolation prize? I couldn’t be with him, but at least I could have an opportunity to get my dream job.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are okay.” I forced the painful words out. “That what we had didn’t come between you two.”

He didn’t respond for a long time, and the moment suspended between us as the intensity of his stare increased. It reminded me of the one he’d given me over a year ago across the shallow end of his pool. The connection between us was the same as it had been then.

Magnetic.

Unstoppable.

“Colin came around,” he said, “once I told him I was in love with you.”

The power of his words knocked me back, sent me spinning. “What?” There was no way I’d heard him right. “You . . . love me?”

His grin was wide and beautiful. “It’s not a big deal.”

I couldn’t help the way my gaze darted around the kitchen, checking to make sure there weren’t cameras and that I was still in reality. He loved me. Preston Lowe was in love with me.

“No,” I whispered. “That’s a very big deal.”

He strode to me, closing the space between us with a few deliberate steps. His gaze slid over my face as if tracing every curve and wanting to memorize the way I looked at him right now.

His voice was deep and hypnotic. “You’re right. It is.” His hands clasped on my face, pulling me in. “But you love me too, so I figure we can be a big deal together. What do you say?”

There was no other answer, and it came from me in a rush. “I say yes.”

A thrill shot through his eyes, and he murmured it right before his lips captured mine in a searing, passionate kiss. “Good girl.”

TWENTY-NINE

Preston

When the timer on Sydney’s phone trilled, she tapped the screen to silence it and donned a pair of oven mitts. I stood back in my kitchen, out of her way, as she pulled open my oven door and removed the beef tenderloin she’d spent the last twenty minutes roasting.

I’d moved into this apartment one week ago, which meant she’d currently cooked more times in my kitchen than I had. I tried to help her with dinner as much as I could, but I sucked and mostly got in the way. We both liked it better when she was in charge of cooking, and I only played a minor role.

My girlfriend had come over an hour ago, and as she’d spread the garlic and rosemary butter compound on the beef, she’d told me about her day.

“I always forget how easy Stella is,” she said, “until Drew stops by.” She was talking about her client’s new boyfriend. “He is the pickiest eater ever. Seriously, he won’t let anything green come near his plate.”

As I’d predicted, Sydney had aced her audition, and for the last six weeks she’d been Stella’s personal chef. She worked four days a week and was fucking loving it, but she was also looking forward to her apprenticeship that would start after the first of the year.

She’d told me it was sort of like a culinary bootcamp. The apprenticeship would be challenging and hands-on since every week she’d work for a new chef in the Nashville area. She’d get to experience different kitchens and techniques.

As the tenderloin rested, she put a lid on the green beans she was sautéing and turned her attention to the mashed potatoes, adding another pad of butter as she stirred. But her gaze darted to the clock on my microwave and her brow furrowed.

“Should I slow this down?” She was worried about timing.

“No. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.” My dad was usually only late if he was on call, and he wasn’t tonight. I’d made sure of it when I’d invited him over for dinner earlier this week.

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