“I thought we agreed the initial order was for a thousand units,” I say, flipping through some paperwork sprawled out on the kitchen table in my parents’ house. I find the contract I’m looking for and find the page with the order schedule on it. “Yeah,” I say, my finger trailing down the page until I find the line I need, “the initial run was for a thousand units.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” my contact at the local organic supermarket says, “I found it. But we need more inventory. I’ll email that second contract over to you as soon as possible.”

“I promise we are working our asses off over here, Chuck,” I say, nestling the phone between my chin and shoulder.

After we got home from the pageant, things weren’t exactly pretty for a little while. I mean, it could have been worse.

Cynthia got what was coming to her. Apparently it’s against journalistic ethics to be a source in a piece you yourself are writing. So while she thought she was breaking a big story by standing up and humiliating me in the middle of the pageant, she was actually sabotaging her own career.

Yeah, it seems that even tabloids have standards, and when her editor found out that she was the one who overheard the whole infamous love is stupid comment and decided to run with it in the paper, well...the last I heard, she had lost her job and no one will touch her. I think she has a blog now.

Reaction to my ordeal has been mixed. Most people have been supportive. I decided not to throw the pageant under the bus, decided not to tell the world that it was all their idea to begin with, because really, what good would that have done?

I’ve been told that sometimes taking the low road feels good. But it turns out that taking the high road feels good, too.

And really, all I did was tell a white lie. Because the truth is that, all along, Jason and I were moving on a path toward each other. I just didn’t know it yet.

Plus, when news that we were still dating after the pageant was over hit the papers, that did a lot to mollify the blow to my reputation.

Mrs. Pathmoore even said she’d still take me on as my manager if I ever decided to go back to competing, and Ms. Garnelle even said she’d write a letter on my behalf to the organizer of any pageant I decided to apply for in the future.

But something tells me that part of my life is now in my past.

“Where do you want these boxes?” Mark asks as he barrels through the screen door, letting it snap behind him.

Shortly after getting home, I received a few calls from investors about my skincare line. I ended up going with someone local to Ocean City, and since his investment, I’ve been able to get into a bunch of local stores.

“Just anywhere you can put them,” I say, clearing off a space on the kitchen table.

Jason comes in after my brother, wearing combat boots, his old Metallica t-shirt, dark, faded jeans, and the smile that still melts me.

“Right here good?” he asks, putting the box on the corner of the kitchen table, sliding it forward with his hips.

“Perfect,” I say, grabbing a pair of scissors from the junk drawer to start opening up the boxes.

It’s the first batch of my custom tea-tree-oil blend cleaner. They’ve just picked it up from the small facility I’ve rented out to have everything packaged, and it’s time to do quality control before I send the batch off to my vendors.

Technically, Jason was my first investor. He took the twenty dollars I pulled out of that slot machine a few months ago and put it back into the company.

I don’t know why, but that’s stuck with me. It just makes me feel like this is really a family business. And even though Jason isn’t technically my fiancee or my husband or anything, it feels good for him to have part of this with me.

I smile up at the boys as I pull out one of the little bottles of cleanser, spinning the cap off and taking a sniff.

“Well, it smells good,” Jason says, coming around the table to put his arm around me.

“Looks good too,” Mark chimes in.

I don’t have any ill feelings toward my brother. In fact, when I had a chance to think about how he reacted five years ago, it just reminded that he’s always wanted the best for me. He was just trying to protect me. And even though he may have been directing his anger at the wrong person, I know his heart was in the right place.

And in the end, I couldn’t have asked for things to work out better.

“Oh shoot,” Jason says suddenly, pulling away from me slightly, “I almost forgot. This was in the mailbox for you.”

He hands me a small manilla envelope and I shake my head, pursing my lips in annoyance.

“Shit,” I huff, turning it over it over in my hands, not bothering to check who it’s from, “I thought I changed my address to our new place on all my stuff.”

“Maybe it’s from the DMV,” Mark shrugs, “they keep your old address on your file forever.”

I tear at the thick yellow envelope, not bothering to unclasp the little silver metal fastener.

“Careful there,” Jason says, looking over my shoulder, “it might be something important.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say, peering inside. “It’s probably about an old magazine subscription I haven’t paid for.”

I push my hand in and feel around, but there doesn’t seem to be any paper inside.

And then I reach in a bit farther, and my fingers find something hard.

I swallow thickly as I pull it out, realizing that it’s a ring. A diamond ring.

“What is this?” I ask Jason and he take the ring from me. “What is going on?”

“What’s it look like?” Jason says, dropping down to one knee in front of me on the kitchen floor of my parents’ house.

I feel my heart swell with so much giddiness I could absolutely burst. I thought Jason couldn’t make me any happier - and then he went and made me even happier.

“Yes,” I say, throwing my arms around his shoulder, “yes!”

“Cassandra Blake,” he says, “I love you. I always will. You’re perfect.”

I swallow hard and press my face into his chest and he stands up, wrapping me up in those strong, sexy arms of his.

And then he pulls away from me and looks down at me with those dreamy eyes...the ones that I always get lost in.

And I’m home.