A week.

Beck has been in my small town one week, making friends with the locals, becoming ever-so popular with the Knightly brothers, yucking it up with Mrs. Braverman while feeding pigeons in the park, and telling jokes to the elders at the corner store where they gather for their morning meetings.

I’ve seen him everywhere.

And yet, he hasn’t come to talk to me. Is he waiting for me to approach him? Does he want me to approach him?

From everything I’ve heard from my parents and friends, and maybe from a quick check-in with Mrs. Braverman—the old coot—he seems to be talking about me to everyone. So why isn’t he talking to me?

It’s . . . devastating. Seeing him here, seeing that handsome smirk of his, those brilliant eyes, his enigmatic presence. It’s a reminder of everything I gave up, everything I walked out on. Everything I will never have.

I see that now. I’m not that stubborn. I can admit when I’m wrong. I got scared, and instead of sticking around to work things out, I was that dumb girl who ran. But I’m human. I’m not perfect by any means.

I have my faults.

I have my demons.

And unfortunately, as strong as I try to be, they still affect me. They still drive me to do stupid things. They still cause me to hide.

It’s human nature. It’s me.

I wish I was stronger.

Scanning my emails, I open one from my cover designer and check out the mock-ups for my next release, studying them intently while sipping tea.

His hand looks weird like that, like it’s broken.

Whoa, too many pubes. I don’t mind a few strays, but the bush police would write up this picture for sure.

Is that . . . a third nipple? Well, don’t we have ourselves a beautiful unicorn?

Knock, knock.

I look to my front door that’s open, the screen door offering a light breeze to pass through the small holes.

Zoey is standing there holding a bag.

“Why are you knocking? Come in,” I call out, pushing my glasses back on my nose and studying the third nipple that’s entirely too fascinating to me.

There is another knock. I glance up, and Zoey continues to stand there.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I stand from my table and walk to the entryway, opening the screen door with a slight creek in the hinges. “Zoey, why—?”

She hands me the bag and then walks away.

“What is happening?” She doesn’t say anything, just continues to walk toward Main Street.

Looking at the bag, I let the door shut, clanking against the doorjamb. I open the tissue paper and spot a bag of coffee on the bottom.

Okay.

I pick it up and roll it over finding a Post-it Note.

This is my favorite brew at Snow Roast. Not too rich, but very smooth. – Beck

My stomach drops, my pulse picks up, and my hands start to sweat. I look back at the door and notice Art approaching with another bag.

I set the coffee down and go to the front door, and before he can knock, I open it. Without a word, he hands me another bag with a wink.

I go back to my counter and open it up. At the bottom is a plastic container full of soup. I read the note.

You probably already know this but The Lighthouse Restaurant has amazing lobster bisque, like orgasmic level. But did you know if you ask for their secret cheese sauce on top it brings the soup to an entirely different level? It’s my favorite. – Beck

Secret cheese sauce? What? How didn’t I know about this?

I’m about to rip the top off the soup and heat it up when there’s another knock at my door. It’s my dad.

“Hi, Dad.” I open the screen door only for him to hand me a bag as well. He leans over and kisses me on the cheek and then takes off.

My eyes start to well up when I bring the bag to the counter.

Inside is a rolled-up newspaper. Today’s paper . . . with a note.

The Port Snow Observer is my favorite thing to read in the morning. It’s not like a normal newspaper giving you the gloom and doom of the week. It speaks of Tommy Hornbuckle’s high-scoring game at Pee Wee football. It shares Martha Gillroy’s banana bread recipe, and it speaks of the quirky tourists that are spotted every day. It’s intimate and perfect, and I love picking it up and talking to the town elders every morning. – Beck

I shake my head. The Port Snow Observer is by far the weirdest newspaper, but he’s right, it’s intimate, and one of the reasons why I try to read it at least once a week, if not for a laugh.

There is another knock at the door. Griffin. I raise my brow and open the door.

Just like everyone else, he hands me a bag and takes off, a huge smile on his face.

This bag feels heavier, and I have a feeling I know what it is. When I see the red and white packaging, my suspicions are right.

I’ve spent far too long testing the fudge at Lobster Landing but I’m here to say, the original is my favorite. There I said it. It’s out in the universe. P.S. The abs have taken a hit from the fudge, but they’re still there, don’t worry. – Beck.

I snort-laugh, a stray tear falling down my cheek that I quickly wipe away. The original is to die for actually and probably goes unappreciated with all the different flavors offered.

Knock, knock.

My mom? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. She’s standing at the door, holding a canvas and smiling big. Going to the door, I open it and she hands me the canvas, my heart rate really picking up, my breath starting to become slightly labored. My mom presses a kiss on my cheek briefly and whispers, “He’s a very good man, Rylee.”

Then she leaves.

I take the canvas to my dining room table and set it down carefully. It’s wrapped in paper with a note on the top.

I’ve been all around this town, soaking it in, taking in every passerby, every local, every popular sightseeing spot marked cleverly by the tourism board. And I’ve come to find one particular spot that grabs my attention, one place in this town that I can stare at all day and be completely and utterly content. This is my favorite spot to sit and watch the view in Port Snow. – Beck.

With shaky hands, I carefully take the brown paper off the front and bring my hand to my chest when I take in the picture in front of me. A gasp on my lips, I press my fingers lightly against Beck’s signature strokes and colors.

It’s the coffee shop, neon pinks and greens and oranges making up most of the picture. But there in the window is a distinct figure with black hair sitting in front of a computer.

It’s me.

I don’t even know what to say.

He’s already stolen my heart, but this . . . this . . .

Knock, knock.

I whip around to see Victoria standing at my door with a suitcase at her side. Wiping away my tears, I open the door for her only to hand me the handle of the suitcase and take off.

“Victoria, wait.” She pauses and turns. “I’m sorry about the other day. I’ve been a little . . . lost.”

Her face softens and she nods. “I love you, Rylee.” With a small smile, she walks away but says, “Open the top zipper.”

Not bothering to put the suitcase on a surface, I move it to the side of my entryway, and open it up, fumbling with the zipper in the process. On the very top is a note. Picking it up, I snag a black V-neck T-shirt in process and bring it to my nose where I take a small sniff. The smell of Beck’s cologne floods my senses, soothing my shaking bones.

I read the note, Beck’s shirt pressed against my heart.

Did you know if you forget to rinse one of Victoria’s forks after eating eggs, she begins to lose her damn mind? Yeah, she kicked me out, but I’m kind of hoping I’ll be able to stay for a while at my favorite house in Port Snow. What do you say? – Beck

I wipe away a tear and look up to my door only to find Beck standing behind the screen, hands in his pockets, smiling. It’s like he’s been here this entire time, waiting for me. Waiting for me to see him.

Leaving his shirt in his suitcase, I rush to the door and open it, disregarding my not-so attractive loungewear. The minute the screen door opens, Beck’s eyes meet mine, and I can’t do anything but step into his embrace and rest my head on his chest. His arms wrap around me, tight and strong, and his lips find the top of my head, loving and warm.

“Hey Saucy.”

“Hey you.” I snuggle closer, gripping his grey T-shirt firmly. I never want to let him go.

“Mind if I come in?”

Glancing at him, his light smirk greets me and I melt. How did I ever think I could say goodbye to this man? How did I convince myself being away from him was smart, that is was the best decision for the both of us?

Because right now, I’m one hundred percent sure we are two lost souls searching for each other, and we happened to meet in paradise.

Taking his hand, I lead him into my home for the first time and guide him past all his gifts and straight to the couch where we take a seat facing each other. I continue to hold his hand as he strokes my cheek with his other.

“I’ve missed you, Rylee.”

I swallow hard and lean my hand into his touch, briefly closing my eyes, tears feeling heavy. “I’ve missed you, Beck. You being here, not talking to me, but seeing you everywhere, it’s been torture.” I squeeze his hand. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

He wipes a stray tear. “I had some things to figure out first. I wanted to make sure that when I came after you, when I came one last time to convince you to be with me, there was no chance you could say no.”

“Beck,” I breathe sadly. “I’m sorry about Las Vegas. I never should have run out on you like that.”

“And I wish I had been more understanding. I wasn’t as cool-tempered and sympathetic as I should have been.” His jaw twitches, the muscle pulsing in a sexy manner that makes me want to kiss the spot. “I just got so . . . frustrated. I didn’t like being shut out like that. I want to know everything about you, Rylee.”

“I know that now, and I’m sorry. Can you tell I kind of suck at this whole relationship thing?”

He chuckles and lifts my chin. “We’re not perfect, no one is. There had to be a flaw in you somewhere.” Winking, he pulls my head forward and places a very soft kiss on my forehead.

Soaking in his scent, in the way he feels next to me again, I scoot closer to him until I’m sitting on his lap. He strokes my hair casually, the cutest smile on his face.

“So, why are you here?” I ask, hoping for the best.

“Well you see, I had to check Port Snow out, wanted to make sure it was not only a place I could work but a place I could live.” Hope springs in my chest.

“And?”

“I love it, Rylee. Just like I love you.”

A very unattractive laugh pops out of me. I’m the epitome of elegance and class. Overcome with joy, I lean forward and press my lips against Beck’s, the salt of my tears mixing with our kiss. “I love you too. I love you so much, Beck.”

He groans and moves his hands to my hips where he grips them tightly, deepening our kiss for a brief second before he pulls away and presses our foreheads together.

“Fuck, Rylee. You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.”

“I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself. I just . . .” I pause and pull away. “What about . . . what about—”

“I have a job at the gallery. Your parents have been amazing, giving me a ton of responsibility since they want to spend more time on the retirement side of things. They also hooked me up with some contract work in Augusta for some murals.” He strokes my hips with his thumbs. “I love it here. It’s quirky and perfect, a place where I want to start a family with you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I’ve spoken with Cal about my options given my background. Adoption may still be an option, surrogacy is an option, and so is becoming a Big Brother, which is good enough for me. All I want is you, whatever comes along after that is cherries on top of the sweetest fucking cake ever.”

“Beck . . .”

He silences me and looks directly at me, his eyes unwavering. “Listen to me, Rylee. I’m dead serious when I say being a Big Brother would be sufficient for me. If our family consists of four-legged children, then I’m cool with that too. What I want is you and only you. Do you hear me?”

I press my lips together and nod.

The sincerity in his voice, the way he’s dominating me with his words, there is no doubt in my mind he’s serious, that this is what he wants. And if we don’t have any other additions to our little family other than animals, he’ll be okay with that.

“So . . . does that mean you’re moving in?”

“Hell yeah.” He pulls me closer and kisses me on my mouth, his lips more demanding this time. When he separates, he speaks softly as our noses touch. “But I’m going to tell you right now, I get the right side of the bed and there will be lots of fucking. At least for the next forty-eight hours, there will be lots of fucking and fucking all over this house.”

I giggle as he presses his lips against mine again, his hand skirting up my shirt, getting to work on my bra already. He wasn’t kidding.

“Beck, screen door,” I mutter between kisses.

His head tips back to look at the door and says, “It’s fine.”

“It is if you want to show up in the Port Snow Observer tomorrow.”

This gives him pause. “Shit.” He sighs and presses his head against my chest, his hand inches from my boob. “This town is so goddamn in your face, and I weirdly love it.”

“I love it even more now that you’re here with me.”

“Wouldn’t change it for anything, Saucy.”

He leads me to the door, slams it shut and locks it, and then I guide him to my bedroom where he strips me naked and makes love to me. His mouth, his hands, his body owning mine with every pulse, every stroke, every kiss.

Beck Wilder, the man who mysteriously took over my vacation getaway. I’m an utter and complete fool for him.

It’s funny. I write happily ever afters for a living, and this is oddly one love story I never would have predicted or been able to write for myself.

Somewhere along the road, I lost sight of my own happy ending. I had become immersed in my fictional world. I wonder if I believed that only my heroines deserved love. Only my heroines deserved a future of bliss without heartache.

And then one day in paradise he appeared. My hero. A man with a selfless heart beyond compare, with mischief in his eyes, and ridiculousness on his lips. A man who had the ability to push me outside my cozy world of one into loving and welcome arms of two. A man too good to be true, but somehow mine all the same. This is where I write The End. Isn’t it?