“My little sister was just accepted into the art program of her dreams—in London. So I’ll be taking her over there in a few months, helping her get set up.”
“Say hello to the homeland for me. And don’t forget to check out The Magpie. Some of my mates over there were raving about it. It’s their favorite local bar.”
Fitz taps his temple. “I’ll file that away.”
“Supposedly, the bartenders are good-looking.”
He arches a brow. “Tell me more.”
I laugh. “You’ll have to figure out that part on your own.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone with an accent just like Oliver’s who’ll sweep you off your feet,” Logan chimes in.
Fitz laughs. “Not gonna lie—I do love a hot British accent. But getting swept off my feet? I don’t think so.”
I shrug. “It can happen to the best of us, mate. After all, tomorrow I’m going shopping.”
43OLIVER
A few weeks later
Another satisfying last meal is on the books.
We leave Melt My Heart on a Sunday afternoon and wander through Central Park, the afternoon sun warming our skin, the birds chirping.
“I’ve decided,” I announce as we walk along the path.
“And what did you decide?”
“The grilled cheese at Melt My Heart wins.”
She shoots me an oh really look. “What about that sandwich makes the cut?”
I drape an arm around her, loving that I can, that I have the freedom to touch her as we walk and talk. “It meets the most critical requirement. It says something about how I lived my life.”
“It says you loved carbs and cheese? Get in line. Me too.”
“Carbs and cheese are the hallmarks of a well-lived life.”
She laughs as we near the carousel. “Words to live by.”
The carnival music grows louder as the merry-go-round comes into view. “But in this case,” I say, returning to the reason we’re here, “I believe what it says is this.”
I stop, take her hand, and meet her gaze. “I hope it says that the grilled cheese sandwiches we just devoured are the last meal we’ll have before . . .”
I drop down to one knee, take her hand, and finish the thought. “Before you become my fiancée for real.”
She gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “Ollie.”
“Summer, I’ve been falling in love with you since I was seventeen, and I plan to keep falling in love with you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me? Because I would love for my best friend to become my wife.”
Her smile is worthy of a million social media posts. Of a thousand Instagram likes. Of all the BuzzFeed lists ever made.
But it’s just for me.
No cameras.
No pictures.
No Twitter.
And that’s how I want it to be, as the woman I love falls to her knees, throws her arms around me, and smothers me in kisses.
Well, I could get used to this.
When she breaks the kiss, she says, “Yes. In case that wasn’t clear—yes.”
I take out a box from my pocket, slide a diamond solitaire on her finger, and kiss the hell out of my very real fiancée.
EPILOGUE
Summer
A few months later
Dear Sexy Ex-Fiancé,
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.
