Page 93 of Right on Cue
He chuckles. “Nice one.”
We take our hot chocolates and stroll along Main Street. The timing worked out pretty perfectly. We both have a break for the holidays before starting our nextprojects. Mine is a new rom-com—one I didn’t write but will be starring in. Grayson’s is the latest Marvel movie, which he signed onto even after being offered the role inBeautiful Water. When I asked him why he would turn down a possible Oscar-winning role, he told me he would rather do something that makes other people happy, something that makes him happy. Just hearing him say those words made me happy.
The main road through Pine Springs has been closed to all vehicles, and each side is lined with booths, some selling their holiday wares, others fundraising, and others providing information about the happenings around town, both during the season and after. We peruse each booth, doling out lots of money and collecting ornaments and candy and jewelry and homemade scarves. By the time we reach the end of the street, Grayson’s arms are laden with packages.
That doesn’t stop him from nudging me in the ribs. “For old times’ sake?” He cocks his head in the direction of the park a little farther down the road, separate from the festival but still within our line of sight.
“I’m still not going to have sex with you in the snow, West.” But I link my arm through his as we meander down the sidewalk to the park.
We find ourselves back in the gazebo. Grayson sets down his load with a sigh of relief, and we both perch on one of the white wooden benches lining the inside. He holds out his arm, and I nestle in his embrace. His lips brush my forehead, and it’s blissful.
“I think we should make this a yearly tradition.” I reach over and lace my fingers through his.
“Oh yeah? You think you’re still going to want me around, year after year?”
I scrunch my nose as if I have to think about it. “Possibly. Probably? I think the odds are in your favor.”
“Good.” He shifts away from me a bit, and I instantly miss his warmth. But then he’s back, pressed up against my side, only now he’s holding out his hand to me and there’s a small red leather box resting on his palm. “Would’ve been a bummer if you weren’t sure.”
I sit up a little bit, my eyes darting between him and the box, back and forth. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“It’s not your Christmas present.” He grins, nudging me to take the box.
I do, holding it gingerly like it’s made of glass. “Grayson West, what the hell are you doing?”
He opens the box for me. “I think I’m asking you to marry me. Or I’m about to, anyway.”
The ring is gorgeous—a solitaire cushion-cut diamond on a thin gold band. But it’s not the shining rock that captures my attention. It’s the excitement and love and the tiny bit of nerves I see in his eyes.
I bite my lip to hold back my grin. “All right then, get on with your asking.”
Grayson laughs and sits up straight. He takes the ring from the box and holds it up. “Emmy Harper, you drive me absolutely mad. But you’re my best friend and my partner and the only person I think I could tolerate being with for the rest of my life. Actually, the one thing I know for sure is that I couldn’t tolerate a life without you. Will you marry me?”
I want to say something coy and snarky, but the wordyesflies out of my mouth before I even have the chance. I fling my arms around his neck, burying my face in his pine and charcoal–scented skin. He squeezes me, his lips finding the sensitive spot on my neck.
I pull out of the hug so I can kiss his stupid handsome face. When we finally separate, he takes my left hand in his, sliding the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit, and so is he.
“GraysonfuckingWest, I love you so much, and it’s time to go back to the hotel literally as soon as possible,” I say, in between stamping my lips on any inch of his bare skin I can find.
He jumps up and gathers our bags, and we race as fast as is safe back to the Pine Springs Inn. We leave our bags of festival trinkets in the car, and even though I’m tempted to spring upstairs to our room, I slow down as we enter the lobby, the bell tinkling over the door as we make our way inside.
There’s a tree set up inside the doorway, and stockings are hung along the dark wood of the counter. The banister is wrapped in garland, and Linda is checking in guests while decked out in a bright green Christmas sweater. It doesn’t look the same as when we were here filming, but somehow the holiday magic sprinkled around the room just makes it all the more special.
I squeeze Grayson’s hand. “Right here is where I ran into your dumb rock-hard pecs and thought my whole life was over.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me through his chuckle. “Funny. Right here is where you ran into me and I thought, ‘I’m going to end up marrying that girl.’ ”
I swat his arm as we make our way up the stairs. “You did not think that.”
“I definitely did.”
“Then why were you such an asshole?”
“You were an asshole first.” He shrugs and pushes open the door to our room, the same one I stayed in during filming, our little Pine Springs home.
I toss my coat on one of the armchairs, warming myself up in front of the blazing fire.
Grayson catches my eye, raising one eyebrow and directing my attention to right above my head. Where a sprig of mistletoe hangs, because of course it does. As if our life could be any more of its own rom-com.
“Did you hang that there?” I ask as he stalks across the room toward me.
“I don’t need poisonous plants to get you to kiss me.” And he proves his point, sweeping me up in an embrace as his mouth comes crashing down on mine. “Merry Christmas, Harper.”
I push him toward the bed and jump into his arms. “Merry Christmas, West.”
