Page 99 of Trusting Mr. Sterling
“There’s a part three.”
“I texted Lucy forty-five minutes ago. She’s fast.”
The door opened. A delivery driver walked in carrying a large cardboard box. “Delivery for Gabriel Sterling?”
He took the box and opened it. Inside were approximately fifty chocolate chip cookies, still warm, with a note on top in Lucy’s flowing handwriting.
These are the official grovel cookies.
You earned them.
— Lucy
P.S. If you hurt her again, the rolling pin threat stands.
He handed the box to her.
She read the note, studied the cookies, then him. “You texted Lucy.”
“She’s surprisingly responsive when you’re groveling on behalf of her best friend.”
She bit into a cookie and chewed slowly while the violinist continued playing and the flowers threatened to take over the entire table. When she finished, she said, “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m thorough.”
“You hired a violinist and ordered fifty cookies and had flowers delivered to a diner.”
He hesitated. Then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.
“This isn’t part of the grovel. This is something else.”
It was a keyring. Three keys, different sizes, on a simple silver ring.
“To your apartment.”
“To everything.” He set it on the table between them. “The apartment. The office. The car, if you want it. No more secrets. No more oaths hidden in desk drawers. My life is yours now, if you want it.”
She didn’t touch the keys.
“I spent years building walls. Keeping people out. Protecting myself from exactly this.” He gestured between them. “But you already got past all of it. You’re already inside. This is just making it official.”
The violinist finished his piece. The diner erupted in scattered applause. The waitress refilled coffee cups, working around the roses.
She set down the bill and a large, heavy-duty shopping bag. “You folks moving in, or can I have my table back?”
Tessa was laughing, her eyes bright. She picked up the keyring and slid it into her pocket. “We’re going.”
“Hold on, hon,” the waitress said, snapping the bag open and setting it on the edge of the table. “Put the cookies and those weeds in here so you don’t drop ‘em on the way out. I put some extra napkins in there too. You’re gonna need ‘em for all that glitter.”
“Thank you,” Gabriel said, and he meant it. He carefully slid the heavy cookie box into the bottom of the bag and nestled the two dozen roses on top.
She slid out of the booth and picked up the glittering sign.
“You’re really taking it?”
“You bet.”
Walking back toward her apartment, his hand in hers, Gabriel carrying the bag of roses and cookies, the keys in her pocket, she stopped on the corner.
