Page 119 of Checking It Twice
“That sounds about right.” His arm tightens around me. “Any regrets?”
“Just one.”
He goes still. “Yeah?”
“I should have said yes the first time you asked me to fake date you. Could have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “You said yes eventually.”
“True.” I tilt my head to look at him. “Best decision I ever made.”
“Marrying me or agreeing to fake date me?”
“Both. But especially marrying you.”
He kisses me then, soft and hungry under the Minnesota stars, and I think about how far we’ve come. From fake dating to real love to this—forever stretching ahead of us like the lake beyond the windows, full of possibilities and probably a few more fights that end in bathroom makeup sex.
“I love you, Mrs. Drake.”
“I love you too.”
His smile is soft, vulnerable in a way he only shows me. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky us,” I correct, and settle more comfortably against his side.
Tomorrow we’ll fly to Italy for two weeks of honeymoon that will probably involve more luxury than I’ve experienced in my entire life. But tonight, we’re just us—married and stupidly happy and finally, finally ready to stop being scared of needing each other.
Lucky us indeed.
Epilogue
Home for the Holidays
Clare
The familiar crunch of snow under the rental car tires makes my chest tight with something I can’t quite name. Coming back to Minnesota always does this to me—brings up memories of fake dating and real feelings and my very real growing feelings for Mitch.
Two years ago, that was scary. Now though? I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Even with the six-month-old currently screaming her head off in the backseat.
“She’s fine,” Mitch says for the third time in ten minutes, catching my worried glance in the rearview mirror. “Babies cry on car rides. It’s like their thing.”
“She never cries like this at home.” I twist in my seat to check on Charlotte again, my anxiety spiking at the red-faced fury of our normally happy baby. “Maybe she’s getting sick. Maybe we should turn around.”
“We’re not turning around.” His voice is calm, steady, the same tone he uses when his teammates are losing their minds before a big game. “Charlie’s fine. You’re fine. Everything is going to be perfect.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s been up since four a.m. because someone decided she needed to eat every hour on the hour.” I slump back in my seat, exhaustion making everything feel sharper, more overwhelming. “Your family is going to think I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
I shoot him a look. “That’s not the point.”
“My family loves you. They’re going to lose their minds over Charlie. And even if they didn’t, who cares? She’s our kid.”
The casual way he says it—our kid—still makes something flutter in my chest. Six months in, and I’m still getting used to the idea that we’re a unit now. That it’s not just Clare versus the world anymore.
The Drake house comes into view, looking exactly like a Christmas card with its snow-covered roof and warm lights glowing in the windows. There are already three cars in the driveway, which means we’re walking into the full chaos of Drake family Christmas Eve.
“Ready?” Mitch asks, killing the engine.
