Page 73 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

GET IN THE VAN

Ten Months Later

“ O h my God,” I groaned as I sucked the melted chocolate off my thumb and grabbed my pencil. “New favorite for sure.”

Ryan scoffed. “That one is not better than the cookies we got from that bakery outside of Union Square, and they’re definitely not better than Penelope’s Bakeshop.”

I scoffed. “Of course, they’re not better than Penelope’s Bakeshop, but they’re definitely better than Union Square and the fancy place on 11th Street.”

Ryan looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Better than 11th Street? Try again, cupcake. You just don’t like innovation. Those were the sourdough cookies and they were banging.”

I let out a loud laugh. “I don’t want sourdough in my cookies! I want cookies that taste like cookies!”

Ryan and I were celebrating our second National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day in style—tackling every bakery in New York City that we could reasonably get to.

We were between stops, having spent the last three months in Michigan before we headed to Louisiana for the fall.

Pam had come to visit us while we were staying on Lake Charlevoix, but we were overdue for a trip to see her and made the trek back to New York before we made the move to Baton Rouge.

“Your scorecard is so fucked, Wills,” Ryan said with a laugh as he tore into the next bakery box.

We had upgraded from simple tallies of one through ten, and now gave points for presentation, price, chip to cookie ratio, chocolate quality, freshness, and texture. It had led to a rather lively afternoon of cookie debate.

I don’t know why I was surprised. We were ridiculously competitive.

“You’re scoring the weird cookies too high,” I said as I took a sip of excruciatingly bitter coffee to cleanse my palette.

“This is about the best chocolate chip cookie. Not the most unique one. Anyone can make something weird. It takes true skill to make a classic chocolate chip cookie that stands out above the rest. When’s Pam getting back?

She’s going to have to be the tie breaker on some of these, because you’re being unreasonable. ”

Ryan cackled around a bite. “Unreasonable?”

“Uh huh,” I said as I reached for a brown paper bag and pulled out the next cookie to try. “You’ve lost your cookie rating ability.”

He grinned at the good-natured banter. “You’re just mad that there’s the possibility of there being a better cookie out there than the ones from Manhattan.”

“Spoiler alert,” I said as I broke the cookie in half. “These are all from Manhattan.”

“Manhattan, Kansas ,” he said.

I popped a piece of the cookie in my mouth, then immediately froze as the perfume taste coated my tongue.

I bolted for the kitchen and spit the bite straight into the trash.

“What the hell was that?” I shouted as I turned on the kitchen sink, tipped my head to the side to suck in a mouthful of tap water, swished it around, then spat it down the sink.

“Uh . . .” Ryan paused as he rummaged around for the list we had made of all the different cookies. “Those were the lavender chocolate chip cookies from the bakery we stopped at on the Upper East Side.”

I pretended to heave as I went back to my seat at the table. “Rich people have terrible taste in cookies.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Ryan said.

I handed him the other half of the cookie, and watched with twisted satisfaction as he popped it in his mouth.

The first chew was normal, but he had no idea what he was in for. Then, his face froze. Ryan grabbed an empty bag and spit it out. “That tastes like chocolate soap!”

“See?!” I shouted as I handed him my cup of coffee so he could get the taste out of his mouth. “Do you believe me now?”

Ryan shuddered. “That was a crime against sweets.”

“Agreed.”

He reached for a box that had been securely wrapped in layers of plastic wrap. “We need a guaranteed winner after that atrocity.”

I glanced at the box, then at our master list of cookies. “Where’s that one from? I don’t remember picking it up.”

Ryan sliced through the layers of plastic wrap and pulled the box free. “ This is from the one and only Penelope’s Bakehouse.”

My eyes widened.

“But . . . But how?”

He just smiled. “I had Lisa overnight us a box. We can’t have another cookie crawl winner without being able to compare it to last year’s winner.”

“I love you,” I blurted out as I reached for the box. “Gimme.”

“Slow your roll, cupcake,” Ryan said as he popped the top.

“Do you realize how much I’ve been craving these cookies? I thought about flying to Kansas just to get them. Me . Flying. ”

He stopped messing with the box, then handed it over. “All right. You can do the honors.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. I popped the top and reached in to grab a cookie, then froze. A message had been written on the inside flap of the top of the box.

Will you marry me?

I looked up and found Ryan down on one knee, holding a ring.

“Ryan Ford, you better not be messing with me.”

He laughed. “I’m not messing with you, Wills.

I’m daring you. You’re the sweetest thing in my life, and I can’t imagine spending another day without you as my wife.

You have the kindest soul, and a beauty in your heart that is unrivaled.

I want every adventure from this day forward to be with you.

I want that big van and a little house somewhere that’s halfway between home and heaven.

Your dreams are my dreams, because you are my dream.

” He took my hand. “So, will you let me love you? Will you be my wife?”

“I think you have to ask me with my full name,” I whispered as tears rolled down my cheeks.

Ryan laughed. “Willow Winslet. Autumn Hart. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I shrieked as I threw my arms around him, taking us both to the floor. We landed in a laughing pile of limbs and smiles. Ryan found my left hand and slid the glittering ring on my finger.

A horn honking outside started the moment.

“What the hell?” I said.

The horn blared again.

“What is that?”

Ryan grinned. “That’s your engagement present. Mom went to pick it up for me. I told you. Your dreams are mine. You ready to drive that big van all the way to Louisiana?”

I let out a startled laugh. “You got me a van?”

“I got us a van. It has a bed. A kitchenette. Storage. It’ll make road trips a hell of a lot more comfortable.”

I laughed as I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him in the tightest hug. “I can’t believe you.”

“Believe it,” he said as he kissed me. “Get in the van, Willow.”