Page 45

epilogue

Nova

One more month later…

T here are two types of people in this world: those who daydream about wedding dresses and proposals—and the ones who swear they’re too practical to believe in all that nonsense and everything that goes along with it.

I’ve always been the second type. Or at least…I thought I was.

Lately though? I’ve been doing a whole lotta wondering.

“Fiancé,” I said to myself in the mirror last night after Luca had already climbed into bed. “Fee-yon-say.”

I kind of love the sound of it.

Nova Montagalo. Someone’s fiancée.

And no, I don’t think it’s too soon. I think it’s right .

I haven’t said any of this out loud to anyone—not even Poppy. I’m playing it cool. Zero pressure. The cool girlfriend who has no expectations of the future and living in the now.

Such a load of crap.

I think about babies. Vacations. Houses in the suburbs, preferably near my brother and Austin. I think about Luca holding a baby and the dangerous levels of horny that visual unleashes in my brain.

I’m not just in love—I’m in future-tripping love.

THIS SHIT IS SERIOUS!

I am one step away from proposing to him . Seriously.

One step.

I’ve lightly stalked a few jewelers online. Maybe I’ve browsed a few men’s engagement bands. I’ve secretly bookmarked more than a dozen wedding venues in the Houston area on Instagram. IN SECRET.

Lost in thought, I blink up at him like he’s grown a second head when he casually announces from the kitchen:

“It’s Taco Tuesday. I think we should celebrate.”

I glance up from my book to where Luca’s stands in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator.

I lower my book slowly. Narrow my eyes. “You want to celebrate tacos ?”

“You don’t ?” He scoffs. “We’re out of tomatoes and lettuce—I have to run to the grocery store. Wanna come with?”

Of course I want to come with.

He’s been gone a lot lately because the Baddies made the playoffs and all they do is work out, condition, and practice. Currently, his bicep is wrapped from a maybe tear—he won’t admit it’s serious.

I peel myself off the couch. “Give me two seconds. I’ll throw on jeans.”

I tug on denim, twist my hair into a clip, and slide into my sneakers. When I make it back to the kitchen, Luca’s standing by the counter with his keys in hand, doing this lean that’s almost too casual.

Like he watched a tutorial titled “How to Act Normal When You’re Definitely Up to Something.”

“You good?” I ask slowly .

He straightens, smiling. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s Taco Tuesday.”

Rightttt...

By the time we pull into the parking lot of the store, he’s humming some off-key pop song and tapping his fingers against the wheel like he’s scoring a film. I raise an eyebrow, but he flashes me a grin and holds up the shopping list on his phone.

“Tomatoes, lettuce, and beans—and anything else that looks sexy,” he says. “Ready?”

“It’s me.” I laugh, following him into the store with a twirl. “I’m sexy.”

I’m still laughing when we grab a cart—he insists on pushing it—and because we’re having a cute, flirty afternoon—I push it along with him. We walk side-by-side and I glance up at him beneath my lashes, admiring his jawline as per usual.

Sigh.

So handsome…

Luca grabs a bag of shredded lettuce and tosses it in the cart like he’s dunking a basketball. “Boom. One item down.”

“We are so efficient.”

“Teamwork makes the tacos work.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not a saying.”

“It is now.”

We pause in front of the tomatoes. He picks one up and turns it like he’s inspecting fine jewelry.

“This one’s firm but not too firm. Has a good shape. Kinda reminds me of your tits.”

I love it when he compliments me .

We keep strolling, bumping hips like we’re drunk on each other—except we’re completely sober and ridiculously obsessed. Obnoxiously into each other.

In front of the limes, he slows to a stop.

Too slow.

I clock the shift in his body. The way his fingers twitch on the cart handle. The weird way he’s staring at me, lips silently moving like he’s rehearsing something in his head.

“What?” I ask, half-laughing. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing. Just wondering if we need limes or not.”

I shrug. “I don’t particularly want any, but if you do—grab a few.”

He gives a jerky nod, then moves to the limes, hand poised above them but not grabbing a single one.

I put my hand on his forearm. “Babe?”

No response.

“Luca? You okay?”

I wave a hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

I lean in to him. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re totally being weird.”

He clears his throat and grabs two limes in the most unnatural, robotic motion I’ve ever seen. Like he’s never touched citrus before in his life.

I bite back a grin. “Great. Limes secured. Can we move on?”

He nods mechanically. “Yeah. Tortilla and beans aisle.”

We turn the corner, and he starts walking faster, pushing the cart like he’s on a mission—which, okay, he usually is because no one wants to be in the grocery store longer than necessary but this feels different.

And then?—

He stops cold in front of the refried beans.

Bends at the waist, hands on his knees while he reads the labels, scanning our options like he’s picking out a rare bottle of wine and not—you know—the exact same beans we’ve bought when we make tacos or rice bowls.

I watch, brow raised.

“You good down there, Ace?” I put my hand on his back. “Babe? ”

It’s not until I follow his gaze up the shelves that I notice the white, square lacquered box.

At first, my brain doesn’t compute—I think it’s someone’s lost AirPods case.

Or an item someone was too lazy to put back on its proper shelf. You know how when you find a bottle of shampoo next to the cans of soup because people are monsters?

That .

But then I glance at Luca again—at the way he’s nervously shifting his weight, hands stuffed in his pockets like he doesn’t trust them not to combust—and something in my stomach twists.

Wait.

No.

No way.

I look again. Closer.

It’s not a lost AirPods case.

It’s glossy, yes.

And small.

But square.

And it’s been placed in the center of two cans, too carefully to be an accident .

It can’t be.

I blink at the box.

Then I blink at Luca.

Then at the box again.

When I turn back around, he is down on one knee. He exhales sharply—nervous, jittery—and reaches for the middle shelf.

I take a step back, then forward, then back again. I have no idea what to do with my hands. Or my face.

Or my whole body, honestly.

“Oh my…” I whisper, hands covering my mouth, immediately checking for this life milestone. “What are you doing ?”

WHAT IS HE DOING?!? !

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, reaching over to pluck the lacquered box from the shelf like a man about to propose in the canned goods section. “Nova. Babe .”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God .

He is not!

“Nova Montagalo,” he begins, eyes locked on mine. “The first time I saw you, we were at the ESPY Awards. You were wearing that red dress—and I remember thinking two things at once: that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen…and two, that you were definitely out of my league.”

I choke on a watery laugh as he goes on.

“I don’t know if you remember having to use the ladies’ room that night, but the entire time you were inside it, I kept trying to think of things to say when you walked out. And when you did I froze. Asked you if it went well.” He laughs. “Nothing was more devastating than joining the Baddies and learning I wouldn’t be allowed to date you—not that I would have had the balls to ask you out.”

Tears continue forming in my eyes.

People around us are beginning to notice us. A woman gasps as she rounds the corner with her cart. One of the stock guys gawks as he pushes a flatbed full of water bottles.

But I only see Luca .

“The best day of my life was the day I saw you on that dating app.”

My throat constricts as I whisper, “Mine too.”

“The only thing I’ve ever wanted was a family of my own,” he continues hoarsely. “To have someone love me the way you love me. I want babies with you. I want to build a house with you. And I want to keep having sex with you on Saturday afternoons.”

We do that.

We instituted Sex Saturday to keep things interesting so we’re regularly banging—and I highly recommend it with a busy schedule. Ha !

“And,” Luca adds, loud enough for the couple near the apple display to hear, “I’d really love to keep doing those things as your husband.”

My legs wobble.

Bottom lip shakes.

I am two seconds away from ugly crying!

“I am so in love you, Nova Montagalo. You are my person. The love of my life, the thorn in my side, and the person I want to wake up next to every morning—morning breath and all. I’ve been yours since the first time you rolled your eyes at me.

So…” He pops the top on the red box with trembling hands and a dramatic flourish. “Will you marry me?”

I stare at the diamond.

It glistens, sparkles, and shines.

It’s frickin’ huge!

“Holy shit,” I breathe out.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, voice cracking in a worried way—as if he’s actually, seriously crazy enough to worry I’d say no!

IS HE OUT OF HIS MIND?!

“Yes!” I gasp, vibrating. “Obviously, yes!”

Luca slips the ring on my finger—his hands are shaking so badly he misses my finger and gets my thumb on the first try—and I grab the front of his hoodie, yanking him in for a kiss that earns a whoop from everyone who has now gathered in aisle three.

Those surrounding us and caught the entire proposal begin clapping, including an enthusiastic toddler pushing a tiny, pink doll stroller.

I go down on my knees so I can kiss Luca’s face, placing a smooch on the tip of his nose.

Near his eye.

Corner of his mouth.

I cup his face between my eyes. “Want to know a secret?”

His big, brown eyes get wider. “You’re pregnant?”

Jeez. Seriously ?

“No!” I laugh. “I can’t believe you proposed to me, because I’ve been thinking about proposing to you!”

Luca’s mouth drops open. “Wait— what ?”

I nod, biting back a grin. “I was going to do it next weekend. I already had a whole plan. Champagne. Candlelight. Poppy was going to play guitar.”

His brow furrows. “Poppy doesn’t play guitar.”

“I know. That’s why it was going to be memorable.”

He continues blinking, the poor man. “You were going to propose to me ?”

“Of course I was, you dumb beautiful man.” I boop his nose. “I love you. I didn’t want to wait.”

Luca takes my hand and rises to his feet, pulling me up along with him. Wraps his arms around my waist for a hug.

A kiss.

“Babe,” I whisper. “We’re getting married.” I loop my arm through his, grinning like a lunatic. “Sex Saturday is gonna hit different now that we’re engaged.”

“You’re a fiancée now.” He grins. “I can’t fucking wait to get you pregnant.”

Then he grabs a can of beans—and my hand.

Best.

Grocery run.

Ever.