Page 52 of His to Claim (The Owner’s Club #2)

Graham

The scent of old books and freshly brewed coffee hits me the moment Delilah pushes open the door to what looks like every hipster's dream bookstore.

Moretti's Books & Brew sits tucked away on a quiet Park Slope street like it's been here since Brooklyn was farmland.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with worn paperbacks create cozy reading nooks while mismatched armchairs cluster around small tables.

"This is your secret hideout?" I ask, taking in the organized chaos of literary heaven.

"Something like that." Delilah's voice carries an affection I've never heard before. She's nervous—I can see it in the way she smooths her dress and checks her reflection in the window.

An older man behind the counter looks up from polishing a coffee mug. Silver hair refuses to lie flat and reading glasses perch uselessly on top of his head. His weathered face breaks into the kind of smile that reaches all the way to his eyes when he spots Delilah.

"There's my favorite troublemaker," he calls out with obvious warmth.

But before Delilah can respond, a woman with intricate braids and sharp eyes emerges from behind the biography section. She wears jeans and a vintage band t-shirt, and the look she gives Delilah could cut glass.

"Iris," Delilah breathes, stopping short.

"Don't 'Iris' me." The woman—Iris, apparently—crosses her arms. "Three days, Delilah. Two days of radio silence while I'm watching the news for reports of your body washing up in the Hudson."

"I can explain?—"

"You ghosted me. Right when things got dangerous." Iris's voice cracks slightly. "I thought Stanley had taken you. I thought you were dead."

The guilt on Delilah's face is immediate and devastating. She rushes forward to pull Iris into a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I should have called but everything happened so fast and I was scared and?—"

"You're an idiot," Iris says into her shoulder, but she's hugging back just as tightly. "A complete and utter idiot."

"I know."

"Don't ever do that to me again."

"I won't. I promise."

I hang back and watch this reunion unfold, cataloguing details. So this is Iris—Delilah's partner in crime and closest friend. The one she's been protecting all this time. The fierce loyalty between them is obvious even through their argument.

The older man clears his throat. "You gonna introduce me to your friend there, kid?"

Delilah steps back from Iris, wiping her eyes. "Sal, this is Graham. Graham, meet Sal Moretti. He owns this place."

Sal's handshake is firm and his eyes are sharp despite his grandfatherly appearance. "So you're the one who's got our girl all twisted up."

"Guilty as charged." I glance at Delilah, who's blushing furiously. "Though I'd argue she's done her fair share of twisting in return."

"I bet she has." Sal's grin suggests he knows exactly what kind of trouble Delilah is capable of. "Coffee?"

"Please."

He prepares two cups while Delilah and Iris settle into what appears to be a familiar routine of catching up and arguing simultaneously.

Their voices drift over as they hash out the events of the past few days.

I decide right then and there that I am definitely hiring Iris and paying her a big fat salary.

Her hacking attempts into my company firewalls were top-notch.

Plus, this way I don’t have to owe Beckett all these favors when I want to hack into more complicated things.

"Here." Sal slides a steaming mug across the counter, refocusing my attention. "Dark roast, black. Figured you for the type."

"Good instincts." I take a sip and nearly groan with appreciation. "This is excellent."

"Family recipe. Been making it the same way for forty years." Sal leans against the counter and studies me with those sharp eyes. "So. You planning on sticking around?"

The question catches me off guard with its directness. "That's the plan."

"Good. Because if you're just looking for a good time before you move on to the next shiny thing, you can walk right back out that door."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"She's been hurt enough." Sal's voice stays conversational but steel underlies every word. "Lost her parents when she was seventeen. Been taking care of herself ever since. Girl's got more walls than Fort Knox and trust issues that could fill a psychology textbook."

"I know."

“You better. Because I've been watching her for eight years now. Watched her build those walls brick by brick. Watched her convince herself that being alone was safer than risking her heart." He pauses to refill his own mug. "First time I've seen her look at someone the way she looks at you."

Something warm and fierce expands in my chest. "She's everything to me."

"That so?"

"More than everything. She's..." I struggle to find words that don't sound completely inadequate. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. The most important thing in my life."

Sal nods slowly. "And what are your intentions with our girl?"

The old-fashioned phrasing makes me smile despite the seriousness of his tone. "I want to marry her."

"That right?" Sal sets down his mug and really looks at me. "You asking my permission?"

"I'm asking for your blessing." The distinction matters and we both know it. "Delilah doesn't need anyone's permission to make her own choices. But you matter to her. Your opinion matters to her. So yes, I'm asking for your blessing."

"Hmm." Sal strokes his chin thoughtfully. "You rich?"

"Very."

"Good. Girl deserves someone who can take care of her properly. You faithful?"

"Completely."

"You gonna try to change her? Make her into some trophy wife who lunches with other rich women and pretends to care about charity galas?"

"God no. I fell in love with exactly who she is. Why would I want to change that?"

"Smart answer." Sal's expression remains serious. "What about her work? Her past? You gonna judge her for the choices she's made?"

"Her past made her who she is. I'm grateful for every experience that led her to me."

"Even the criminal ones?"

"Especially those. They taught her to be strong and independent and clever as hell. Plus they're how we met."

Sal chuckles at that. "Fair point. You planning on making her give up the life? Go straight?"

"That's her choice to make. I'll support whatever she decides."

"And if she decides she's not done with the criminal mastermind business?"

"Then I guess I'll have to learn to be a very supportive criminal husband."

This time Sal laughs outright. "I like you. You're either exactly what she needs or you're gonna drive each other completely insane."

"Probably both."

"Definitely both." He extends his hand again. "You have my blessing, son. Try not to screw it up."

"I'll do my best."

I shake his hand and turn back toward the women just as their conversation winds down. Delilah catches my eye and smiles—that real smile that still makes my chest tight every time I see it.

This is it. This moment. In this bookstore that means everything to her, surrounded by the people she considers family.

"Delilah Monroe.” I cross to where she's sitting and drop to one knee right there between the bestseller display and the poetry section.

Her eyes go wide. "Graham, what are you?—"

"I know this isn't the most romantic setting. No sunset, no fancy restaurant, no string quartet." I pull the ring box from my pocket—the one I've been carrying since the Hunt, waiting for the right moment. "But these are the people who matter most to you. And you matter most to me."

Iris gasps. Sal grins like he knew this was coming.

Delilah just stares at me with tears starting to gather in her eyes.

"You've turned my entire world upside down," I continue. "Made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling. Made me want things I never thought I'd want. You challenge me and frustrate me and make me laugh and drive me absolutely insane in the best possible way."

"Graham—"

"I love your brilliant criminal mind and your terrible poker face when you're trying not to laugh at my jokes. I love how fierce you are when you're protecting the people you care about. I love that you drugged me on our first date and somehow made that the most romantic evening of my life."

A tear spills over and tracks down her cheek.

"So what do you say, beautiful? Will you marry me?"

She looks around at Sal and Iris, both of whom are watching with obvious delight. Then back at me.

"What about the people who matter most to you?" she asks quietly. "Shouldn't they be here too?"

My throat tightens with emotion. "You're number one on that list now. These people love you, which makes them my people too."

She slides off her chair and onto her knees in front of me, framing my face with her hands.

"Yes," she whispers. "Of course yes."

The ring slides onto her finger like it was made for her—which it was. The stone is the exact color of her eyes and a setting delicate enough to match her but strong enough to last forever.

She kisses me then, soft and sweet and full of promise, while Sal cheers and Iris wipes her eyes and the whole bookstore fills with the sound of our laughter.

When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.

"I love you too, you know," she murmurs. "Even if you did just propose to me in a coffee shop."

"Best coffee shop in Brooklyn," I point out.

"The only coffee shop that matters," she corrects, and kisses me again.

In the background, I hear Sal telling Iris he knew this was going to happen the moment we walked in.

Iris is demanding to see the ring. And somewhere in the middle of it all, surrounded by books and coffee and the scent of old paper and new possibilities, I realize this is exactly how it was supposed to happen.

Perfect in its imperfection. Just like us.

The End.