Page 27 of The Proposal Planner (Ever After #2)

We drift into comfortable silence, skin cooling in the evening air, hearts still racing from exertion and emotion. I stroke her hair, marveling at how soft it is, how she fits against me.

"Mason," she says.

"Mmm?"

"This changes things. Between us, I mean."

I pause, considering. She's right, of course. There's no slipping back into careful distance and professional courtesy after this. No pretending we're temporary office-mates who happen to share excellent chemistry.

"Good," I say. "I was getting tired of pretending I didn't want you."

She tilts her head up to look at me again. "Were you pretending?"

"Terribly," I admit. "I've wanted you since that first day when you glared at me over that ridiculous milk crate desk. Even when I was convinced you were going to murder me in my sleep, I wanted you."

"I was not going to murder you," she protests, though she's grinning. "Maim, maybe. Light property damage at most."

"Very reassuring."

She traces patterns on my chest with her fingertip, the touch casual but still enough to make my pulse quicken. "What happens now?"

It's a good question, and one I don't have a complete answer to. The festival is still days away, Richard's lawsuit still looms, and we still have to figure out how to coexist in this space that's become part workplace, part home.

But the uncertainty doesn't terrify me. Instead, it feels like possibility.

"Now," I say, rolling us over so she's beneath me again, her hair spread across the bear rug like spilled ink. "Now we see where this takes us."

"Mmm," she hums, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I like the sound of that."

"Do you now?" I lower my head to nip at her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling her pulse flutter under my lips.

"Very much," she breathes, arching against me. "Though I should warn you, I'm not good at casual."

I pull back to look at her, struck by the vulnerability in her admission. "Good," I say firmly. "Because there's nothing casual about this. About you. About how I feel when I'm with you."

The expression that spreads across her face is brilliant enough to power the entire barn. "Show me," she whispers.

So I do.

We make love again as the sun sets outside the windows, more deliberate this time.

Taking time to explore, to savor, to memorize.

When she gasps my name, when her fingers dig into my back, when she looks at me like I'm everything she's ever wanted, I feel a piece of myself click into place.

A part that's been broken for longer than I care to admit.

By the time we collapse together again, sated and tangled, the first stars are beginning to appear outside. Maddy is curled against my side, one leg thrown over mine, her breathing deep and even with approaching sleep.

"We should get dressed," I say, though I make no move to follow through on the suggestion.

"Should we?" she asks drowsily. "I'm quite comfortable, thanks."

"What if someone comes looking for you?"

"They can knock," she says with a yawn. "I'm not going anywhere."

The declaration sends warmth flooding through me. She's not going anywhere. Someone wants to stay.

I pull my jacket from my chair down over us, cocooning us in warmth and soft fabric. Maddy makes a contented sound and burrows closer, her head finding the perfect spot on my shoulder.

"Mason?" she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being brave enough to show me who you are."

The words hit square in my chest, knocking the air from my lungs in a way that feels sharper than I expect. Because that's what I did, isn't it? I let her see past the careful walls and corporate armor to the man underneath, flawed, guilty, and trying hard to be better.

And somehow, she decided he was worth her time.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the lingering traces of our lovemaking. "Thank you for seeing me."

She stays still for so long I think she's fallen asleep. Then she whispers, "I think I love you, you know."

My heart stops. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but lie there stunned by the gift she's handed me.

"Maddy"

"You don't have to say it back," she says quickly. "I wanted you to know."

"I think I love you too," I say, the words coming easily now that she's given me permission to feel them.

She lifts her head to look at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Really?"

"Really." I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I love your creativity. Your passion. The way you refuse to see limits even when the whole world tells you they're there. I love that you made me want to be a man who deserves to stand beside you."

Tears spill down her cheeks, quiet and radiant, and she doesn't try to hide them.

"You were that man," she whispers. "You forgot. And maybe I didn't help. Maybe I saw shadows from someone else and mistook them for yours."

Her voice wobbles, and she places her hand over mine. "I promise, I won't judge you by the damage someone else left behind. You don't deserve to be haunted by another's ghosts."

I let out a breath, half laugh, half ache. "Trust me, I've got more than enough of my own."

She grins, but it's soft, solemn. "We all do. But we live through seasons, Mason. And you ... you've been surviving winter for so long, you forgot what spring feels like."

I swallow hard, throat tight. "And you?"

"I like messy seasons. The ones that surprise you."

We kiss then, slow and certain. When we part, she rests her head against my chest with a contented sigh.

"I love you," she says again, testing the words like they're precious.

"I love you too," I whisper, the weight of it grounding and lifting me at the same time.

We drift toward sleep wrapped in a feeling deeper than comfort.

Tomorrow will come with festival chaos, media fallout, Mrs. Patterson's appointment, and Richard's shadow still looming.

But tonight, this is all that exists, redemption, forgiveness, and a love that doesn't erase the past but dares to build a future anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I swear the bear gives a subtle nod of approval.

The sound of aggressive knocking on the barn door jolts me awake. I'm disoriented, sunlight is streaming through the windows, Maddy is warm and naked in my arms, and someone is pounding on the door downstairs like they're trying to break it down.

"Maddy!" a voice calls out, carrying through the old building. "I know you're in there! Your car's outside and you didn't come home last night!"

Maddy stirs against me, mumbling something incoherent into my chest. Then her mother's voice penetrates her sleepy haze, and her eyes snap open. "That would be my mother," she says, suddenly wide awake and looking horrified.

"Oh god, she's going to murder me. And then you. And then resurrect us both to lecture us about responsible adult behavior."

The knocking continues, joined by the escalating voice of a concerned parent on the edge of panic.

"Madeline Rose, you open this door right now!"

We hear the heavy barn doors creak open, followed by footsteps and Gloria's voice calling out, "Maddy? Sweetheart? Are you up there? I brought coffee and my maternal anxiety!"

Maddy looks at me, then at the state of the loft, our clothes scattered everywhere, the bear rug disheveled, the unmistakable evidence of what we've been doing written all over the space.

"Well," she says with a hysterical laugh, "I guess we're about to find out how my mother feels about me having a wild, passionate affair with a lawyer."

And despite everything, the impending maternal interrogation, the scattered clothes, the judgmental bear, I can't stop grinning. Because last night was perfect, and Maddy loves me, and even Gloria, armed with spare keys and coffee, can't change that.

I reach for her hand, help her to her feet, and steal one more kiss before we brace ourselves.

"Let's go face the music," I say.