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It feels right, this makeshift family unit, and the thought both terrifies and excites me. How can I not want more of this? More of them?
Tucked under the blankets, with Grace's steady breathing lulling me closer to sleep, my last coherent thought is a resolve to figure this out, for the possibility of what could be with Aidan, and this unexpected sense of belonging I've stumbled upon.
Just as dreams begin to merge with reality, exhaustion pulls me under, into a well-deserved nap.
When I awaken, evening has cast its soft glow over the world. The setting sun bathes the room in a gentle light.
I stretch, blinking away sleep, and realize I'm alone under the covers.
Grace's spot, once warmed by her tiny presence, now holds a neatly folded note. Smiling, I reach for it, greeted by Aidan's unique scrawl - a mix of infuriating and endearing. He couldn't bear to wake me, opting instead for cool dad duties by letting Grace turn his bed into her wildling's den.
But it's the postscript that nudges a flutter of excitement in my belly...
A trail of notes leading to a surprise.
I'm on my feet before I know it, curiosity propelling me forward. Each note, a playful breadcrumb, brings a laugh or a shake of my head, leading me right to the bathroom door.
There, like a scene from a romantic movie, hangs a stunning red dress. Its beauty takes my breath away. Beside it, a note:
Put this on and meet me in the hotel lobby at 9. Bring your sketchbook.
Glancing at the clock, I realize I have just an hour. An hour to shed my practical, grounded self for a night of unpredictability.
Aidan's laid out two choices for me, like a game show.
Do I stay in or dive into another spontaneous adventure with him?
Holding the note, I can't help but laugh. I know exactly which option I'm choosing.
With Aidan Sullivan, was there ever really a choice?
Chapter Nineteen
AIDAN
Here I am, perched at the Montfaire hotel bar, nursing a whiskey that doesn't taste nearly as good as a vanilla iced latte would.
The amber liquid swirls in my glass, almost mocking my usual caffeinated preference. I guess this is what gearing up for my first official date with Lacey feels like.
A shred of doubt tries to sneak in, but I shake it off.
Dressed in a collared shirt and suit—no tie, thanks to Lacey’s influence on everything, including my wardrobe—I chuckle at how I've changed.
They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but at the ripe "old" age of thirty-five, Lacey has me learning and relishing every single one.
Just as I'm pondering this, my gaze lifts, and there she is.
Lacey steps into the dimly lit ambiance of the bar, wearing the red dress I left for her—a vision so stunning, it momentarily steals my ability to think.
In a matter of weeks, she's turned my world upside down, making me question what I thought I knew about myself and the kind of future I wanted. I watch her, a sense of awe washing over me.
At twenty-five, she's ten years my junior, but those numbers fade into insignificance with every step she takes closer. Her intelligence, her talent, her innate light—she's reshaped my world without even trying.
My eyes roam appreciatively over the woman who's changed everything about me, and my mind ventures to how incredibly lucky I am. Lucky to have crossed paths with someone who makes me feel like a teenager again, heart racing and all.
And as she approaches, her golden-streaked curls bouncing in time with her steps, I know without a shadow of a doubt—I wouldn't change a single thing.
I push away from the bar, my shoulder squaring as she nears.
