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Dawson walks into the café, the little bell on top of the door ringing as he blows out a breath.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, suddenly wanting to knead some dough or take my fiancé into the back room.
“No. New York is about to be flipped on its head,” he casually says. “But it won’t affect us.”
He walks up, quickly throwing me over his shoulder as I squeal. “Dawson!”
“Now, I’m due to be away for two nights, but we have some things to make up for before then.”
“And I’ll let myself out,” Rya drawls.
“I might have brought a certain little toy you’ve been begging to try,” Dawson promises as he slaps my ass. “I wouldn’t want my fiancée getting promiscuous while I’m out of town.”
“I like the sound of that,” I tell him, leaning into him.
I can’t help but think about that supply closet, where it all started.
And how proud I am of little old me and how far I have come.
And the man who is set to make me his wife…
… of my choosing.
What more could a girl ask for?
