She nodded, kissed his thumb, then the knuckle of his index finger. “Yeah. I was scared to do anything about it. I thought if you didn’t feel the same way, well, that would make work uncomfortable. And you were so much fun to flirt with. I just really enjoyed spending time with you, so I took it however I could get it.”
Shepherd set his mug down on the nearby end table so he could use his free hand to rub his face. His facial hair prickled under his palm. He pressed down harder, grateful for the external sensation. “Shit, Ginny.Months.”
“I know. I’m sorry I waited so long. But you’ve been brave, and now it’s my turn. I love you, Preston Shepherd. All of you. Your manic planning. Your anxious spirals. Your self-deprecating humor.”
His eyes burned. His chest ached. Shepherd tried to push the sensation further down, deeper and deeper, but it fought its way to the surface, the strongest thing inside of him. No one had ever wanted all of him. Not his parents. Not his ex-wife. Half the time, not even himself.
“I love the way you take care of everyone and then try to act like you don’t. I love that you’re brave, even when it’s scary. I love that you make me feel like a person, a real individual person that exists outside of my dysfunctional family. That I deserve more than being yet another Kent. It scares me, how much I want to be better than who I was and how I was raised so that I can keep up with you. You’re the best man I have ever known, Shepherd.”
Shepherd blinked, and his eyes burned. He sniffed, rubbed the tears away with the tips of his fingers, but they kept coming back. When he’d caught Hayley and Oscar, he hadn’t cried. He’d simply packed a bag, got in his car, and called the first lawyer he found on Google.
Hayley had called it proof that he was emotionless. That he cared about nothing besides himself. But here he was, sitting next to the woman of his dreams, openly crying.
Maybe the problem had been that he had never really loved Hayley. Maybe just following his neatly laid plans wasn’t always the best idea—that it’s OK to leave a little wiggle room forlife’s surprises. Better than OK, if the surprise was someone as wonderful and as crazy as Ginny.
He sighed, shook his head. “Jesus, Ginny. You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?”
She giggled quietly, tears on her cheeks.
Shepherd reached for her, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. “No more fake dating,” he said. “Only the real stuff.”
“Only the real stuff,” Ginny agreed, kissing him hard. She tried to pull him closer, fumble with his shirt, and climb into his lap all at once.
Shepherd chuckled. “See? Chaos.”
Whatever came next—whether it was the fallout of her crazy family, a lawsuit from meth-dealing bikers, or some other terrifying adventure—no matter how scary it was, he knew he’d get through it, because he’d face it with her.
FIFTY-TWO
Afew hours later, Shepherd was walking towards the Kent front door wearing a Shepherd’s Pies branded shirt that was a size too small, coordinating sweatpants that were a size too big, yesterday’s socks, and smelling like both Ginny’s floral shampoo and citrus deodorant because sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Like taking a needed but unplanned shower at your girlfriend’s place and then making do with unsold stock in the restaurant.
Ginny held his hand, dressed in clothes that fit appropriately and smelling like herself. Like him.
Like them.
His girlfriend. For real, this time.
The lack of police presence was both welcome and surprising inside the Kent home. Bradley Kent met them at the door, hugged his daughter.
“She’s resting upstairs,” he said when he shook Shepherd’s hand. “I’ll take you up to her.”
They walked past the sitting room, and Shepherd glanced over. The elder Kent and his young wife were on the couch, in front of the TV. Financial news. Elwin sat with rapt attention, his wife was fast asleep on his shoulder.
In the kitchen, Vincent and his wife and one of their children were arguing about cookies before dinner.
There was no sign of Bradley’s current wife. She was probably pouting in her bedroom.
Bradley opened his study door and there, sitting on a leather armchair as if it were a throne, was Deandra, with a granddaughter on her lap, and a martini in her hand.
“Mom!” Ginny breathed and hurried over. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”
Deandra sipped her drink, gave Ginny and Shepherd both an assessing once-over. “Virginia, so nice of you to finally joinus. I hope my kidnapping didn’t interrupt your plans too badly.”
Ginny collapsed to her knees. “Mom,” she said, “I was so worried about you.”
“Hmm.” Deandra shooed the granddaughter away, who hurried over to Bradley and hid behind his legs. Deandra touched Ginny’s hair. “Damp,” she declared, her voice dripping with judgment. “As is your boyfriend’s. Joint shower, perhaps? Or maybe you two had time this afternoon to do a few laps in the pool? Your brother tells me you’ve barely been in the family home this entire time.”
“I’ve been trying to save you!” Ginny said. “Mom, Shepherd and I tried to find you! And when we couldn’t do that, we tried to get the money to pay the ransom!”
