Page 122 of Fake it for Keeps

He reached out and cupped my face in both his hands. His palms were cold against my skin, but his touch was gentle as he tilted my face up, studying me like he was checking for injuries.

His eyes traveled over my features. My puffy eyes, my bare face, my chapped lips. Then his gaze met mine, and I saw something in his expression that made my heart stutter.

Concern. Care. Something that looked a lot like love.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I shook my head, tears already forming. “No. Are you?”

“No.” He stroked his thumbs across my cheekbones, catching tears before they could fall. “But I’m here now. We’re here now.”

This moment was such a stark contrast to everything Colt had been when I first met him. Back then, he’d been all hard lines and sharp edges. Cocky grins and grumpy demands. A man who bulldozed over everyone and everything to get what he wanted.

Now he was looking at me like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.

This man would never leave me behind. This man would always choose me.

This man would never deliberately hurt me.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too.” He leaned down, his forehead touching mine. “God, Hallie, I love you so much it scares the shit out of me.”

Then he kissed me.

It was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was afraid I might break. But I pressed closer and deepened the kiss. That one kiss became everything I needed it to be—forgiveness and promise and home all wrapped into one.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both smiling against each other’s lips.

“This place really is a shithole,” Colt muttered, glancing around at the peeling paint and worn furniture. “You really do need my money.”

I threw my head back and laughed for the first time in days. “It is not a shithole! It’s rustic.”

“It’s falling apart.”

“It has character.”

“It has mold, probably.” But he was smiling as he said it, walking me backward toward the living room where the fire from last night had burned down to embers. “But I love it. Because it’s yours.”

He kissed me again, harder this time, with an urgency that stole my breath. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him.

“Marry me,” he said against my lips.

I pulled back. “What?”

“Marry me. On Valentine’s Day. Just like we planned.” His eyes were bright, intense. “We’ll dissolve the contract. Tear it up. Burn it. Whatever you want. And we’ll sign new paperwork. Real paperwork. Real marriage.”

“Colt, we can’t. The guests think it’s cancelled. And the vendors?”

“I don’t care about the guests or the vendors.” He cupped my face again. “I care about you. I care about us. And I’m not waiting another six months or another year to make you my wife. I want to marry you on Valentine’s Day like I’ve been planning for weeks. The only difference is this time it’ll be real.”

“You really want to marry me?” My voice cracked. “After everything?”

“After everything,” he confirmed. “Despite everything. Because of everything. Hallie, you’re it for me. You’re the person I want to wake up next to every morning. The person I want to call when I have a nightmare. The person I want to fix up this shithole beach house with.”

“It’s not a shithole,” I said, but I was crying and laughing at the same time.

“It absolutely is.” He kissed my tears away. “But it’s your shithole. Which means it’s our shithole now. If you’ll have me.”