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It took Grace several seconds to see what everybody else, including all three of the cameras, was seeing.
Jake.
“I sense an impending photo op,” Riley said happily from behind her.
Cole started to move out of the way, but apparently he wasn’t fast enough, because Jake none too gently pulled the back of Cole’s shirt, roughly shoving his friend aside.
He was in jeans and a cheap-looking Yankees shirt, looking completely ruffled. Almost as if he’d come from Costa Rica to Yankee Stadium on foot.
For her.
He’d come for her.
Her eyes watered. “Jake—”
He shook his head, and instead of saying a word, he hooked a hand behind her neck as his other one went around her lower back, jerking her toward him as his lips found hers.
Perfect. It was utterly perfect.
Firm lips nudged hers just slightly apart as they moved over hers, both demanding and gentle, making love to her mouth in sweet, simple kisses that were both completely audience-appropriate and unbearably seductive.
Slowly her hands came up, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“Jake.” It was a whisper. A plea that this was real.
Dimly she became aware of the escalating noise from the crowd. Of Riley and Julie’s ecstatic whoops and someone—Cole?—hollering for them to get a room.
>
Slowly they pulled away, although Grace held off opening her eyes until the very last minute.
Please don’t let this be a dream.
It wasn’t.
She was standing in Jake Malone’s arms for all of Yankee Stadium and three different cameras to see.
“You came,” she said quietly.
He rested his forehead on hers, a rueful smile on his face. “Too much? It was too much, wasn’t it? I feel like Tom Hanks would have been a little more subtle. None of this pull-the-other-guy-by-the-shirt-so-he-doesn’t-touch-my-girl stuff—”
“Speaking of which, you owe me!” Cole said, yelling to be heard over the crowd.
They both ignored him.
“It was a little overdone,” she said, once she finally found her voice. “Plus now you’ve gone and set the bar so high. All your other girls will be wanting big gestures, and I know you’ll only set foot in Yankee Stadium once—”
His face sobered. “No other girls, Grace. And no other guys, either. Not for you.”
Her smile dimmed. “This conversation feels familiar. Soon to be followed up with ‘Hey, baby, I’m off to Costa Rica.’ And speaking of which … aren’t you supposed to be there?”
Jake’s eyes closed briefly. “Grace, I—”
Grace 1.0 would have kissed away his apologies, while 2.0 would have kneed him in the balls and told him just where to shove his apologies.
But this Grace, the real Grace—who she was when she wasn’t trying to be anything or stop being anything—did neither of those.
This Grace loved. And because she loved, she listened.
