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"I'm sure the person who’s buying the shop will want you to stay on and help with the PR."
"I guess so," my tone is doubtful.
"I know so." She flashes me a confident smile.
"And how is that?"
"I told him the only way I’d sell is if you were allowed to keep the account and he said, absolutely. In fact, it's because of the publicity you generated that he noticed the store. So, I have you to thank for this." She waves a hand in the direction of the computer screen.
I lean a hip against her table. "Okay, well, if you’re happy, I’m happy. Though I’m sure the new owner was only making the appropriate noises to appease you. He probably doesn’t want me to stay on, and—"
"He does want you to stay on," a new voice says from the doorway.
I know that voice. Slowly turning, I allow my brain to begin piecing together the clues. Something does not compute. It has to be him, but why? My gaze meets his, and the best word my brain can supply is, "Huh?"
80
Rick
"Mr. Mitchell." Violet rises to her feet.
"Please, call me Rick." I walk over to grasp her hand.
"Thank you so much for the prompt payment. I still can’t believe how quickly everything has transpired."
"Thank you for creating an amazing space." I squeeze her hand, then turn to face the woman who’s darting daggers at me.
"You’re buying this shop?"
"I already bought this shop. I was fulfilling a promise I made to Grams."
"A promise?" She scowls.
"Grams wanted me to use the money I inherited from her wisely. A portion of it was to go toward helping struggling bookshops—specifically, spicy bookshops—from going under."
"And this was the one you identified?" Her frown deepens.
"Among others." I nod.
"You know each other?" Violet looks from me to Goldie, then back at me. There’s a look of speculation on her face. After several moments of silence, Goldie slowly nods her head.
"I know him from London. He’s my…" She swallows. "He’s my husband."
A ball of heat forms in my chest, and my pulse rate shoots through the roof. Herhusband. She called me her husband. I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear that again.
She locks her fingers together in a gesture that gives away her nervousness, and the light bounces off of the rings—both of them—on her finger.
That warmth in my chest deepens and grows until my entire body is suffused with heat. I feel like I’ve won the League all over again. No, this is more fulfilling than winning a cup, more personal than winning any match, more adrenaline inducing than being on the hunt for the enemy on the front line, more real, more personal, more everything. This is everything. She is everything, and more. She is my universe. Every breath I take belongs to her. I take a step toward her, then another.
As if from a long distance away, I hear Violet say, "I’ll leave you two to catch up." The door shuts softly behind her.
I come to a stop in front of her, then notch my knuckles under her chin. "Hello wife," I say softly.
She swallows. "Husband." She tilts her head. "You are my husband."
"And you are mine." I search her features. "Aren’t you upset about what I did?"
"You mean, keeping track of me enough to know where I was working?"
