Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

—Would a few hours be too much to ask?

Depends, I text back. Does texting stop you from thinking?

—You really are incorrigible, you know that?

I’ve been called worse.

And suddenly, I can’t stand here anymore. Maybe it isn’t fair to her. Probably I’m being selfish. But I need to see her one last time.

I rush outside and hurry after her down the sidewalk.

She turns around, her “Nolan!” both scolding and pleased, surprised and frustrated.

My lips sweep to hers.

For a few perfect seconds, everything is how it was before.

Her lips feel so good against mine, move so well with mine.

But then she pulls away, eyes guarded. “Nolan, what—”

Next thing I know, I’m on one knee. “Sierra, will you make me the happiest man in the world, and go with me to Spain tomorrow?”

Her mouth can’t decide whether to be enraged or overjoyed. “For a wedding?”

I chuckle. “Whoa there. Wine and dine me first. No. Greyson recently bought a nice old house there and invited me to check it out.”

She stands there, as if still waiting for the punchline.

“In other words,” I say. “I’d like to treat you to a nice vacation—if you’ll accept.”

“But what about your father’s will and all the money?” she asks.

I rise with a shrug. “Fuck it. I’ve made my way before, and I can again. It won’t be easy, but I’ll manage.”

Her forehead furrows. “So, that’s it, then?”

“What?” I cock my head at her. “You only want to be with me if I’m stinking rich?”

“No!” she declares angrily.

“Then say yes,” I say easily.

“Yes,” she says, with a little laugh. “Yes, let’s do it, let’s go.”

“Right answer,” I murmur, as I lean in to cover her lips with mine.

For the first time in a long time, I know. Everything is going to be fucking fine.

Epilogue

Sierra

Six Months Later…

Nolan nudges me. “What you thinking?”

“Just”—I have to laugh—“I can’t believe this is my life.”

Straightening, Nolan nods. “You are lucky to be with me.”

I snort, nudging him back. “Conceited much?”

He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “OK, OK, I’m the lucky one.”

“That’s better,” I say, and we both laugh. “Although I can’t believe they finished this center so quickly.”

“Connections,” Nolan says with a pleased shrug of his powerful shoulders. “Maybe Dad didn’t leave me any money, but he left me those at least. Plus, even the military agreed there is a huge need for something like this. Us ex-military people have been getting the shaft for generations.”

I squeeze his arm. “Not anymore, though. Or at least not as much.”

Nolan nods with a smile. “That’s the idea. Education and care is the way to go. I’m just glad I can help.”

And what help it is: the Storm Center for Military Personnel has already employed hundreds of the best minds in psychology and physiotherapy to help rehabilitate current and former service members. Nolan’s been stopping in here several times a week, and it shows. The building itself is gorgeous, all airy with walls and ceiling of stunning glass, while the project hurried to completion without so much as a hitch. Nolan jokes that they used Amish, and that’s why it went so fast. But considering the timeline, I’m not sure how much of a joke that really was.

As we near the entrance and the tour winds up, Nolan checks his phone. “Shit—we better go, or we’ll be late.”

“You couldn’t have booked the comedy club’s reopening party on a different date from the tour?” I tease him.

“Now, that would be no fun,” he protests, with a shake of his long, dark-haired head.

He gives our regards and goodbyes to the organizers, then we hurry off to the Storm Comedy Club.

“I can’t believe the renovations are finally done,” Nolan admits as he drives us there in his Porsche. “I was starting to think you and I would have seven children and a couple of grandchildren before it finally got finished.”

I chuckle, carefully giving him a side-eye. “I thought you said that you weren’t 100% about wanting kids at all.”

“It was just an expression,” Nolan says, then shrugs. “Although, come to think of it, maybe in another year or so wouldn’t be a bad time.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice, but grinning all the same.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning too.

“Good,” I say.

“Good,” he says.

We both laugh.

“I’m just excited to see your first article for the Times,” Nolan comments as we near the club. “You going to do a follow-up to your Nolan masterpiece?”

I shoot him a cutting glare. “I thought we agreed not to mention that.”

He chuckles a little. “I almost forgot to tell you—I figured out why that name Maurice rang a bell. I talked to Jax and it turns out I unknowingly stole his fiancee a few years ago. The guy has hated my guts ever since. And no, I didn’t know she had a fiance when I hooked up with her.”