One Day Fiance

He laughs, the vibration in his chest making my own happiness bubble up too, and our teeth clack together as I kiss him once more, not letting a little thing like laughter get in my way.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I cup his face, grinning. “You, big bad thief. You stole my heart.”

I hear snickers from the table and realize that might’ve sounded a bit like bedroom talk, but I’m too happy to care. Especially when Connor plays along, growling, “I didn’t steal it. It was mine all along.”

Oh, fuck yeah, my next male main character is going to be a growly-possessive sort inspired by Connor because my baby makers are exploding like fireworks right now. Can it be possible for sound to trigger ovulation? Right now, I’m pretty sure it can.

In fact, the story is already writing itself in my mind . . . an asshole not looking for love and a spontaneous, crazy girl who believes in fairy tales. There should be twists and turns, with someone almost dying. Oh, and a lovey-dovey scene on the beach where they express their deepest, sweetest emotions. Yeah, that sounds like a bestseller!

“Poppy?”

I come back from my mental journey into my next book to see him looking at me with worry marring his brows. Relieving his stress, I smile and kiss him. “Can we elope to the beach like Caylee said? I think it’ll be good research for my next book.”

He shakes his head, his brows rising in question. “Anything you want.”

“Even if I say I want the Mona Lisa?” I tease, making it an impossible job.

He shrugs as if I just asked him to get me a Slurpee down at the corner store. “The one in the Louvre is already a replica. The real one is stored away for safekeeping. Which one you want?”

We all laugh, but I’m not sure he’s actually kidding. I guess it doesn’t matter because my art thief is retired, and his one-day fiancée is going to be a forever wife.

Epilogue

Connor

“Put it on speakerphone!” I tell Poppy.

Finally, the call’s here. I don’t think I could stand the stress any longer. I’ve handled numerous thefts, done business pitches now, even mock stole something from the freakin’ Pentagon.

But I can’t take this any longer. She’s been waiting on this call all day. I’ve tried to keep her distracted, but now that the phone is ringing, I’m nervous too.

She answers, her hand shaking slightly. “Hello.”

Hilda’s on the other end of the line and is panting with excitement even before the first words come out of her mouth. “Poppy Woodstock! Are you sitting down?”

Poppy sinks to the coffee table, the nearest flat surface. I sit on the couch in front of her, framing her knees with mine and placing my hands on her thighs. I believe in her, and Hilda’s voice is encouragement . . . but sometimes, you just gotta hear the words.

Poppy, too. “I am now.”

“Trouble in Great Falls is officially a Times bestseller! Better than book one, even, which is rare for sequels. It’s at the top of the charts, and sales are still going strong. You did it, Poppy!”

Poppy’s eyes are as wide as saucers, her jaw is hanging open, and a strange ‘ahh’ sound is coming out of her mouth. After a few moments of this continuing, I clear my throat. “Ah, I think she’s excited, Hilda. She’s frozen, but in a good way. Let it go, Pops. Let it go.”

“Oh, hi, Connor!” Hilda greets me like a casual bar buddy, which is funny since we’ve only ever met face to face twice so far. “Well, when she comes to, tell her the publisher wants to discuss what’s next . . . after the conclusion of the Great Falls trilogy. I think they’ll consider anything she wants to write at this point. I’ll just need something to pitch, and I bet they’d be sending over a contract before you know it.”

“Will do. Thanks, Hil. We’ll call you tomorrow.” I hang up the phone and cup Poppy’s face in my hands, running my thumbs over her cheeks soothingly. “Honey? You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Did Hilda say better than book one?” she quotes vacantly.

“She did. Did you hear the rest?”

Poppy nods, and her whole face lights up from within as everything sinks in. She squeals, jumping into my lap in excitement.

“Oh, my God!” she gushes, pumping her fist in the air. “I did it! We did it! Aaaahhh!”

Her words turn to gibberish and sounds of joy as she shakes me by my shoulders. At our feet, Nut and Juice are barking and howling, feeding off our energy. After all, if Poppy’s going crazy, then everybody’s going crazy.

“We should celebrate,” I tell her when she pauses to take a breath. “Get dressed, and I’ll take you to dinner. I’ll even call the girls and have them meet us.”