Suddenly, he wasn’t hard and terrible. He was soft, sweet, and holding a velvet box.
Damien lowered himself to one knee in front of me. “I know this can’t fix everything,” he said. “But if you’ll do me the honor of being my wife, for real this time, I will do everything in my power to make your life better.”
“Damien, I—” Tears ran down my cheeks. “I—”
“I love you, Hazel. And I’m sorry.”
“I love you too.” I accepted the ring from him, joy exploding through me, pure and unadulterated, and a real smile parted my lips. I hadn’t smiled in weeks. Not properly.
Damien lifted me in his arms, kissing every inch of my face. He didn’t care that I looked like hell, that I hadn’t put on makeup this morning, or that my sister was an absolute freak of nature.
And I didn’t care that his father was the devil in human form, that he had pulled away so hard he had nearly split us in two. Because it all made sense. And this time, it was for real.
Damien carried me up the stairs and unlocked the door for us. Inside, he sat me down on the sofa, kissing me again, softly but urgently, sending shivers down my spine.
“That isn’t all,” he said, sitting next to me then drawing me into his lap. “I know you’re exhausted, Hazel. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long, I don’t know how the fuck you do it. You’re stronger than any person I’ve met, but you’ve got to rest sometime.”
“My father—”
“I’m going to pay for everything,” he said. “Everything. I want to help. I like your father, and I know there’s got to be some doctor out there who can either help him or put him at ease.”
I choked on emotion, more tears coming now.
Damien wiped them away and kissed my cheeks. “And I have something else for you,” he said and shifted a hand to his pocket. He drew out a set of keys. “These are the keys to McCutcheon’s Café. They’re yours. It’s yours.”
“W–what?” I lost my breath. “What?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s all yours. I’m sure you remember that I want to start my own business in hospitality. I’ve been making some calls, and if you’re successful with this, we can turn McCutcheon’s into a franchise.”
“Are you… serious?”
“Yes, Hazel.”
“But I don’t have money. I don’t—I can’t—”
“I have money. Lots of money,” he replied. “Give me a couple years, and we’ll be just as successful as Mortimer. Even more so.”
“But he wanted to ruin you.”
“Taken care of.”
I could barely handle this. Everything I’d ever wanted had just… materialized. And all it had taken was opening up to a man I’d sworn I would never love. Who had broken my heart. Who had put it back together again.
“Everything is going to be all right,” Damien said. “But I’ve got one condition for our engagement.”
My heart did flips. Shit. Of course there was a catch.
Damien let out a low, sexy chuckle and pinched my chin. “Fall for me.”
And then he kissed me, and all the pain and fear and worry dissolved into glitter and dust.
Epilogue
Damien
Two years later…
The woman behind the counter had eyes like forever and curves that took my mind to nirvana. I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her hips, rubbing the soft cotton of her summery dress against her skin.
“We’re about to open,” Hazel said, quietly, leaning into my touch. “Dad’s going to come by to try the quiche.”
“It’s five to ten,” I replied, nipping the skin on my wife’s neck. “More than enough time for a quickie in the office.”
“I believe, Mr. Woods, that is a health code violation of epic proportions.” She turned in my arms, tilting her chin and spearing me with a stare that promised so much more. “And I’m too pregnant to do anything standing up.”
“There’s no such thing as too pregnant.”
“I don’t think you can say that unless you’ve actually been pregnant,” she replied and tapped me on the nose. “It’s been thirty-eight and a half weeks, and if the baby doesn’t come out soon, I’m going to… I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. Just freak out. I’ll freak out.”
She’d been uncomfortable for weeks. I kissed her cheek, gently. “You know, the doctor did say that sex might speed along the process.”
“In that case, take me now,” she said.
I kissed her, turning the sarcastic words into a deep, throaty moan. A knock at the glass front door of McCutcheon’s Café interrupted us. And, right on cue, Hazel’s father, Frank, had arrived. He was dressed snappily in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. He was bald from the chemo, but he was alive.
He was officially in remission as of two months ago. The doctors had said he was a miracle case. That they couldn’t explain how he had come back from the brink, but I knew how.
It was all Hazel. There was something about her love that fixed things that seemed irreparably damaged.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Looks like we’ll have to save this for later.”
“Assuming I don’t go into labor before then,” Hazel replied, hopefully. She kissed me once, a promise that the ‘later’ would come, and I went to let her father into the café.
He shook my hand, gave Haze a kiss, then sat down at one of the tables. “I’m ready to eat,” he said, grinning at her. “Where’s the quiche?”
“You really should try the chicken pie,” I said. “Much better than the quiche.”
“Sacrilege!” Hazel hissed. “That quiche is my father’s recipe. It’s perfect.”
In no time, the café bustled with activity. Folks arrived for food, waitresses appeared from the kitchen to take orders,
