Love the One You're With

And nobody seemed to have heard her protest. They were all staring at …
It took Grace several seconds to see what everybody else, including all three of the cameras, was seeing.
Jake.

She melted. “I love you.”
His eyes closed in relief before he jerked her off her feet and spun her around.

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.

“It’s like this, Grace. I love you. I do. And I know this isn’t a romantic way to say it, and I should probably have truffles and Merlot and some shit, and instead someone just spilled beer all over my foot, but that’s the way my love is going to be. A little bit messy, completely confused. But it’s real.”

“What am I missing?” he asked softly. “What had my Grace running out into the rain without so much as a jacket?”
My Grace.

But here with Jake, kissing on a quiet side street in downtown Manhattan felt right.
Sweet.

The kiss was sweet and teasing, the type of perfect kiss where the other person’s mouth feels meant for yours, their taste the best thing you can imagine.

She took it, surprised that it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be holding on to Jake Malone in the stairwell while they hid from the world.

“So tell me … there was no such dream, was there?”
“No,” she whispered. She licked her lips then, and that was all it took. It was over for him.
“There’s about to be.”
Then he dipped his head, and his lips found hers.

“Have dinner with me, Grace.” His voice was husky and he didn’t care. “I want to take you to dinner. Story be damned.”