“There’s no one else for me, Gunner. No one.” I press my lips to his as the crowd erupts around us. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

EPILOGUE

Gunner

Six months later

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” CHASE laughs as I hold my hands over her eyes. We walk awkwardly down the busy Manhattan street, with her in front of me.

The streets are oddly empty for this hour—maybe it’s the intermittent rain that’s been hitting the city—maybe it’s simply perfect timing on my part. Whatever it is, I’ll gladly take it.

“Just a few more steps,” I say and skirt her around a puddle on the sidewalk before walking up to the storefront. The door is open and I direct her inside. “Take a step up,” I say and then move us inside.

“You know I don’t like it when I’m not in control,” she mutters.

I laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Meeting the eyes of Monique standing across the empty interior space, I nod as she lifts up her camera to start taking pictures.

I allow myself to consider this moment with Chase. The woman she is. How she’s changed my life. How she’s made me a better man.

How did I ever deserve this?

I press a kiss to her shoulder, remove my hands, and step away. “Surprise.”

Chase whirls around, confusion etched in those gorgeous lines of her face, and I smile.

The soft clicking of Monique’s camera draws her attention amid the confusion, so she looks from the photographer then back at me. “What—”

“We’re always on the go, always needing to be somewhere on a timeline, and I wanted to give you those engagement photos you wanted.”

“Gunner.” My name comes out in a whooshed breath of surprise and appreciation.

“I know we cancelled ours because baby McKenzie decided to make an early appearance,” I say of Rush and Lennox’s baby girl, “so I thought I’d make them up to you.”

She eyes me, almost as if she’s wondering what else I have up my sleeve.

Can’t get anything by my girl, but I’m damn well going to try.

“I know it’s not the park or wherever you wanted to do them, but I thought this old place might tell our story.”

She looks around at the old bar. It’s been neglected for years. Old chairs and tables gathering dust. A bar top with dim and dilapidated lights overhead, a mirror behind it, and half-empty bottles in front of it.

“Our story?” she asks as she takes a step toward the bar top and its worn, green leather stools.