Page 100 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

His breath hitches, and so does mine. "I’ll walk away from SecureMatch tomorrow if that’s what it takes. Burn the whole thing to the ground. None of it matters without you. Because love isn’t an equation to solve. It'sthis— screw-balled, unpredictable, terrifying... and real. And I’m all in, Rosalind. For you. For us. No safety nets. Just my heart, wide open, hoping you’ll catch it."

Through my blurring vision, I can see him clearly. All his perfect angles and imperfect faults and everything that makes me love him even more.

The silencebetween stretches, spreads, bends.

By the time I’m actually able to speak, I’ve lost all sense of self.

Grayson’s body and mine have melded into one—one singular heartbeat, pulsing for one another. One singular soul, stitched together by every broken piece we thought we had to hide.

"You know," I say, the words scratching the back of my throat, "for someone who claims to be bad at emotions, that was a pretty good speech."

"I might have practiced with CORA." His smile turns sheepish. "Though she kept trying to add quotes from The Notebook."

"Connor's grams’ influence?"

"Don't remind me." He presses his forehead to mine. "Though I have to admit, some of her suggestions about grand gestures were... statistically sound."

"Like hijacking my singles group?"

“Like standing here, asking the only woman who’s ever truly mattered to forgive me for being too blind to see it sooner.." His voice drops to that register that makes thinking difficult. "To give me the chance I never deserved—to prove that not everything in life has to make sense to be worth everything."

"Even if they can't be optimized?" I manage, though my hands have somehow found their way to his chest, feeling his heart race beneath expensive fabric.

"Especially then." His hands cradle my face, gentle but desperate, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers. "I love you, Rosalind. Not in the neat, calculated way I thought love should be. But in the reckless, terrifying, completely uncontrollable way it actually is."

A muffled squeal erupts from behind the doors, followed by what sounds like Nonna Flora declaring "Finalmente!" and several people shushing each other.

"You know," I say, blinking back tears, "for a tech genius, you can be remarkably slow at processingobvious data."

"Is that your way of saying you love me too?"

"That's my way of saying I've been in love with you since you tried to calculate systematic wine-stain removal techniques." I tangle my fingers in his perfectly messed-up hair. "Even if it terrified me."

"It terrified me too." His smile – the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners – lights up his whole face. "Still does. But I'm starting to think some fears are worth facing."

"Very inefficient of you."

"Completely unprofessional," he agrees, then kisses me.

The doors burst open as our audience apparently gives up any pretense of subtlety.

Dani leads what appears to be the entire Thursday night group in spontaneous applause, while her surprisingly normal boyfriend looks both confused and oddly moved.

"I'll have what she's having!" someone calls out, followed by general laughter and what sounds like Nonna Flora declaring this calls for special grappa.

"You know," Grayson murmurs against my lips, "your matchmaking success rate is technically improving. You did just help ‘Seattle's most eligible tech bachelor’ find love."

"Pretty sure you're no longer eligible," I point out, but I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.

"Definitely not." He pulls me closer as Nonna Flora starts distributing what appears to be emergency tiramisu to our emotional audience. "Though I might need some ongoing consultation. You know, for business purposes."

"I think that can be arranged." I lean into him, feeling his heart beat steady and sure against mine.

Through La Famiglia's windows, Seattle's endless snow continues to fall, each flake following its own unique pattern. Like love – no logic, no algorithms, just the perfect chaos of two people finding their way to each other.

Even if it definitely won't fit in any spreadsheet.

"So," Dani calls out, wiping tears while her suited boyfriend looks increasingly bewildered, "does this mean next week's meeting will be about how to find your own billionaire tech CEO?"

---