Page 81 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"I did ruin your shirt," I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.

"You ruined everything." His thumb traces my lower lip. "My algorithms don't work anymore. I can't calculate anything when you're around. Can't focus on data or protocols or—" He stops, visibly collecting himself. "The point is, I think I might be falling in love with you. The real kind, not the carefully cultivated version."

The café goes quiet except for the soft hum of the restored espresso machine and the muffled sound of snow against windows.

"If this is some kind of publicity stunt," I whisper.

"It's not." He lowers his forehead to mine. "I haven't been faking anything since that night you came into my life.”

Here it is.

The moment of truth. The moment I should tell him aboutJessica. About Emily's feature and accidental matchmaking and all the ways this could fall apart.

Instead, I kiss him.

He makes a surprised sound against my mouth before pulling me closer, one hand tangling in my hair while the other splays across my back. I lean into his tall broad body as the kiss deepens, becoming something sexier—something sweeter.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"You know what this means," I prompt.

"That I'll have to reprogram my AI's communication protocols? Because Connor's grandmother has been very invested in our relationship status."

"That we’re going to have to tell everyone the truth." I pull back slightly, gathering courage. "About everything."

“I’m ready to tell people whatever you want. Just... tell me one thing first?"

"What?"

"Am I the only one feeling this? Because if I am, I'll go back to my statistics and probabilities and?—"

I cut him off with another kiss, pouring everything I can't say yet into it. About Jessica and articles and how terrified I am of losing this now that it's real.

"Just so you know," I murmur against his mouth, "I might be falling for you too. The real you, not the digitized, data-tested version."

His laugh rumbles through both our bodies. "Even my robot tendencies?"

"Especially those." I pull him closer.

This time when he kisses me, there's no pretense of professional distance. No careful calculations or strategic timing. Just Grayson.

His oversized body bowed into mine. My hands threading through the hair at his nape.

The way our bodies and mouth mold together as if finally finding the perfect fit.

Later, over pasta and wine that appears magically from somewhere (because of course Grayson thought of everything), my phone buzzes with Olivia's distinctive tone.

Did Dixon really just sweep you away from the office? Apparently, William's challah is predicting MAJOR romantic developments.

Grayson catches my smile across the small table we've claimed – the one where that shy librarian finally asked out the tattooed barista last spring. "Let me guess – William's bread is being prophetic again?"

"Olivia." I show him the text. "Apparently our exit caused quite a stir."

"Good thing Mia's insulin is covered now." His casual mention of my goddaughter's medical needs – remembering not just the fact but why it matters – makes my heart twist. "Though Derek says the new treatment is helping."

"You talk to Derek about the girls?"

He shrugs, but I catch the slight flush at his temples. "They're important to you."

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