Page 128 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Harper holds up her glass. “To Scarlett and Chase—may your love be big, messy, book-worthy, and full of snacks. I love you both. Please don’t divorce each other unless it’s for areallygood plot twist.”
Everyone cheers. I wipe at my eyes, attributing it to the wind. Or allergies. Or the fact that I somehow found the exact person I didn’t think existed, and now I get to marry him.
Chase turns to me, eyes soft and warm, as if the world has shrunk down to just this moment.
“You really love me,” he murmurs.
“Unfortunately.”
“Tragically.”
He kisses me, and the crowd erupts in full rom-com-level applause.
Rip barks once, as if giving his blessing.
And just like that, I stop caring about speeches or parties or anything else.
Because this? This is my definition of perfect.
Bennett strolls up, clapping Chase on the back to congratulate him. “Are you crying?” he asks.
Chase wipes his cheek. “No. I got something in my eye.”
Bennett grins. “Yeah, it’s called a tear.”
Chase gives him a firm look. “Must be allergies.”
I snuggle into his side even more. My own personal hockey-playing teddy bear. He’s a total softie. And I love him completely.
Gag, I know.
Later, there are tacos and cake and drunken speeches by more of our friends. But then it’s just me and Chase getting ready for bed, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
The house is quiet. We bought a place together a few months ago—enough space for Rip to roam, and possibly even for babies, though the jury’s still out on that one. I love our life as it is, so we’ll see. We’re in no rush.
I’m standing in our bedroom, still wearing the dress Harper made me buy, staring at my reflection in the mirror and trying to process the fact that I’m engaged. To a man who makes me laugh, makes me feel safe, and knows when to argue with me and when to just… hold my hand.
The door creaks open, and I see him in the mirror—leaning against the frame, tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled up.
“You look like a dream,” he says, soft and low.
I smile. “That’s just the champagne talking.”
He walks over and wraps his arms around me from behind. His hands settle on my waist like they belong there. Like they always have.
“I didn’t drink that much,” he says into my neck. “You’ve always looked like this to me.”
I turn slowly in his arms. “Like what?”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Like the rest of my life.”
I should make a joke. Deflect. Run my usual playbook. But I don’t.
Because tonight, I just want to feel it.
“You’re sappy when you’re in love,” I murmur, fingertips skimming the back of his neck.
“I’m sappy because I’m in love withyou.”
