“I know, right?”
“Thank you, Mom! I gotta go!”
“Of course. Celebrate! Woohoo!”
The phone slipped from my shaking hand and fell on the table next to the laptop. Then I started jumping, my fists up in the air. I screamed, “Yes, yes, yes!”
Killian came into the room, looking at me curiously. I ran and jumped on him, my heart swelling until it felt like it’d explode with joy and triumph. I laughed, breathless, my face hot.
“I did it! Mom just said I topped the chart!”
A huge grin split his gorgeous face, his eyes bright as the corners crinkled. “I knew it! Congratulations!”
He wrapped his arms around me. Our mouths met in a kiss that ended in a laugh.
“You’re shaking,” Killian said.
“I’m just in shock.” It was one thing to dream of making it, but something else to have it happen for real. All the hard work, all the anxiety and insomnia—and that damned running!—had paid off. And I got to celebrate my victory with everyone when Dad paid for the ads, admitting that he was wrong and romance freakin’ rocked.
“I thought you had everything in place to make it happen.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure. You never know how a book is going to do. And I was certain Dad would do whatever he could to sabotage me.”
“Sabotage?” Killian tilted his head. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah. More times than I can count. But it doesn’t matter now.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. We have to celebrate. And I”—he turned and indicated the kitchen—“just happen to have a bottle of Dom chilling in the fridge.”
I stared at him. “When did you get it?”
“Yesterday. I had a feeling.”
Air clogged in my throat. I couldn’t believe how he could be so certain when I hadn’t been. And it sent a warmth through me that spread everywhere in my body and ended in my heart. “You’re awesome,” I said, my voice thick.
“Hey, you’re the one who’s number one.” He kissed my forehead. “Let me pour the champagne.”
He pulled the blue-green bottle out from the fridge and two flutes from the cabinet, then brought them to the dining table. He expertly uncorked the bubbly wine, muscles flexing under those forearm tattoos, and as I watched him, my entire torso fluttered with something that felt like anticipation, surprise and maybe even love. He poured two flutes and handed me one.
“To my very successful girlfriend,” he said.
My cheeks and neck warm, I clinked my glass with his. I liked the way he called me his girlfriend. A lot. It made our relationship feel that much more concrete and real. The obvious and logical next step toward making this more than a fling. Something worth moving to Dallas for.
“How do you want to celebrate?” he asked.
“Other than the champagne?” I sipped it, let the bubbles fizzle in my mouth and throat, coat my tongue with mellow flavor. Dom tasted like gold, and it was worth every penny of its exorbitant price.
He nodded. “This is sort of…anemic.”
Spoken like a true rock star. I took a moment to consider. I’d never really celebrated big writer career wins. My writer friends lived too far away, and nobody else really understood why it mattered, especially my exes. As for other types of milestones… The ones my dad had thought worthwhile had been celebrated, at his discretion, the way he saw fit. My preferences hadn’t been much of a factor.
I looked at Killian. He was gazing at me like he’d do anything I wanted—like I was the center of his universe, the reason for his existence. Something sweet and effervescent fluttering in my belly, I said, “I want to hear you sing…and dance with you.”
“I thought you didn’t really like music,” he said, surprised.
“But I like it when you sing. You were super-hot on that karaoke night.”
He finished the rest of his champagne in a couple of big gulps. “Well, if you insist…”