Truly Madly Deeply: A Grumpy x Sunshine Romance (Forbidden Love Book 1)

Another restaurant opening night. Another reason to want to shoot myself in the face.

The only thing stopping me at this point was the fact the floor was pure amethyst crystal. I’d dropped $50K a slab on that shit.

“Full house tonight.” Tate turned to his assistant, Gia. “Too bad it’s full of fucking nobodies. Didn’t I tell you to invite actual celebrities?”

“The entire cast of Wicked and The Lion King RSVP’d. Three MPs and a duke too.” She was frantically brushing her thumb over her iPad, the blue screen lighting up her face.

I wanted to turn around and walk out of here. Nothing felt worth doing since I’d parted ways with Cal. And the worst part was, she kept on texting me, and every time she did, it took all my fucking mental strength to ignore her.

I couldn’t settle for half-assed. No matter how lovely said ass was.

“You’re giving me politicians and West End actors? Do you want to lose your job? Are you allergic to money?” Tate snapped. We were sitting at the bar. The kitchen was running smoothly, thanks to Taylor, whom I’d brought with me. Sure, in my own asshat fashion, I’d had to be all the way in London before I had given him a call and offered him a position, an apartment, and a one-way business-class ticket. But it was the right thing to do. My head wasn’t in the game. I needed someone with an eagle eye to watch over people.

“I’m allergic to assholes,” Gia muttered to her iPad.

“What was that?” Tate scowled.

“If you’re going to ruin everyone’s evening, kindly get the fuck out,” I growled at Tate. My mood was shitty without the added bonus of his unpalatable personality. Glitzy people roamed the place, taking selfies, cooing at the décor, at the designer plates in front of them, and at the delicious food on them. Wineglasses clinked. Black caviar mafaldine and aromatic pork buns floated on pink brass trays across the room. I should have been on top of the world, but I felt six feet under.

“Didn’t that friend of yours, Ronald, say he was going to be here?” Tate scowled, glancing around.

“Huh?” I checked my phone for the millionth time this evening. If she was going to text now, I was going to break and answer her. “Said he would. Guess he’s late.”

The truth of the matter was, I didn’t care one iota about Rhyland not being here. I only cared about one person. A person who had sent me her podcast two days ago. I’d listened to it three hundred times since. It was funny, adorable, smart, interesting, enchanting, her. It was her.

“Well.” Tate grabbed his whiskey—neat—and knocked it back. “I am exceptionally bored. Excuse me while I go find someone to bury my dick in.” He stalked off.

“Please, God, make that someone be a great white shark.” Gia pressed her palms together in a silent prayer, looking heavenward before continuing to work on her iPad.

“You don’t have to stand up, you know.” I patted the stool next to mine.

She shot me a polite smile, taking a seat. “Tate calls people who sit down at the office slackers. He bought everyone treadmills for their laptop stations.”

“Why are you working for this douche canoe?” I parked my elbow on the bar. I was genuinely interested to know. And it wasn’t like I was needed in my own fucking kitchen for my debut night. Taylor was doing a fantastic job.

Gia considered my question with a small frown. “While as a person and as a boss, he is a complete disaster, he actually pays a lot and is generous with my bonuses too.” She glanced down, a little embarrassed. “I tried to find another job several times. But each time I get an offer, it’s like he senses it. He calls me into his office and gives me a twenty percent increase or something ridiculous like that. I am making mid–six figures for an admin job while all my mates make a fraction of that and work the same hours in banking and HR. I’d be mental to leave.”

I opened my mouth, about to tell her that it seemed to me as though Tate Blackthorn had a crush he couldn’t articulate properly, when something caught my eye beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant. A flash of light. Neon light. My neck snapped up, and I looked over Gia’s slender shoulder.

She kept droning on, obviously thankful to have someone to listen to her. “…quite compelling bonuses, such as healthcare both in America and the UK, which is practically unheard of, and a share structure in some of his companies. Admittedly, it isn’t fun to work during Christmas, federal holidays, and from the hospital when I had my tonsils removed, however…”

I saw it again. The flash of color. This time nestled between two bulky doormen outside. Whatever this thing was, it stood behind the golden barriers with the burgundy ropes.

Wait a minute. A head full of messy, wavy, brown hair.

Pink bomber jacket.

High-waisted Levi’s.

Bright red Doc Martens.

Dot.

She was here. In London. At La Vie en Rogue. I spotted her arguing heatedly with the doormen, using wild hand gestures and mimicking a…sleeping baby?

Her tics were out of control. She was blinking hard and fast. I was about to stand up and let her in—and fire the two doormen on the spot while I was at it—when she spotted me through the glass window.

I immediately knew what it looked like. Me. Sitting next to a beautiful woman who had her back to her. To make shit worse, Gia seemed animated and completely engrossed in our one-sided conversation.

“…thought about leaving so many times, but at this point, my entire bloody family is on my payroll. I told Mum she could retire early, she loathed her job so much…”

My eyes snapped back to Cal. She stared at the scene, wide-eyed. I knew how her mind worked. She thought I’d moved on. That it was game over. It had probably taken everything she’d had in her to even get here. I stood up, about to run over there and chase her…

When she did the unthinkable.

The improbable.

She reversed on her heel, turned her back, and walked away…

Only to turn back around and face me. She took a deep breath, gained momentum, and literally barreled through the doormen, bypassing both of them like an NFL player and running straight into the restaurant. They ran after her. I stood up, but she managed to get to me before I could come to her rescue.

“Row!” She slammed headfirst into my chest. Instead of moving back, she clutched my shirt, looking up and blinking at me with wonder. “Sorry to crash, your, er, big day…te? Day or date? Or should I say evenin—”

“This is not a date.” I all but shoved Gia into a commercial oven to bring the point home. “Gia works for Tate, one of my business partners.”

“Oh. Sweet. Hi. I’m Cal!” Cal offered her a hand with a smile.

The doormen reached her, about to wrangle her from my arms.

I turned my chilly look their way. “Lay a hand on my girlfriend, and she will be the last thing you touch, since I’ll chop your fingers off with a cleaver.”

“Sorry, boss.” They both retreated with their palms up, scurrying back outside.

“I’m Gia.” Gia offered Cal her hand with a sweet smile. “Lovely to meet you. Love the pink hair tips.”

Pink hair tips. Pink only symbolized two things—love and vaginas. I was fond of both.

“I love your dress!” Cal exhibited more of that Lab energy of hers. “It’s gorgeous. Where did you g—”

“Dot, baby? Focus.”

“Oh, right.” She returned her attention to me, clearing her throat, her freckled face turning serious. “I…uhm, came here because I have something to tell you.”

This was so fucking wild. “Yeah?”

“But…” She rubbed the back of her neck, gulping. “I’d really rather…demonstrate it to you.”

“I’d strongly prefer to receive any demonstration somewhere private, but I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’ll reject a public display of…eh, demonstration.”

Cal snickered. People began stopping what they were doing to turn their attention to us. I knew Cal absolutely despised audiences, so the fact that she was doing this, in front of the entire world, told me every word that still hadn’t left her mouth.

“Rhy?” She peered behind her shoulder. Rhyland materialized from one of the back tables of the room. He had been here all along? Fucker hadn’t even come to say hi. He wrestled his way past the masses, holding a cardboard box and looking none too happy about it.

“This is why I stick to paid romance gigs.” He shoved the box into Cal’s hands, piercing me with a look. “Get ready to be wood.”

“Wooed,” Cal corrected with a frown.

“Same difference.” Rhy shrugged. “There’s always wood involved for him when you’re around.”

I punched his shoulder. Hard. “You are ruining my big moment, fucker.”

He made a face and rubbed the spot.

Cal took a deep breath, focusing hard on my face to drown out the curious glances and recording phones around us. “I thought about recreating the 10 Things I Hate About You moment when Heath Ledger sings to her on the bleachers, but I really didn’t want to get on top of your new tables. It’s totally unsanitary.”

“I sincerely appreciate that.”

“So instead, here are ten examples that will prove I have always, from day one, loved you. That all I’ve done all these years is fed myself lies and excuses for the way you made me feel every time you were around. I know I don’t make my own chocolate bars from scratch, and I didn’t tattoo you on my skin, but you were always there. The best part of my day. The man to dominate my dreams at night. My anchor.”

She loved me?

She loved me.

“Proof number one.” She reached for the box and pulled out an old Christmas card. “The first holiday card you ever gave me. I kept it.”

“It’s…blank?” I frowned.

She grinned winningly. “Your mom made you give me one, and you scribbled on it to pretend like you were writing something. I still kept it because it was from you. And that made me extremely giddy. Even when I was ten. Moving on. Proof number two.”

She dipped her hand inside the box again, this time pulling out a picture. She held it in front of me, her face bright red. She didn’t like doing anything publicly. She was way out of her comfort zone. For me.

“This is a picture of me and Dylan doing cartwheels in your backyard. If you look closely, you’ll see a hint of your arm on the right side. For years I wondered why I was so attached to this picture, why I keep it in my wallet at all times—we both look horrible in it. It was because of you. Because a piece of you was there, and the reminder of you put me in a good mood every time I looked at it. Proof number three.”

She took out a ticket stub. “This is from when you went to a Weezer concert. I’m not even a fan—although the Blue Album was kinda good, in a totally ironic way. Anyway, not the point. The point is you kissed the ticket when you managed to buy one because they sold out so quickly. I picked it up and saved it, because you had your lips on it once, and I liked the feeling of owning something like that.”

I pressed my lips together, suppressing a laugh.

“What?” She frowned.

“I was looking for that stub all over. I used to collect them. Thought I was losing my mind.”

“Nope. You were just gaining my heart. Four.”

She pulled out a black wristband I recognized as my own. “Hey.” I frowned. “That was my favorite wristband. I gave Rhy a shiner in junior high because I thought he stole it from me.”

“Well, you obviously cannot have it back because I’m obsessed with you—and now the entire world knows it.” She gestured wildly to everyone around us. “Proof number five I’m so unbelievably, insanely in love with you…” She took out an Oh Henry! wrapper. “Need I explain?”

I laughed. “Nope.” She had been keeping the wrappers too. Note to self: check if my girl has a hoarding problem.

“Proof number six—by the way, I only stopped at ten because Rhy said he couldn’t fit all my garbage in his suitcase, and I couldn’t afford to pay for a suitcase here myself.”

“True story,” Rhyland groaned behind her back.

She had come here using her last pennies to tell me she loved me. I was so going to marry the fuck out of this girl.

“Number six is the hard soap you used your entire adolescence. I bought one so I could get a sniff of you whenever I wanted. I, uhm, may or may not have dried my hands to the point of peeling due to washing them so often. I just wanted to smell you.”

She pulled something else out of the box. “Number seven is a cigarette butt. Not just any cigarette, though. This was from the first time you let me try smoking.”

“You hated it,” I pointed out, ignoring the traffic jam of servers with trays waiting for Cal to move out of their way. And the entire universe staring at us, for that matter.

“Yeah. But I loved you.”

“So you did it to impress me?”

“Why else would anyone try smoking?” she snorted. Good point. “Ready for number eight?”

“Never been more ready for something in my entire life.” Other than the make-up sex we were about to have in my upstairs office in about five minutes.

“Number eight.” She took out something brown and small, biting down on her lip. “Okay, don’t judge me. But this is…”

“Baby, no.” I screwed my fingers into my eye sockets.

“Yes.”

“Cal, that’s unsanitary.”

“So is having sex on your chef station.” The entire room gasped in unison. “Kidding,” she choked out.

Fuck. I was about to be closed down an hour into my restaurant launch, and I didn’t even give a shit. “Why did you save a… How old is this taco?” I grimaced.

“Seven years old,” she confirmed with a nod. “…and a half. Fine, closer to eight. But it was the first handmade taco you created from scratch, and you gave it to me.”

“To taste, not keep.”

“Semantics.” She waved her hand with an eye roll. “You wanted me to have your first taco. That’s like handing over your V-card. Number nine is more orthodox.”

Thank God.

She hunted for something in the box, fishing it out with a flourish. “Your favorite hoodie.”

Motherfucker. I had looked for that hoodie for months. Came with the territory of being too poor to afford a replacement. It was an old, black, tattered thing but seemed in pristine condition.

“Did you wear it?”

“What? Of course not.” She looked abhorred. “It would’ve erased your perfect smell with my overbearing Victoria’s Secret body mist.”

“What’s number ten?” I crossed my arms over my chest, smirking. I didn’t care that everyone was looking. Didn’t care that this was unprofessional, uncomfortably public, and would probably leave an internet trail forever.

Cal pressed her lips together, looking at me unsurely. She blinked five times in a row. I softened, reaching to squeeze her shoulders. “You don’t have to show me here if it’s too private. You’ve already gone beyo—”

“It’s not a keepsake.”

“Baby, it could literally be my nuts and I’ll say thank you.”

She took a deep breath, nodded, and pulled out a square, black box. Slowly, she put the tiny box down on the floor. But she didn’t stand back up. No. She stayed down, on one knee, shaking fingers about to open the box.

Calla Litvin was about to propose. To me.

Fuck my life sideways.

“Row, may I—”

I couldn’t let her do it. No matter how good this felt for my ego, I wasn’t going to deprive her of her princess moment. She deserved all the good moments after what that garbage human, Franco, had put her through.

“No,” I blurted out. Her face paled, eyes flaring. “You can’t ask me to marry you.”

Her brows furrowed. “I…can’t?”

“No.” I lowered myself to one knee. “Because I get to ask you that first.”

Now we were both on one knee on the floor in front of the entire fucking restaurant.

Rhyland groaned from somewhere behind my shoulder, “This is the most cringe thing I’ve ever seen. And I was there when Paris Hilton tried to launch a music career.”

“Row.” Cal’s eyes were glittering with tears. “You don’t even have a ring.”

I rummaged in the front pocket of my cargo pants, producing a Tiffany box.

Her jaw dropped. “How?”

I shrugged. “You never know when the love of your life decides it’s a good day to take her head out of her ass and come say hi.”

“How long have you been…on standby?” She dropped her own ring box, covering her mouth as I popped mine open. It had a diamond so big, it could barely fit in the box. It was a solitaire cut—the nineties popular design.

“I prefer not to say,” I drawled.

“I didn’t ask for your preferences.”

“In that case, since our first kiss after you came back.”

“That night on the swings?” She looked puzzled. We hadn’t even been together. “Wow, you’ve got it hard, dude.” She grinned.

“Not the only hard thing about him right now, I can bet.” Rhyland cupped his mouth, hollering from the sidelines.

“I asked you a question,” I reminded her, ignoring my best friend. He got a pass for helping her put this together. “I don’t want to look back anymore, Dot. I want to look forward. So, do you have an answer for me? Preferably this decade. This moment is probably streaming live on YouTube.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. I’ll marry you.” She flung her arms over my shoulders and gave me the best kiss of my life.

As a chef, my future wife ticked all the boxes.

She tasted delicious, just the right balance between sweet and biting.

Most important of all…

She tasted like forever.