Page 47 of True Ruin

His smile turned wicked. “Can I come back over there and see what’s under that skirt, Sparkle?”

“Granny underwear,” she whispered, trying to remember which pair she’d put on. She hadn’t been expecting this.

His brow furrowed, clueless male. “What?”

“Never mind.” Gabi crooked a finger at him. “Come find out, Hotshot. You’re home.”

The look in his eyes said he was beginning to believe it.

EPILOGUE

All I Want–Toad the Wet Sprocket

Two+ Years Later

Twelve-year-olds were know-it-alls,Dallas decided as he adjusted his tie. Moreover, he now knew why he’d gone into journalism instead of some corporate job.

Who the hell could wear one of these every day?

“It’s still crooked. Scooby’s looks better.” Sam took another bite of his cinnamon roll, his long legs folded beneath him on the rough wood floor. He’d grown so much in the past year that he was almost taller than Gabi. She got tears in her eyes every time they talked about it. “You can’t tie a tie worth?—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Dallas warned, Sam’s language starting to catch up with his height. Kids were growing up too fast, which was an old-man thought, he realized. “Let’s try having one day without any bad words.Thisday especially. And it was your idea to dress up the dog.”

Sam laughed, still chewing, the new huskiness in his voice hitting Dallas square in the chest. His voice was changing. He was going to need driving lessons soon. If Dallas thought about that too much,he’dcry.

“You’re the nervous one,” Sam reminded him. “Not me. I feel great.”

Dallas took a deep breath of fresh paint and sawdust, expected aromas in a half-renovated house, unable to argue with that statement. He was fuckingterrified.

“She’s going to say yes. It’s a no-brainer. She’s into you like I wish Bethany Holmes was into me.”

“Her loss,” Dallas said for the hundredth time. They spent most of the ride home every day discussing the ongoing tragedy of Bethany Holmes. “There will be other girls. I promise you.”

“I guess, but have you seen her eyes? They’re, like, really blue.”

Dallas hummed something noncommittal, with the uneasy feeling he’d gone the color of old newsprint. The house was a surprise, as was the proposal, and he’d wanted Sam to be part of both. He and Gabi had talked about marriage, each of them gun-shy for different reasons, but it was time tolive. Wilder Grounds was doing so well she’d considered opening another location in Greenville, and the newspaper was thriving with the changes he’d made—putting theDispatchonline, accepting letters and tips by email, and leaning harder into international stories small-town papers typically ignored.

Other than that, he was winging it. If rehearsing what he wanted to say for a month and secretly buying a house counted as winging it.

“Let me,” his soon-to-be-stepson said, crossing the room and reaching for his tie. “You’re a disaster.”

He was—but he was a happy disaster.

“It’s good, Dal,” Sam said, the almost-teen attitude falling away for a moment. “You have flowers, a diamond the size of a kitten, fancy poo-poo wine, and that awful CD playing in the background that makes her think of that mountain weekend or whatever.” He smoothed Dallas’s lapel. “You have this awesome house, my room twice as big as the one I have now, and don’t forget the crazy kitchen you’re building for her. Man, I mean, you’re gold.”

“I got this, is what you’re saying.”

Sam tilted his head, his lips curving up, his eyes so much like hers that it got him every time. “Yep, that’s what I’m saying.”

Dallas pulled him in, and Sam tolerated the hug for all of five seconds. “Love you, bud.”

Sam backed away, but he was excited. Dallas knew him well enough to tell. They were close—closer than he was to anyone except Gabi. Sam and Kit worked at theDispatchnow, on random afternoons after school. He was going to make journalists out of those two yet. And then, in a surprising third place, there was Justin. Somehow, over the past two years, his brother had become his confidant.

At the crunch of tires on the driveway, Sam raced to the window. “She’s here! Lainey is dropping her off like you asked.”

Dallas gave his tie another yank, reviewing everything in the span of five seconds. He patted his pocket. Ring, check. Billie Holiday, check. Champagne, check.Okay, okay, okay.

He’d overdone it, but her other proposal years ago hadn’t been a proposal at all. Just a quiet, resignedI guess we know what we have to do.