Page 124 of Once Upon a Lie

“Yeah, starting a relationship.” I shrug. “I mean, my best friend is in his eighties, Shane. It should be obvious I like weird and unconventional.”

He pulls me toward him, and I try to fight it, worried about his wound, but he doesn’t seem to care about any of it as he fuses our lips together. I sink into the moment with relief and exhaustion and twenty-four hours of unknowns.

When he finally pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, my cheeks are damp.

“I love you, too, Shane,” I whisper. “I really fucking love you too.”

“That’s the best damn news I’ve heard all day.”

“That I love you? Not the doctor telling you you were going to make it after being shot?”

“No one’s actually done that. I just woke up living, so I guess that was all the notice I needed.”

“What?” My eyes go wide. “You haven’t spoken with a doctor yet?”

“No. The director of national intelligence, the director of the FBI, my FBI contact, and I don’t know, maybe a few other people, I think, but no doctor.”

“Holy hell, Shane.” I can’t decide if I should laugh or run out into the hall and start shouting at people. “That’s insane.”

“Why?” He shrugs his good shoulder. “I’m awake. Alive. And you’re here. What else could I need?”

“Um . . . how about general medical advice?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Just you. That’s all I need, baby.”

Just me.

Maybe fairy tales aren’t for me because they’re not real. They’re made-up fantasies and exaggerations, and maybe we’re never supposed to believe in them.

Instead, we should focus on the love stories like the ones on the shelves in my shop.

The tales of affection and loss and stealing babies from their mothers like Alfred’s with Avalyn.

The tales of a cop who found himself in the middle of an undercover case with a woman he never expected, with HOA rules and bagels and helicopters and AC units in buildings, and fell in love.

I’m sure as heck going to focus there.

Starting now, and hopefully carrying on for the rest of this precious life.

“And possibly a rainbow bagel too,” he says with that teasing smile of his that I love so much.

I giggle. “Shane!”

“Get over here, baby. Kiss me again.”

Epilogue

Shane

Saturday, November 13

5:45 p.m.

Valentina fidgets in the driver seat of my car in Dom and Hannah’s driveway, struggling to find the gearshift and put it in park like she’s never driven before. For a second, I’m not sure if she’s trying to park or summon a new transmission altogether.

I know she’s nervous about today, but she has absolutely no reason to be. And selfishly, I’m still healing enough that I’d prefer not to watch my car plow through Dom’s garage door and straight into his kitchen.

“Baby, it’s fine. They’re excited to meet you. Keep your foot on the brake, and I’ll shift the car into park.”