Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,97
so sorry, Quinn. Can you forgive a complete and utter prat like me?”
I smile at him, still not fully believing that the words are coming out of his mouth. That I’m standing here, in a room full of people working, in my pajamas, my arms around this man.
I answer him with my lips. This time the kiss is soft, lingering. I push all my thoughts, all my feelings into that kiss. When someone from behind me whoops, I realize how this looks, and I pull out of the kiss.
“Maybe we should move,” I say, giving Henry a sheepish grin.
“Actually, love,” Henry says, “I don’t think I much care.”
“Well, I sorta do,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my neck at the thought of how many people are watching this public display of affection right now.
He chuckles as he walks us backward, into a dark corner of the studio where no one else can see. His lips find mine, and he kisses me soundly, his arms moving up and down my back as he holds me close to him.
In all the crazy and fantastical dreams my brain has come up with, nothing would ever—will ever—be as good as this moment right now.
Just me, and Henry.
Epilogue
Henry
“Good evening, Central Florida; I’m Quinn Pearson, and here are tonight’s top stories.”
I’m standing in the wings of the station, watching Quinn in her second week as evening news anchor.
She’s stunning, in that dark-red suit jacket of hers. But she’s just as beautiful to me sweaty, disheveled, and in cupcake pajamas.
I have no right, I know, but I feel so proud of her. So proud of her accomplishments, so proud of who she is. But since I had nothing to do with any of these things, pride shouldn’t be how I feel. Yet, there’s not a better word for it, is there? “Pleased” feels too little, and “impressed” doesn’t seem to cover it either. Maybe I’m just proud to be with her, to be a part of her life.
Central Florida has taken quite well to Quinn moving into Stacey’s place, for the most part. There’s been a lot of change at the station recently. After she was put on midday, Stacey resigned. Dwayne had expected that, and had made that change with the hope that she’d quit. It all went as planned.
It turned out that Brady had found sound evidence that Stacey had been sending those terrible emails to Quinn. She was, in fact, Grace Is Amazing. It also turned out that it was she that leaked the videos of Quinn. The original one, the blooper reel, and the rap. Quinn still doesn’t know I’ve seen the rap, but I most definitely have.
Stacey had enlisted one of the other broadcast techs to help her, and Brady was able to get the information out of him—Chad was the chap’s name. It just so happens that Dwayne has never been a big fan of Stacey Moriarty, so when I came up with the idea to demote her, he was quite pleased with the idea.
I guess I have to hand it to Brady: he’s a smart one. I had such a low opinion of him mostly based on the fact that just being in his proximity made me insane with jealousy. It’s pathetic, I realize. I’m trying to be better . . . to do better. And that’s all because of Quinn. For lack of a less clichéd way of saying this—she makes me want to be a better person.
The ratings for the station have gone up tremendously since I pulled my little stunt. It wasn’t really a stunt. I hadn’t expected or meant for it to help ratings, and honestly, I don’t care all that much. I consider it a nice side effect. I did it all for Quinn, though. Everything was for her.
Dwayne is thrilled by the ratings. I’d told him my plan once I’d come up with it and was fully prepared to have to defend my job. I had a full list of reasons why it’d be okay for Quinn and me to be together and work together. I even wondered if I should contact the Sports Channel and see if they’d still have me. But Dwayne only laughed, that low-sounding chuckle of his, when I told him my plan. He said I was the only one trying to enforce the dating policy, and it wasn’t that long ago that he met the woman he married at this very station.
So the plan was put into place. I wasn’t sure if Quinn would even watch that night. I’d hoped. I’d even thought to enlist her friends to make sure, but I had no real way to contact them. Turns out it would have been for nothing. It all worked out.
When she ran and jumped into my arms afterward, for a moment there I wondered if I deserved this—this sort of happiness. I felt like a bit of an impostor. I sometimes still do.
“Hello there, handsome,” Quinn says as she walks up to me after she’s finished with the news. She places a brief, soft kiss on my lips. “Are you ready to get out of here?” She lifts her eyebrows, a cheeky grin on her face.
“I am,” I say, and she grabs my hand and we walk side by side, hand in hand to her desk.
I can’t believe I ever let the situation with Claire haunt me like it did. I almost missed out on something brilliant because of her . . . Well, that, and my own stupidity. How I could ever put my neuroses with Claire onto Quinn is beyond me. Quinn is not, and never will be, Claire. What happened with Claire was awful, but it would never happen with Quinn. Quinn is kind and giving. Also, what I felt for Claire could never be compared to what I feel for Quinn. It’s real, and raw, and bigger than anything I’ve ever felt.
“Where’re we going?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.
“You’ll see,” I say—it’s my turn to give her my best cheeky grin.
She lets go of my hand and weaves her arm through mine, pulling me into her like she can’t be close enough to me. I know the feeling.
I feel a bit nervous about tonight. It might be too soon. But I can’t bring myself to care about the timing. I will throw caution to the wind for this woman. Because I am . . . in love with Quinn. I think she stole part of my heart that first evening I met her, when she choked on that powdered sugar donut. The words feel like they’ve been bottled up inside of me for some time now, and I’m going to tell her. Tonight.
The stifling evening air wraps around us as we leave the station, arm in arm, and head to our intended destination—the Mexican place where we had our second date. I plan to woo her over chips and salsa, and maybe we can share one of those ridiculously huge dinner plates.
All I know and all that matters is that when I think of my future, she’s in it. That two-story craftsman-style house with the blue door she talked about all those weeks ago, I can see us there. I want that.
The future, it would seem, is looking very bright.
THE END
About the Author
By day, Becky Monson is a mother to three young children, and a wife. By night, she escapes with reading books and writing. An award-winning author, Becky uses humor and true-life experiences to bring her characters to life. She loves all things chick-lit (movies, books, etc.), and wishes she had a British accent. She has recently given up Diet Coke for the fiftieth time and is hopeful this time will last... but it probably won't.
Other Books by Becky
Thirty-Two Going on Spinster
Thirty-Three Going on Girlfriend
Thirty-Four Going on Bride
Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace
Taking a Chance
Once Again in Christmas Falls
Just a Name
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