Aghast, he met April’s wide-eyed gaze. “E. Wade knows I write Gates fanfic.”
“E. Wade thinks I have a talent for explicit fucking,” April countered. “Please put that on my gravestone.”
Ah. A timely reminder of the game-in-progress Wade’s message had almost derailed.
Ducking his head, he trailed his mouth up the curve of her neck. “You do have a talent for explicit fucking. I can say that for a fact.”
She laughed. Then, when he nipped her earlobe and licked the sting away, she shivered.
Urging her down onto the sofa, he tugged off her lounge pants and panties and spread her pale, round thighs. He stroked down those thighs, then slowly back up, watching every inch of flesh pass beneath his hands.
Her voice was choked. “My goodness, Grandma, what big”—as he knelt close, gaze hot on his fingers toying between her legs, her breath caught in a whimper—“eyes you have.”
He looked up and met her own eyes. This time, as always, he gave the phrase all the emphasis it deserved, meaning every word. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”
Her answering smile was soft, like her gasp when his teeth sank into a dimpled, delicious spot on her inner thigh. Like her sprawled, tempting body. Like her gaze on him in the dawning light of her bedroom each morning.
Like her heart. Like his.
Together, they were forging a joyful path through lives that were sometimes hard. But they were both clever, both tough for all their softness, both willing to work. For each other, and for their own happiness.
That was all the meaning he needed. Enough to last a lifetime.
“My goodness, Grandma.” Fist in his hair, she was urging his mouth where she needed it, confident and playful and gorgeous. Exactly how he wanted her, now and forever. “What big teeth you have.”
His favorite bit had arrived, and none too soon. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.”
Then he settled down and got to work, as determined as ever to give Little Red Riding Hood—April, Ulsie, his fiancée, the woman he would always, always love—her very own happy ending.
Just like the ones in their fics.
Just like the one she’d given him.
Acknowledgments
THE EXISTENCE OF THIS BOOK IS ITS OWN HAPPY ENDING for me, joyful and hard-won and achieved through love. My love for the story, of course—but also the love of my friends and family, and the love of my agent and publisher for their books and authors. I want to thank everyone who’s supported me in the creation of this novel, but that would double its length, so I’ll focus on a few key people instead:
Sarah Younger, my agent, pushes so hard for me and my work. She’s uber-professional, always, but has also made her personal commitment to my stories clear, and I’m so grateful. Her advocacy and ambition on my behalf, her hard work and kindness, mean the world to me.
Elle Keck, my amazing editor, believed in me and this book and pushed me to keep polishing it until it shone. Thank you for shepherding me through this process so skillfully and with such patient good humor, and thank you for wanting me as one of your authors. I’m beyond grateful.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to everyone else at Avon who worked on this book too, especially Kayleigh Webb, Angela Craft, Laura Cherkas, and Rachel Weinick. Also, I am so grateful Avon snagged my favorite illustrator, Leni Kauffman, for the gorgeous cover! Leni: This image made me (and many others) cry, because we saw ourselves in it in a way we rarely experience. I can’t thank you enough.
Margrethe Martin spent endless hours discussing geology with me over FaceTime—to the point where my phone repeatedly died on us—and she later read my draft to make sure I got everything right. Which I didn’t, but she helped me fix that. It was so generous and kind of her, and the act of a true friend. Thank you. And thank you for taking me to both the Shake House and the rock warehouse, despite your doubts as to my sanity! I was so tickled to be able to include both in the story!
Emma Barry read this story and improved it immeasurably, as she always does, and I’m so appreciative. But I’m even more appreciative of her: her kindness, her thoughtfulness, her infectious laugh, and the way she believes in me way more than I’ve ever believed in myself. Lucy Parker’s insight into