"And don't know you as well as I do. What do you want?"

  "Rude. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

  I crossed my arms. "No. My boyfriend's at work. How will it look to the neighbors if I invite you in? Especially after that stupid video went viral."

  "Your neighbors are that nosy?"

  "We have some gossipy old men in the neighborhood."

  "Your boyfriend lives with you? Here?" Alex hitched his thumb toward my cozy little house, looking like I must be joking.

  "Kind of." More often than not.

  "You're stretching my sense of credulity. I guess I should be insulted. You never lived with any of your past boyfriends. You wouldn't move in with me."

  "I didn't want to live on a tour bus, which sounds way more glamorous than your bus deserves, with three other sweaty guys—"

  "No offense, but why would a billionaire live here? Or has he sold you a line and he's really broke? A great con artist."

  "He's not broke. And there's a very good reason."

  Bella interrupted us with a loud bark.

  "Is that a dog?" Alex tried to get a look around me into the house. "You have a dog?"

  "I—"

  He pushed past me. "You have a dog and a litter of puppies. What's happened to you, Shel? You must have really missed me to get a dog right after I left."

  "How would you know I got her right after?"

  "Lucky guess. That dog's about two. Just old enough to have puppies. Making that kind of commitment used to be beyond you. You must have needed someone to keep my side of the bed warm."

  He walked over to the basket and squatted to pet Bella, crooning to her in a deep, melodic singsong voice. Winning her over with his song, really. "There, there, girl. What a beautiful family you have." He looked up at me. "What's her name?"

  "Bella."

  He nodded like the name didn't surprise him. "Bella was always your favorite princess. She's a Corgi. The pups look like a mix. With what? An Australian shepherd?"

  I walked over to stand beside him, arms still crossed. "Yeah. I didn't realize you were so good with dog breeds."

  "I've been wanting an Auggie for a long time. They're hard to get. The waiting lists are months to years. How old? They must be young. Their eyes aren't even open."

  "A week."

  "Are they sold already? Are they all promised?"

  "Um—"

  "I want one. I'll pay you any price." One of the puppies scrambled blindly toward him. He very gently crooned to it, humming a little song. He knew better than to handle such a young puppy.

  My heart broke as I pictured what life could have been like if Alex hadn't been so determined to become Krater. If he hadn't shattered my heart, this could be us raising this litter of puppies.

  He looked up at me again. "Damn. I'm sorry, Shel. That look on your face is because of me. I made you distrustful of me."

  "That was quite a stunt you pulled at the bridal fair."

  "I'm talking about before." He stroked the puppy again and pushed to his feet. "I made the wrong choice."

  He glanced at the puppies again. "I'd be a great puppy daddy." He took my hand. "We'd be good puppy parents together."

  I pulled my hand away. "It's too late, Alex."

  He glanced down at Bella and her family again. "The puppies diverted me. Can we talk in your studio? Someplace private."

  "Away from prying puppy eyes?" I sighed and led the way, feeling an ominous weight.

  I closed the door behind us and took a seat behind my design table.

  He took a chair reserved for clients. "I'll cut to the chase—we've created an epic media storm—"

  "You created it by shoving that ring on my finger."

  "And singing a damn awesome love song. You can't be so hardhearted that you couldn't feel the emotion and my love for you in it as I sang."

  I felt something. "How long were you planning that ambush?" I scowled at him. "Since you found out you got the gig as the mystery guest?"

  "You're not giving our love enough credit. That was an epically romantic marriage proposal. Just what you always wanted. And I'm not recanting it."

  I thought for a minute. Alex had proposed the first time in a song. I'd always said it would have been better if he'd proposed with a hit, one he wrote especially for me.

  No. It couldn't be. He can't be that delusional.

  "Oh, great." I tried to make light. "You mean I have an open-ended offer of your hand in marriage?"

  He didn't even shrink a little bit under my withering gaze. Alex was like that—confident to a fault. "I mean I'm not making a public statement that we're not engaged."

  "Too bad," I said. "I already have."

  "I know. A public lovers' quarrel. The fans are eating it up. And man are they mad at you. You left my love at will-call and now you leave my love at a bridal fair. That's low, Shel."

  "Don't get into it with me, Alex. That stunt, that proposal, has been terrible for me. And you not recanting it doesn't make it true. I'm not marrying you." I took a breath, trying to calm myself. "I've been hearing from your fans and minions ever since. Like I said, I've even gotten a few death threats."

  "I'm sorry about that, Shel. A few of them are truly fanatical." He didn't look particularly surprised. "It's an occupational hazard of fame. My fan mail has been through the roof. Everyone wanting to know the details. But it's mostly positive, though some are disappointed."

  "I've been fielding messages since Saturday, trying to set the record straight. People are confused. Explaining to friends and family—"

  "Same here. Different story, I imagine," he said. "You should have stuck around at the fair. It was great to reconnect with so many old friends. They all wanted to know where you disappeared to. They wanted to congratulate us together. And they weren't shy about offering their services for our wedding. I told them that we didn't need a singer."

  He was trying to joke, but I didn't find it funny. "You set them straight, I hope? About us."

  He shrugged. "I told them you were overwhelmed and snuck out to avoid the media attention."

  I glared at him.

  "Not a lie, is it?"

  I pointed at him. "You're benefiting from all this. Your songs are still at the top of the charts. Yeah, I've checked."

  "Our songs," he said. "I'll always think of them as our songs."

  "Then where is my cut of the royalties?"

  He laughed.

  "Alex, please. Just let us go."

  He thumped his chest. "I can't. You're living right here, in my heart."

  "If that's what you came here to discuss, we're done. You can leave now."

  "As much as I wish it were," he said. "I came here to confront you. I just found out this morning that your boyfriend's mom won the grand prize, the complete wedding package. Including a gig by yours truly."

  He was suddenly serious and almost too calm. His calm veneer was about to crack wide open. "She wants to make an appointment to talk about scheduling a date."

  I knew this mood. He was seething and hurt. And Dex's mom was making a bold move. I went cold.

  "A billionaire's mom needs a wedding package?" His stare was piercing. "Are you engaged to him? Tell me the truth, Shelby. I deserve to know the odds I'm facing."

  I froze. I'd never been a good liar, and Alex knew that. But I couldn't give my engagement to Dex away. I shook my head, not meeting Alex's eye. I looked guilty as sin.

  He jumped out of his chair. In an instant he was beside me at my table. He tipped my chin up so that I had to meet his eye. He stared hard at me, searching my face for any sign of a tell, or hope. "Why don't I believe you?" He dropped his hand. "I won't sing at your wedding, Shel. I refuse. Even if it blows my career all to hell. I will absolutely break that contract before I will sing our love songs while you marry another guy."

  His hurt radiated through the air. How had we come to this? Why hadn't he just left our love at will-call? Why hadn't he left us with our memories?

  I didn't reply.

  "As long as you won't deny that you're engaged to the billionaire, I still have a chance with you. I'll keep fighting."

  "Alex—"

  "And I want one of those puppies. Preferably the puppy I was singing to. I have a good eye for dogs and personalities that make good pets. That one's a sweetheart who will make a loyal, loving companion. I want both of you. All of you—your dog, the puppy, your heart, and your love."

  Chapter Thirteen

  How Deep Is Your Love?

  Shelby

  Wednesday

  Grandma Hudson lived in South King County in what used to be a rural area when she'd moved there with Grandpa over fifty years ago. But now the suburbs encroached on her quiet little town. Just to the west, in what had previously been acres and acres of heavily wooded forest, a gigantic thousand-house development was going in. Her house on the fringes of the town proper was a quaint little WWII-era bungalow of the type you saw in West Seattle and all over older neighborhoods. It was a blue-collar house for average working-class Americans. Or it had been when she'd moved in.

  Now the area, with its natural trails and spectacular views of Mt. Rainier, was being gentrified. Snoot-i-fied, as Grandma said. The town boasted a popular bike trail and a very popular bakery/coffee shop/café combination. Their brunch menu was famous throughout the area. Good luck getting in on a weekend.

  I stopped by the bakery and picked up coffee and a selection of Grandma's favorite pastries on the way to her house. Grandma was renowned for her baking, but since she'd gotten older, her arthritis and heart problems had slowed her down. She rarely baked now. But she still had a sweet tooth. She'd appreciate the treats.

  I pulled into her one-lane driveway in front of her detached single-car garage and cut the engine. Before I could get out, Grandma was on her front porch, waving to me.

  I slid out with the pastry bag in one hand, a bag of samples from the bridal fair over my arm, and a coffee carrier in the other hand. "The yard looks fantastic. The hollyhocks are in full bloom. Love them!"

  I met her on the porch with a big hug, balancing my load.

  "Come in where it's cool. The day is going to be scorching." She looped her arm through mine and led the way inside.

  My grandma was the cutest little old lady you've ever seen. She'd been a pretty young woman, but now she was simply adorable. Stylish in a casual way, with the most gorgeous shade of white hair cut in a fashionable bob. She had a little round face and enormous, sympathetic brown eyes that still sparkled with life. Despite what she was facing, she was still upbeat. Seeing her now, you'd never know she'd just received a terminal cancer diagnosis.

  The thing about Grandma was that no matter what I did, how I screwed up, she always had enormous faith in me and been tremendously proud of me. Even to the point where she sometimes embarrassed me. She loved to drag me around town, introducing me to people and talking up my accomplishments.

  "Goodies! I hope you brought Russian pretzels?"

  "I wouldn't dare show up without them."

  She released my arm and rubbed her hands together gleefully. "The bakery is sometimes out. I've been telling them for decades that they need to make more, just as a general rule."

  "For you, Gram, I would have scaled the kitchen to get some."

  She laughed.

  "And carrot cake, too." I rattled the white bakery bag.

  She raised her eyebrows, excited. It was the little things in life, as she'd always said. Simple pleasures. She eyed the bag over my arm. "That looks bridal. Something from the fair?"

  "It sure is!"

  She led me through to the kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen table was set with plates and napkins and her best flatware. Everything in life, everything at Grandma's, happened in the kitchen, with the table the centerpiece of it. A large bouquet of hollyhocks and roses, obviously picked from her garden and hand-arranged by her, sat to the side of the round table so that it didn't block the view of conversation.

  "Love the flowers!" I set my goodies and coffee on the table, the bag of samples at the feet of a chair, and bent over for a sniff of her fragrant, old-fashioned roses. Nothing reminded me of Grandma more. I wanted to capture this moment in my heart forever. Remember her like this. Just casual moments with her, everyday things. These were the best that life had to offer. How many more moments like this did we have?

  I put Grandma's coffee at her usual place while she opened the pastry bag and looked inside. She carefully arranged the selection on a plate, cutting the pastries into quarters so we could each try a bite of whatever we wanted. This was our habit. Neither of us ever ate a "full" pastry. When she was done, she set the knife down and licked her fingers, giving me an almost childlike look of happiness.

  I slid into my place and watched Grandma take a petit-four-sized piece of carrot cake and a piece of sweet Russian pretzel, a glazed twist of crumbly vanilla and chocolate goodness.

  "Been to any good weddings lately?" I asked her.

  My grandma was a wedding junkie. She loved attending them like sports fanatics loved going to games. And in her own way, she kept a scorecard. She was proud to say she'd seen over a hundred couples pledge to love and cherish each other for life.

  Weddings were her social thing—a happy occasion to celebrate. Grandma was as social as they come, and she loved a good wedding. Everybody knew it, too. In the family, in her church, in her book club, in her small town, she was always put at the top of any bride's guest list. Everyone wanted Helen sitting in one of the front rows with the family, wearing one of her pretty wedding outfits.

  Everyone wanted one of her hand-crocheted wedding afghans, embroidered with the wedding knot and date, sometimes even the bridal flowers, to treasure. In season, she'd donate flowers from her lush gardens to help decorate the wedding venue. Or help the bride make wedding favors. Before her arthritis got bad in her hands, she'd helped dozens of brides address wedding invitations. Her handwriting had been beautiful and legendary. Where do you think I got my talent?

  Grandma shook her head. "No weddings. That I'm invited to. Lots of weddings at our local famous wedding venue. But personally, we're in a life-cycle lull. All of the grandkids of my acquaintances are married and the great-grandkids too young for years yet. The town is bifurcated into young families moving in and old people like me. Not the right demographic for lots of weddings. Life goes in cycles. I won't see the next wave. All of the neighbors, same thing. No hope of a wedding for years."

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. The knowledge that she wouldn't be here long hung delicately balanced in the air, shimmering with sadness.

  "I'll have to live vicariously through you and your business. Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?"

  I smiled. "Every time you see me. You're making me blush."

  She beamed. "Good. That's what grandmas do. But I really am. You are the bridal queen. Later I want to hear all about your plans for your next bridal subscription box and see the design mockups. But first—the bridal fair. Tell me everything about it. What did I miss? Was it as magical as usual? What are the new trends in wedding gowns? Cakes?" She rubbed her hands together. "Start at the top and work your way to Alex and that singing proposal. Yes, I saw it, of course. People couldn't keep it from me. End the story on a big bang. That's the way stories should end."

  "I thought stories usually end with the denouement."

  "Oh, that will come," she said, sounding like a sage old woman of great knowledge and experience. "We, you, haven't lived that part of the story yet. And I may have a few thoughts on how this story should end. You know I know a lot about love and romance."

  This was a habit of ours, actually—deconstructing the latest bridal fair I'd been at. Me giving her all the inside wedding industry insider scoop. They weren't usually this exciting and personal, though.

  I pulled the bag of samples from my feet into my lap and began with Carly and our booth, showing Grandma my latest stickers and promo materials, telling her the ideas behind them as I set them before her. I told her about Ellie and Kayla's visit to my booth and how Dex was lucky to have such good friends.

  I set all kinds of brochures and samples before her, telling her about each one and listening to her opinion on it. She was a tough but fair critic. I proceeded to give her all the news and talk about the samples I'd brought. She loved the idea of mini cakes, one per guest. It was a nice new trend instead of cupcakes. Very classy. Who liked cutting cake, anyway? Single-tier cakes grouped in an arrangement—she liked that idea, too.

  Tiny toasts given by many guests? It cut down on the probability of guests getting drunk, but too many toasts are simply boring for the guests.

  Tiny appetizers—was everything going tiny? This seemed like it could get out of hand.

  Mismatched table settings. Mismatched colors of bridesmaid dresses. Mismatched seating. Again, this mismatched trend was something, in her opinion, that required a good design eye to pull off. And, unfortunately, not everyone has it. Which necessitated paying a wedding designer, another expense. And too many brides wouldn't realize they needed one.

  Welcome and sendoff kits/gift boxes? That was going to add a lot of expense and work to a wedding. And pressure. It was hard enough thinking of just one wedding favor per guest, but an entire box or two boxes full?

  I listened to her point of view and tried to offer the opposing rationale. We were like two debaters in a competition. Point, counterpoint. It was great fun. And for the moment, life seemed normal.

  We laughed over our coffee and sweets, ignoring the elephants in the room—terminal cancer and Alex.

  We finally got to the grand climax of the wedding fair—Alex and his singing wedding proposal.

  "As a mystery guest, that was more than the fair organizers bargained for, I'm sure," she said with that sweet, grandmotherly smile of hers. She had a sense of humor about everything. "I must have watched that clip fifty times. That boy has a beautiful voice. Crooning is his thing, no doubt about that."

  "Fifty times! What were you looking for?" I was genuinely curious. Grandma was nearly always intentional and deliberate.