I nibbled at my lip. “I thought that’s what I wanted.”
Nash shrugged. “Some dreams change.”
He made it seem so simple. Could it really be that easy? Just...quit? I flopped back against the couch cushion.
“You know, Jenna never planned to make guitars.”
I cocked my head. “Really? But she’s so good at it.”
Nash nodded. “A real drive. And talent. But she kind of slid into that.”
“She and baby Cash are great,” I said, smiling. “They’ve settled in at home, and Cam’s hovering.”
Nash chuckled. “Yeah, that’s not going to stop. Ever.”
“He’s so cute.”
Nash’s grin grew. “He is.”
At my questioning look, Nash’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “Cam sends me daily photos.”
I pressed my hand over my heart. So precious.
“That baby’s got Cam wrapped around his finger,” he added.
I wanted to suggest he might feel that way about his own child, but we were in a good place, and I didn’t want to bring up something we might fight over. I fell into silence. Deep in my chest, a longing built for the soft, sweet love I’d seen shining in Cam’s eyes as he looked at Jenna and his newborn son.
Nash pressed his nose into my belly. I shivered.
“I have a confession,” I said.
“Hit me.”
“I don’t want a master’s degree.”
He smiled, and I knew he’d already figured that out. “All right.”
I bit my lip, my nerves pushing to the surface. “And I’m thinking of running Clean Water.”
“All right.”
A breath whistled between my teeth. “I may keep Lindsay on as the development director. She’s good at schmoozing and pulling money out of rich people.”
“All right.”
I pinched his nipple, and he grunted. “What was that for?”
“To make sure you could say something more than all right.”
“I love you, Aya, and I want you to be happy. If those things make you happy, I’m all for them.” This time he cupped my cheeks and kissed me with slow, soft brushes of his lips.
When he pulled back, I pressed one more kiss to his lips. “I didn’t realize how much I loved Clean Water—what it meant to me—until I had to face never being involved in it again. I miss helping people.”
“You’re so fucking strong, Ay. Resilient. Forgiving. Caring. I’m not sure I deserve you.” He swallowed hard. “That I’ll ever deserve you.”
I tipped my head back so I could meet his gaze. “That would mean I don’t get to have you.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, banding me to him. I pressed my cheek to his shoulder and inhaled his scent, my head and heart so thankful to be in this spot with this man.
“Oh, you’re stuck with me,” he said.
I could hear the rumble of his voice through his chest wall, and it made me smile.
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can, for the rest of my life, to show you how lucky I know I am.”
3
Nash
Eight Months Later
* * *
Who knew asking a woman to marry you would cause such intense sweating? Fuck, I felt like a slice of pepperoni left out too long. This was the opposite of suave and sexy.
If I was this much of a mess, maybe I should wait.
No.
I’d already waited longer than I wanted to, in large part because we’d had to complete the tour I’d flaked on when I went to rehab. We’d added a few songs to our set list, making the performances longer—a thank you to the fans for waiting for me to get my shit together. Rave reviews followed each night, pumping us all full of adrenaline, which spilled over into the next show. Those weeks together were, by far, the best we’d had.
We were taking a break for now, but we planned to head into the studio in a couple of months. I’d already asked Asher Smith to hold our album once we finished it. He’d been more than willing. It was good having a record exec who was also a musician—he understood the need for down time. As a husband and father, he also understood the importance of family.
But family or no, everyone needs downtime. Even Bridger had been stoked about taking a few months off. He’d already gone to Nepal to backpack through some of the locations Aya had told him about. We received weekly postcards with notes about his progress.
The last one had mentioned that he’d met a woman—a woman who apparently didn’t have a clue who he was. Aya was impatiently waiting for the next installment, which she said would be from the same locale. I wasn’t so sure. Bridger liked to party, and he’d never shown an interest in dating a woman.
Anyway, all that to say, it was time for me to propose. I’d been serious when I’d asked Aya the last time—that first night at my house. But this time, we were actually ready, and it was going to be epic. Spectacular. Worthy of Aya.
Which was why I was freaking out. There were so many details in my plan. I just needed to focus on the fact that I wanted Aya to be my wife. I wanted her to have the ring right there on her finger. I wanted her to know, with one glance, that she was the most important person in my life. Which meant I had to ball up and ask her.
We’d flown to Haiti for the unveiling of Aya’s first project as the CEO of Didri-Aldringham-Porter International, the new name for her mother’s nonprofit. Rather than pursuing a master’s degree, Aya was using her background in engineering to create a solar-powered desalination device that would provide a greater source for drinking water for coastal communities—as well as collect and clean the salt for those communities to export. She didn’t need the advanced degree for most of that work—and what she didn’t understand, she’d been able to hire out.
I was so proud of her and her commitment to helping people. Whereas I wouldn’t know where or how to start, Aya’s childhood of traveling the globe to set up wells and improve sanitation had positioned her to hit the ground running.
The speed with which Aya’s staff had created the desalination facility took my breath. But then, she was a powerhouse.
Aya stepped from a concrete-block building painted a happy shade of pink. It sat among palm trees with the sparkling ocean behind. I stood a few feet from the doorway, next to the Range Rover we’d rented. The heat from the parking lot licked up around my ankles, under my suit pants, and the faint breeze did little to alleviate the humidity that settled around my neck under my tie. Wearing a jacket in this weather wasn’t ideal, but I had plans.
Aya’s gaze lingered on my bespoke suit, heating as her long stride caused her indigo pants to ripple around her shins, flashing a hint of her ankle and the delicate strap of her heeled sandal. Her bright smile was more bold than usual thanks to the red lipstick slicked across her lips. She looked every inch a successful CEO. But more than her professionalism—and sexiness, which I appreciated—she’d found her passion.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and tugged her close, ignoring the continual click of cameras. They were part of our lives. I wouldn’t say we’d ever get used to it, but we were better about living despite the constant interruptions.