Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He snorts. “You think? The woman embodies the very idea of matchmaker.”
“You knew?” I say in surprise. “That the flowers didn’t need to be on the roof?”
Archer smiles. “From the very first night.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, exasperated. “You could have just told me, and you could have had your quiet rooftop back!”
“I could have. But then I got a little busy.”
“Doing what?”
Archer smiles and brushes his lips over mine. “Falling in love.”
GEMINI SEASON ONE YEAR LATER
Archer?” I call as I step into our foyer and drop my keys onto the entryway table. “You back yet?”
As I wait for his response, I slip off my high heels and shrug out of my pale pink blazer. I’ve spent the entire day in Manhattan doing interviews as part of the publicity circuit for The Universe Unraveled, my very own TV show in which I break down complicated physics concepts for nonscientists. It’s not explicitly aimed at kids, but one of my stipulations before signing was that we ensure children would be able to follow along.
At my request, Kylee had been a part of the beta program to make sure we were successful. She loves the show, though maybe not quite as much as she’s loving the fact that her dad asked her to be his “best girl” at his upcoming wedding to a lovely civil engineer named Lila.
The Universe Unraveled won’t start airing until the fall, but Alyssa tells me early reviews have been great, so much so that the network’s already picked it up for three more seasons.
The most popular episode in the prerelease for critics, and my favorite?
“Horoscope Hypotheses.”
I still, waiting for any sign that Archer’s in the home. Our home.
Lillian relocated to Florida and refused to sell me her house.
Instead, she gave it to me.
Archer and I live here full time, and his house is now completely converted into his studio. He needs the extra space, after his Miranda in Retrograde series was a viral phenomenon in the art world. He still refuses to sell a single piece, but he’s been working around the clock in the same style: his favorite charcoals, with accents of acrylics.
Since he’s apparently not left the studio yet, I slip my feet into my flip-flops and step back out into the front yard. In the very same place where he grabbed my finger the morning after our first meeting, we’ve removed part of the fence and created an archway between the two.
I pause to inspect the greenhouse, which we’ve expanded. Happy to see that the baby Buzzes we’ve recently cultivated are thriving.
Archer’s studio is never off-limits to me, but I enter silently anyway, in case he’s in the zone and needs quiet.
While the entire home is now filled with finished pieces, in-progress pieces, and extra supplies, his favorite place to work is still his original studio. The one where we shared our first New Year’s Eve kiss.
Sure enough, I find him there, on that same stool where he sat the first time I entered the space. There’s one piece of charcoal tucked behind his ear and another in his fingers as he moves the stub steadily across the canvas.
Archer’s gaze cuts to me as I enter the room, and though he says nothing, his gaze is warm. I brush a light kiss over his cheek so as not to disrupt his process, and smile when I see there’s already a mason jar waiting for me, with the splash of Michter’s that frequently marks the end of the workday and the start of us time.
At least until we head up to the roof, which we still do as often as weather permits, and even sometimes when it doesn’t.
I’m about to take my first sip when something catches my eye.
A tiny, wrapped box beside the bottle of rye.
The scratch of Archer’s charcoal never pauses as I reach for it, open it.
No diamond winks back at me. Archer knows me better.
Instead, there is a simple band. Understated, with the slightest shimmer. Made from lunar meteorite dust.
When I shift my gaze to Archer, he wordlessly pivots his easel my way so I can see what his charcoal has been working at. It’s simple. Perfect. Just words.
Marry me.
Without even a second’s pause, I slip the band onto my finger.
And then slide my fingers into my soon-to-be-husband’s hair, pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss that leaves us both a bit breathless.
“That big 170 IQ, and you don’t even want to think about it?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Don’t need to,” I say, extending my left hand to admire my new accessory. “And besides, I knew the question was coming today.”
He looks genuinely nonplussed. “You did?”
“Of course.” I give him a sly smile. “My horoscope told me.”
Also? Archer’s and my astrology charts?
The perfect match.
But you already knew that.