Snowed in with Mr. Heartbreaker (Copper Valley Bro Code #5)

Bonus Epilogue

Aspen

There’s no way to describe the thrill of watching the man you love perform on a stage for a sold-out, screaming, cheering, going-crazy crowd, especially when you know how worried he was that no one would like his new sound.

But they love it.

And everything about him says he’s loving it too.

I’m smiling so hard my eyes are watering, and I’d be yelling right along except I have to save my voice for my own show tomorrow.

So instead, as soon as he’s off the stage, I launch myself at him.

He’s hot and sweaty and beaming.

“You were so sexy out there,” I breathe in his ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

He spins me in a circle, laughing. “That was fucking fun .”

“Good.”

He kisses me and spins me in another circle, then sets me down. “You hungry?”

I’ve been warned about this by his former bandmates.

Performing gives him the munchies.

It’s adorable.

I slip my hand in his and tug him toward the door. “Let’s go get food.”

We hit a greasy spoon on the outskirts of Copper Valley, Cash’s home city, for pancakes and bacon and eggs and hash browns. No one else is here—I set it up in advance for them to open just for us after the show, and we have our usual security detail at the front and back doors.

Also, it’s very odd that I’m used to having a personal security detail and that I finally trust my luck isn’t about to run out.

You make your own luck , Cash has said over and over.

It’s not that simple—Waverly discovering me was luck I had no control over—but beyond that, I work hard to make music that my ever-growing fan base connects with.

Just like his music might be different now, but it still hits the soul of what his fan base—what Bro Code’s old fan base—wants from him.

“How’d you know?” Cash asks me after he’s devoured half his food.

I smile. “To come here? My spies told me.”

“You have very good spies.”

This isn’t the same greasy spoon the guys told me they used to hit back in the day. It closed down a few years back. But this diner is run by the same family and has the same magic pancakes.

With sprinkles.

I didn’t know the first time I told Cash that I liked sprinkles in my pancakes that he did too.

Or that we both like our bacon limp.

Or that we both like our hash browns extra crispy.

We’re basically the same person when it comes to breakfast foods.

“They told me you’ll probably be up early tomorrow too,” I tell him.

He grins. “Nope.”

I lift my brows.

“When I do Minneapolis next month, yes. Here at home? Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You need to sleep in.”

I laugh at that. “I can take a nap. Or you can go without me.”

“I need to sleep in.”

That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard him say.

The only time he sleeps in is during the holidays.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I’m keeping you up all night.”

Oooh .

My nipples perk up. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

“I was not informed of this part of your performing habits.”

“It’s new. And possibly a one-time thing.”

This man.

He cracks me up every single day.

“Because you’re getting old?” I tease.

He shakes his head. “Never.”

I arch my brows at him. “Then what makes tonight so special?”

He sets his fork down and pushes his plate to the side, then reaches for my hand. “Tonight’s special because I only intend to have one night for the rest of my life that’s the first night after I propose to the woman I love more than I ever have or ever will love anyone or anything else in this entire universe.”

My breath catches. My pulse dances with my heart. And a full-body shiver—the good kind—courses from my spine to my toes.

“What?” comes tumbling out of my mouth.

He grins, but only briefly, and squeezes my hand again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And I want to marry you.”

The phrase comes out of his mouth again, and I sit there gaping at him.

You’d think we hadn’t said things like when I finish my next tour in three years we’ll go to Greece , or what if Christmas after next we rent out a villa in the Caribbean somewhere to change it up ? Like we haven’t been moving toward this.

“You don’t have to say yes tonight.” He’s grinning again. “I’ll ask again somewhere more romantic. We can get good sleep tonight instead of celebrating?—”

This man.

For the second time since he finished his show, I’m launching myself at him.

I have to get around the table, and I bump a syrupy plate and probably have sticky pants now, and his chair tips backward, which is not in the plan, but then I’m kissing him.

We’re splayed over the diner floor, both of us with a few bumps, and I’m kissing him and laughing and kissing him and gasping yes while he kisses me back and holds me close and squeezes my ass.

A diner.

The man proposed in a diner, like no big deal, just part of life , and honestly?

It’s so freaking perfect.

If he’d done flowers and chocolates and a string quartet at a waterfall, it would’ve been too much.

But this?

Us, being us as we are every day?

I kiss his nose and smile at him. “I love you so much.”

“You’re everything that makes my life whole. I want to be everything for you too. Every day. Forever.”

And now my eyes are getting hot and my throat is clogging. “You already are.”