I take the box back and lift the ring out. Her fingers tremble slightly as I hold her hand in both of mine.
“Melissa Jones,” I say, keeping the ring poised and ready. “Will you marry me?”
My eyes travel from her hand to the heart floating at her neck to her eyes, which are now shining. All I can remember is that night in the desert when she’d wanted to say she loved me. I’d gone immediately to the nearest jewelry store still open and bought the first thing they had with a heart on it. She’d stolen mine then, and I knew the only way to get it back would be to marry her.
With a hiccupped breath, her face breaks into a smile. “Yes,” she nods. “I already told you I’d say yes, but yes, yes, yes.” She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck. Our mouths meet and my hand fumbles back down only briefly pausing before sliding around her waist, drawing her close against me. I love how our bodies move together so easily. We belong to each other.
“If you want me to move to Princeton, I will,” she says, kissing my lips once more before resting her forehead against my cheek. I know right then she’s saying she’ll do whatever I want, and that’s the funny thing with power. When the one you love gives it to you, you start looking for every opportunity to give it back or at the very least, use it for her happiness.
“I don’t want you to leave the place you love,” I say, my hands moving under her shirt to her breasts. I lay her back on the sand and push up her tee. Her belly isn’t the slightest bit round yet, but we’ve both heard the little heart in there beating so fast.
I kiss her right below the navel. “It’s not a bad drive. Let’s get this little person here and then we’ll decide what to do.”
Her slim fingers thread into my hair as she exhales deeply. My wife. My beautiful wife who’s given me another chance at a family. Even though my instinct resists, and my inner drive is to be the boss, she has my heart. I’ll do anyth
ing for her.
I hold her close, resting my cheek on her skin, loving her. She continues lacing her fingers through my hair, and we listen to the soft noise of the breakers. It’s as if we’re on our own private island together. After a while, we slowly stand, repositioning our clothes. Our fingers entwine as we walk back to her condo.
“I was thinking if it’s a girl, we can call her Edith. If it’s a boy, Dexter.”
“No and maybe.” I say curtly.
As tiny as she is, Mel is unexpectedly strong. She jerks my arm hard, and I can’t suppress a laugh. “Edith is a terrible name for a baby.”
“It’s a family name,” she cries.
“And I don’t know about Dexter.”
“I think it’s cute. We can call him Dex.”
“I was thinking Scott or Cactus Flower—for where we met.”
Her brow wrinkles. “You cannot be serious.”
I laugh again. So perhaps we have the housing situation on hold—now begins a new round of debate. Baby names. Knowing how stubborn we both are, I figure we can prolong this argument into the child’s fifth birthday when it can decide.
She’s still fussing, and I know the one way to win any argument with Melissa. But I’ll save my next win for the bedroom.
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Acknowledgments
Writing a novel has always been a dream of mine. Telling stories that sweep readers into a lovely dream or a fantasy of happiness is a gift, and I hope I’ve done it well.
Special thanks to Hart Johnson, Kate Roth, and Magan Vernon, the best critique partners a gal could have. Thanks to Regina Wamba for the gorgeous cover design. Thanks to Giselle and KP for exceptional marketing.
Thanks to the readers, reviewers, and book bloggers, who took a chance on an unknown author. In particular, thanks to Karrie, Lisa, Nevena, Linda, JAnne, Chantelle, Jennifer, Patrycja, Nikki, and Brianne. You ladies encouraged me more than you can possibly know.
Thanks also to the writers I can’t name here who have provided invaluable support and encouragement.
Finally, thanks to the love of my life and to my family for sharing me as I wrote. You’ve given me the gift of pursuing my dream.
Thank you.