"Marry me, Olivia."
Her lips parted in surprise – the way I had seen them do so many times before I kissed her, before I pulled her close, before I told her that her paintings were going to be in one of the biggest galleries in New York, where they belong. I love that look, that moment of anticipation before she works out what she is going to tell me. But this time, I am sure that I know what she is going to say before she manages to get the words out.
"Yes!" she exclaims, and she practically launches herself into my arms. "Yes, of course I’ll marry you," she cries into my ear.
I catch her and hold her tight, unable to keep the smile off my face. When I saw that gorgeous woman pulling up in that junker car all those weeks ago, the last thing I expected was to be begging her not to get in it again and go. But I’ve ended up right where I need to be – with this woman in my arms, with her in my life, with the two of us together.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.