My heart starts to slam into my rib cage.
I guess lunch isn’t happening now?
Until now, I didn’t place the song they’re singing, but I do now. It’s “Carol of the Bells” and the choir is killing it. Melodic strains fill every corner of the market. The fullness and passion of it tightens my throat. I see the singers up ahead, dressed in blue robes, faces smiling.
And in front of them stands Elijah, the center of all gravity.
“Oh, what did you do?” I whisper, the words getting swallowed up in the music. But Elijah reads my lips and his smile is both tender and roguish at the same time. My pulse trips over itself and I walk faster, compelled to reach him as fast as possible. Once upon a time, I would have sauntered, played it cool or refused to obey the magnetic pull in his direction, but I don’t hide anymore. I give and show and tell him everything—and the reward is Elijah doing the same.
I’ve almost reached him now. He’s wearing a light gray suit I’ve never seen before. A black tie. Every inch the gentleman, but I know what waits underneath and there’s nothing polite about it. My best friend. My lover. My biggest supporter.
My Elijah.
When I’m a few yards away, my heart leaps and I’m zapped by the current that always runs between us. I take a running step and launch myself into his arms—and the most amazing, deafening cheer goes up around us, temporarily drowning out the music. But it keeps going, the singers finally winning out again when the clapping and whistling dies down.
My face is pressed to Elijah’s neck, inhaling eucalyptus and soap. He does the same, holding me several inches off the ground and sucking in a lungful of me, as if we didn’t have breakfast together a few hours ago. As if he didn’t tug open my robe afterward and command me to ride him, right there at the table. As if he didn’t hold me and tell me he loved me long afterward, taking the time to do it right until I was wrapped a cloud of security and contentedness. Just like right now.
“The plan was to get down on one knee,” he rasps in my ear, moving me side to side, nice and slow. “But I can’t let you go for the life of me.”
Moisture floods my eyes and I laugh, my heart soaring to new, even higher heights I didn’t know were possible. He’s proposing. He’s proposing in front of everyone we know, including my grandmother. He’s done it in a place and in a fashion where he knew I’d feel her most, like she’s standing in the crowd with everyone else. “Don’t. Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t.” His stubble catches me on the cheek and I shiver, going up on tiptoes and laying my head on his shoulder. “Everyone got to see me tell you I love you,” Elijah continues, “This time it’s just between us.” I sense him gesturing behind my back and the choir sings louder, so loud that I’m the only one who can hear the gruff timbre of Elijah’s voice as he speaks. “I want to be your husband, Addison Potts. I want to witness your wins and hold you after your losses. I want to be the father of your children. And your best friend. I’m man enough to ask you for the same. To tell you I need the same.” I nod into his neck, tears blurring my vision. “I don’t need these things because I’m supposed to. I need them because you made me need them with you. You were the love of my life before I knew what that meant. You showed me. And I want to spend every damn day showing you, too.” He has to clear his throat before moving on. “Will you let me be your husband?”
“Yes,” I whisper, before leaning back and pressing our heads together. “Yes, Elijah. Be my husband. Let me be your wife. I need that, too. More than anything in the world. Yes.”
Our mouths meet, Elijah’s taste and texture snaring me in their trap, as usual. And there’s more cheering as my future husband carries me from the market, but I can barely hear it over the thundering of my heart.
“Getaway Girl!” shouts a photographer, lifting his camera. “Over here!”
“You’re going to have to come up with another name for her!” Elijah calls back. “I’m never letting her get away again.”
THE END