“And so are you.”
“Strong.”
“Ditto.”
“Well-dressed.”
Her lips curve. “Right back at you, handsome.”
“And,” I murmur, cupping one cheek, “I took one look at you next to that Lyft and knew without a doubt that…you’re a tough cookie.”
She stills, mouth dropping open.
“But that’s a bit of a mouthful,” I tell her, sliding my free hand up along her spine, cupping the back of her head, allowing her curls to fall over my fingertips. “So…just cookie.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Her gorgeous eyes are watery pools of emeralds.
“Not that”—I lift up, nip lightly at her jaw—“you aren’t tasty.”
She laughs softly. “I can’t believe it was so simple all this time.”
“It popped in my head about two seconds after you browbeat me into not getting in the Lyft.”
A wince. “Did I ever apologize for that?”
“Hmm.” I press a row of kisses along the line of her jaw. “I’m not sure.”
“I’m sorry, handsome.” She turns her head, presses her mouth to mine, stealing my breath with a deep, searching kiss. “But I’m also not.” She settles her forehead against mine. “Because it brought me you.”
And that’s when I know.
That this is the perfect moment.
I reach back into my pocket…and I pull out the box. “Marie Austen, will you?—”
“Yes!”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest and I open the lid, slide the obscenely large diamond onto her finger (the better for the world to know she belongs to me). “Just to make it clear, since you didn’t let me finish, I’m asking you to be my wife, not to make that delicious lasagna of yours again.”
“And here I thought you just earned that for dinner tonight.”
My stomach rumbles. “God, I love you.”
“Right back at ya, handsome.” She climbs to her feet, extends a hand and draws me up to mine, her face going suddenly serious.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Her mouth curves. “And in honor of that,” she says, “I think it’s time we…”
I wait.
