**
The egg in the center of my pan begins to sizzle more than it probably should, and I reach across the stove to decrease the heat. Of the three eggs I’ve cooked this morning, all three have broken yolks, but I’m hopeful this next one will make it. Ryland likes his whites cooked and his middles runny. It’s an impossible combination to finagle when you possess no real cooking skills.
It’s been almost thirty minutes and he still isn’t back like promised, but I refuse to freak out and walk over to his place to figure out why not. At least not until I cook one decent egg.
Toast pops up from the toaster and I reach to a top cupboard to grab plates. The main door opens behind me and I turn almost dropping the short stack of china.
“What the hell, Ryland?”
He stops at the entrance to the kitchen area with a grin taking up half his face. His expression isn’t what freaked me out. It’s the black tux he’s wearing. The jacket is open revealing he’s even gone as far as to put on the little black piece of fabric that wraps around his flat stomach. A red bow tie around his neck stands out against the stark white shirt underneath it. For a man who doesn’t like to dress up, he certainly does it well.
Ryland’s watches as I check him out. He takes slow steps into the kitchen until he’s beside me. He takes the plates from my hand and places them on the counter, and then he moves the pan off the stove burner.
“What?” he asks and then settles on the floor back on one knee taking my shaking hands in his for a second time this morning. “It's no longer after sex. I’m not naked… and look, I even have a ring.” He keeps both my hands firmly in one of his and reaches the other into a pocket.
When he pulls it out again, there’s a small black box in the palm of his large hand. Using a thumb and another finger, he pushes open the top to reveal the largest fucking diamond ring I’ve ever seen. One abnormally large rectangular shaped diamond sits on a simple gold band nestled in the black velvet of the box. My knowledge of diamonds is lacking, but it must be at least five carats.
Ryland moves the box closer as though he thinks I can’t see the huge rock in the short distance. When the hell did he find time to buy a ring? Surely even he can’t change into a tux and buy a ring this large in thirty minutes on a Saturday morning.
“Let me try this part again too.” He takes a deep breath and I freeze. “Marissa Melrose, you’ve changed my life and given me someone to love. I came to San Francisco pissed off at the world for the hand she’d given me. Then you walked into my life and I realized she sent me here to meet you. I tried to be angry, but every day you walked out of my elevator and I forgot why I thought my cards were bad.
“I’ve tried hobby after hobby to discover who I am beyond the soccer player persona I’m known for. I can’t paint, cook, or even kayak well, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve learned the one thing I do exceptionally well is love you.”
“Ryland,” I interrupt to warn him he’s about to make me cry.
“Shhh. I have more to say.” He shuffles on his knees to reposition, but I yank on his hands to pull him up.
I throw myself at him wrapping my arms around his midsection until he’s backed up against the refrigerator. “I don’t need to hear anymore."
“Is that a yes?”
I laugh but understand why he might need extra reassurance. “It’s absolutely a yes.”
Ryland sweeps me up with an arm under my knees and one on my back as I kick my feet and yell for him to put me down. He deposits me on the couch and sits, the ring box falling between us.
“Try it on,” he coaxes moving the box closer. I reach out with a tentative hand but pull back, scared to touch it. “It won't bite, Marissa.”
He takes the ring from the box and slips it on my ring finger. “It fits?” I put the words as a question unsure where his knowledge of my ring size came from.
“Aspen.”
“Aspen?” I’m shocked although her comments the last few times I’ve seen her make more sense now.
“I bought the ring a while ago, but Aspen told me the size.”
I stare down at the ring, twisting my hand as the diamond catches the early morning light from the large window in the living room. “You want me to walk around with like ten thousand dollars on my finger?” Can I superglue it on? Otherwise I'll have to keep it in my pocket to deal with the fear of losing it.
His expression changes, becoming sheepish, and he mumbles under his breath, “Yeah, ten thousand.”
My mouth hangs open. How many dollars are resting on my finger? I’m going to need to buy lots of superglue. “Wait, you bought the ring a while ago? When?” I rip my attention from the ring to study him again.
With eyes cast to the ceiling, he teases his lips back and forth stalling his answer. “A few weeks after you hurt your ankle.”
“What?”
He puts a hand over mine, the metal cutting into the sensitive part of my skin. “You’ve said yes. You can’t take it back."
“Just tell me, Ryland.”
