“I made it. For you.”
Reaching out, I touch the wooden cube. “It’s beautiful.” And it is. There is a design swirling on the top like it’s stained with different colors of stain. It looks like a stylized flower. “Is this what you’ve been working on in your shop?”
“It is.”
No wonder he didn’t want me in there. “Sneaky.”
“Just wanted this to be special.”
I watch as Sam lifts the lid of the box. Inside is an even smaller box one that looks like it comes from a jewelry store. I’m not sure if I should reach in and take it out if he wants to do it. So, I look up at him as he says, “Take it.”
With the small, black box in hand, I open the lid and gasp. “Sam…”
“Marry me?”
I blink away the tears. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, kissing him like he’s my soul mate.
He is.
“Do you like it? The ring?”
“I—I love it.” And I do. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a ring. There’s a large diamond in the center with three smaller diamonds on either side. It’s not round and it’s not exactly square either, but it is perfect.
“The jeweler called this the ‘Colette’ ring.”
My head jerks up. “Really?”
“Really. The funny thing is, I chose the ring before he told me that.”
“It was meant to be.”
“Everything about us was meant to be, my sweet Colette.”
And right then and there, I melted into a puddle of goo.
Oh, and my ovaries exploded.
Again.
Chapter Forty
Speaking of Exploding Ovaries
That’s right. You guessed it.
I’m pregnant!
I’d tell you I was shocked or that I had no idea how it happened, but that’d be a line of malarky. I, or should I say we, got pregnant the old-fashioned way. We did it a lot, and as part of that, some of those times I’d forgotten to take my pill. Also, I had a little sinus infection a month or so ago that required antibiotics. Combine all those things, and the odds of Sam knocking me up were pretty good.
The thing is, I haven’t told Sam yet. I’ve known for a few days. I’ve even made an appointment with my doctor to be sure, but Sam’s been super busy trying to get the exterior of his current project done before it snows so they can then focus on the inside while it’s crappy outside.
Makes sense to me.
So, like that other time, he’s been working long days. When he gets home, he’s exhausted and hungry. My slow cooker has come in quite handy lately. But I’m afraid I may have to stop using it because, for some reason, the smells that the thing emits are making me feel ill. I don’t think it’s me. It’s the pregnancy. It’s causing me to hate the smell of meat cooking—and it’s the reason I crave cake.
Okay. That’s a bald-faced lie.
I’ve always craved cake.
