Yes.That’s all the motivation I need.
“Three bedrooms, two and half baths, full partially finished basement, open-concept kitchen and living room area with a bar like the townhouse.”
She shifts and turns around, straddling my lap to face me. Releasing my hair from the elastic, she runs her fingers through it till I can barely speak.
“Little girl.”I squeeze her hips.
She kisses me innocently.
“What? I need to look at you if you’re gonna talk all sexy like that.”
Her words are teasing, but those green eyes are misty as she twirls my hair.
“It’s old and needs a ton of work.”
“You’re not that old, Boss Man. I can get you a conditioning treatment.”
“Punk.” I swat her behind, making her squeal with laughter. “You said you like the kitchen layout in the townhouse, but you wish there was a basement when it storms. You like your mom’s front porch and my mom’s backyard. This has four acres with almost no flood risk, which is rare, and it’s three minutes from Aunt J’s house…”
She kisses me softly again but doesn’t say anything. And I realize I haven’t asked her anything.
“It’ll take a lot of work before it’s livable, and then it could be a rental or an Airbnb. There’s no pressure, okay? I know you just got your life back after that bogus engagement, and four months isn’t long enough to prove anything. I want to do everything right.”
Her expression makes me think this is not my best work. She furrows her brow. “What do you need to prove?”
“That there’s no risk. I’m yours, and nothing will change.”
“I know.” She puts her hands on my cheeks and leans her forehead to mine. “You’ve been proving that for a year.”
“I want to spend the rest of my life making you shiver when I sing in your ear, listening to you snore in my passenger seat, and yelling ‘that’s my girl’ anytime you sing with anyone who isn’t me. I’m ready to put plans in motion, starting with a house. It doesn’t have to be this one. And when you’re ready, there will be a proposal. A real one.”
I release her hips and wrap my arms around her when tears begin rolling down her cheeks.
“Too bad you don’t have a ring.” She wipes her eyes. “Because that was a dang good proposal.”
She tightens her arms around my neck in that full-body koala hug she gives to no one but me.
Screw the plan.
“Baby,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ve had a ring since Nashville.”
I sit her on the swing and kneel in front of her as I pull my wallet from my pocket.
When I was struggling in Nashville, I went for a walk and ended up in a store on a video call with Annie asking if a two-carat teardrop shape was a big enough diamond on this little gold band that looked like twisting flower stems with tiny diamond leaves.
“Whoa, Danny! Oh em gee. Hold up. Lu Lu hates to stand out. The band is perfect. Just don’t overdo it with some huge rock. And that’s called a pear shape. Try one carat.”
But one carat didn’t seem like enough. So it’s one point five, and I’m sweating bullets.
What am I doing?
This is not how I pictured proposing. She deserves better.
That’s why I need a plan.
But one look into her wet eyes, and I know.
She doesn’t care.
