A funny look moves across her face. “Maybe you could help with the biscuits.”
I bend down to open the island cabinet, pulling out a box I hid inside there after dinner. Before I stand back up, I reply, “Didn’t you just say the biscuits were already made?”
Bea stares at the mixing cups intently. “They still need to be baked. And you can drizzle honey on them after they’re done.”
Shit. I love her so much.
Laughing, I say, “So, basically nothing I can mess up.”
Bea blushes. “I didn’t say that. And you could mess it up. You could bake the biscuits too long, or put too much honey?—”
As soon as I stand up, her eyes jump to the box in my hand. “Indy?”
I round the island and over to her side of it. Then I hold out the large box to her. “It’s a housewarming present,” I explain. “And anI love youpresent.”
“Indy.”She takes the box from me. “Le Creuset?”
“I would have given it to you sooner. But the color I wanted wasn’t in stock. So I had to wait.”
Her expression brightens. “You didn’t have to buy this. You’ve already spent so much fixing up your apar?—”
“Our apartment. Not mine. It’s ours.”
“Our apartment. But this…” She opens the box and peers inside. “Indy! It matches my mixer!”
“I know.” I kiss her cheek. “I know how much you love the color. So…”
“It’s perfect.” Bea beams at me. Then she sets the box on the counter and frames my face with her hands. “I love it.” She kisses me. “And I love you.”
My heart swells with joy. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll use it to make something for your mom. I know we’re doing dinner at Eden and Rafe’s tonight, but tomorrow?—”
“Bea.” Angling my chin at the box, I add, “Can you take it out? Look at it?”
“Oh! Of course!” She grins. “Of course I want to look at this amazing Dutch oven.” Pulling it from the box, she strokes the surface almost reverently. “It’s perfect.”
Then she gives me a conspiratorial smile. “When my parents come in September, we’ll have to hide it, though. So we don’t have to sit through a ten-minute lecture on how everything was made so much better in the old days.”
“That’s fine.” When she doesn’t lift the lid right away, I add, “Why don’t you look inside?”
“Okay.” Bea raises the lid, saying as she does it, “I’ve read that these don’t need seasoning. And they’re designed to retain heat even better?—”
Then she stops.
Her mouth drops.
“Indy?”
Heart pounding out of my chest, I say, “It’s another present.”
Bea sets the pot on the counter and removes the small box from inside it. “Indy. Is this what I think it is?”
“Open it and see.”
As she opens the small jewelry box, I drop to one knee. Then I watch her face, committing this moment to memory.
And it’s all there.
