I retreat a few steps, back to the sink where we started.
“Aiden, when you said you had a solution to our problems, I didn’t even go there. The moving-in thing makes sense, but... marriage?” Her hand flies to the dainty Colorado necklace at her throat.
The one I gave her a little over a decade ago.
It’s a nice distraction, I guess, but it makes my heart beat faster. And adds more questions to all this tension between us.
Why is she still wearing it?
“It only has to be legal. But we decide what it looks like, day to day.” I clear my throat. “It doesn’t have to be romantic-real.” I air-quote the last part, hoping it takes the edge off her panic.
She looks at me like a deer in headlights. “You need to explain the difference.”
She hasn’t kicked me out—maybe that’s good.
I let my emotions get the best of me. All the conversations about the past and how much she’s actually struggling are piling onto the stress of what’s happening. That and the quiet domesticity I didn’t even realize I wanted for myself.
“We have to be married on paper. Tell people we’re married.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, then pull them back out again. Trying to explain is making me itchy. “Separate rooms. Boundaries. No expectations. And if that ever changes, it changes because we both choose it.”
The air shifts, like someone deflated a tension-filled balloon.
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, and at the same time, a slight smirk appears.
“Not unless you want to.” I blink with wide eyes as her smile grows. “Do you want to?”
“Are you asking?” Her eyes hold mine, filled with laughter. “Let me get this straight: you’re proposing a marriage on paper… with none of the perks.”
A cough barks out of me. “Chloe. That’s not?—”
“Relax.” She laughs. “Now that’s out of the way, I’m going to put Phoebe to bed.”
I stay put, heat crawling under my collar.
She knewexactlywhat I meant, and I suspect she’s serving a small slice of justice for springing a proposal on her.
Touché.
She scoops Phoebe up, tucks the blanket around her, and snags the stuffed bear Phoebe was holding. It’s clear that she’s done this a thousand times. She deserves extra hands, and I’ve got a house full.
I can’t fathom how she does it all without help.
Why should she?
This proposal isn’t just about us—it’s the only way for me to get access to my inheritance and save the farm.
I pace for what feels like the longest minute of my life, then finally sit at the end of the couch farthest from the hall. She needs her space for this conversation, and honestly, I do too if she’s going to drop bombs like that on me.
“I’m sorry for the shape the house is in,” she says, breezing back in, nerves just barely showing. “Someone showed up without giving me time to pick up. And it’s about to be packed up anyway, so I guess it really doesn’t matter.”
She grabs something that looks like a colorful stuffed marshmallow and a tiny ballet slipper. I stand and crouch beside her to help gather toys.
“It’s not a mess, Chloe. It’s lived in.”
She looks up, and my breath catches. Her hair’s piled up, wisps framing her face, no makeup except dark lashes. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“You don’t know what you’re inviting in by asking us to come stay. Your house would look just like this.” She presses her lips together, then looks away. “Sometimes there’s even glitter.”
“Evelyn and Owen would probably prefer it,” I say. “Maybe not the glitter.”
