I clear my throat to keep my focus, not wanting my logic train to get derailed by the desire to have her again.
“You have to admit there are a lot of practical reasons to have a dedicated life companion,” I say. “There are tax advantages, for one, not to mention issues like health insurance and estate planning and?—”
“Be still my heart!” Sarah clasps her hands over her chest dramatically. “Your technique needs work, Nolan. You’re not exactly sweeping me off my feet here.”
I take her hand in mine and stroke a thumb over her knuckle. There’s a scar between her thumb and forefinger, and I remember how she got it. It was an incident with a paring knife and an unripe avocado, and I lift a hand to plant a kiss on the site of her guacamole battle scar.
“I’m not trying to be romantic,” I tell her. “I’m trying to be practical. You know I’d take care of you.”
“I take care of myself.” Sarah’s blue eyes flash as she looks at me. “I have a great job and good friends. I bought this house all by myself and even refinanced last year to a fifteen-year mortgage. I’m totally self-sufficient, Ian.”
“I know you are.” And I love the pride in her voice, in her eyes. I’m proud of her, too. “I wasn’t talking about money or friendship, though. I’m not even just talking about sex.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
“Security,” I say. “Stable companionship. A business arrangement that benefits both of us with perks like life insurance and healthcare coverage. Family, if we both agree to that.”
The intensity in her eyes makes something twist deep in my belly.
“And sex,” I add. “Safe, mutually satisfying, reliable sex.”
Toe-curling, mind-blowing, body-shaking sex.
I keep that thought to myself, not wanting to pat myself on the back. But if it was even a fraction as good for her as it was for me, she knows this is true.
Her cheeks go even pinker, and I see I’m not the only one having these thoughts. I can read it on her face like lines from the economics texts we used to pore over together while cozied up in my brown beanbag chair.
She stares at me for a long, long time. She doesn’t look moved, but that’s not what I’m after here anyway. “I still can’t figure out if you’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“You’re bonkers.”
“I’m practical.”
She snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Pragmatic.”
Sarah shakes her head, her expression halfway between fondness and amusement. “This is not how I pictured my engagement.”
“Sorry.” I pull her closer, loving the feel of her body against me. “If it makes a difference, I can get you a killer engagement ring.”
“You know I never gave a shit about jewelry.”
I shrug, stroking her thumb with mine. “I wasn’t sure if that might be one of the things that changed.”
“It’s not.” Her face creases with the same intense concentration she wears when she’s puzzling over something important. “Some things don’t change, ever.”
“True enough.”
There’s that serious look again, the one that tells me an argument is coming. “You live in New York. Not exactly conducive to all that safe, mutually satisfying, reliable marital sex we’ll be having.”
“This consulting job with Wyeth Airways,” I say, “the one I’m in town for? Odds are pretty good it’ll turn into a full-time job.”
“And?” She always did know when there was more to a story.
“It’s uh—the kind of job where they like to see a certain stability in the personal lives of the management team.”
