“Proud of me?” Chuckling, I drop into the chair next to her bed. “You’re the one who did all the hard work.”
“That’s right, I did.” She shifts in the bed, wincing a little as she tucks our sweet girl into her hospital crib. “How about you give birth next time?”
“Deal.” Wait. “You’re already planning for next time?”
“That was a figure of speech.”
“Okay, well here’s something that isn’t.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the ring I’ve been saving for just the right moment. “This isn’t a proposal.”
“Uh, okay.” She stares at the bling in my hand. “You thought this might be a good time to discuss the chemical structure of lab-grown diamonds versus natural?”
“No. I mean—this one’s real. Natural, that is.”
“Okay.” Her flawless brow furrows. “Care to elaborate?”
“I want to marry you, Hazel.” I lower the ring, since it shouldn’t be the focus right now. “But I don’t want it to feel like I’m only proposing because you just squeezed two six-pound humans through your vagina.”
“Six pounds, three ounces, thank you very much.” She winces again. “Go on.”
“I love you so much, babies or no babies.”
“I love you, too.”
We’re off to a good start. “Now that our daughters are here, I know we’re bound together forever, one way or another. But I want to be bound together by more than our kids.”
“Uh, Luke?”
“Yes?”
“This still sounds like a proposal.”
She’s right, it does. “It’s a proposal if you want it to be, but mostly I just want you to know how serious I am about committing to you. When the timing feels right, I have every intention of marrying the fuck out of you because I love you—not because of the babies.”
Tears fill her eyes, and she laughs. “So romantic.”
“That’s okay, since it’s not a proposal.”
“Right.” She pretends to get serious. “But just so you know, if it was a proposal, I’d say yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.” This is going better than I thought. “Okay, well I kinda pictured something more traditional for proposing to the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Candles, maybe some scenic locale?—”
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“You knocked me up when I ripped off your clothes in my foyer. We’ve been through misunderstandings and family drama and pregnancy bloat that turned me into a gassy mess. Since you pulled out that ring, you’ve discussed my vagina and declared you’d like to marry the fuck out of me. I think we’re beyond tradition, don’t you?”
“Good point.” I hold up the ring again. “Hazel Spencer—whenever and wherever you’re ready, I would love nothing more than to marry you.”
She peers at the ring. “It’s beautiful. Where did you get that?”
“Stole it,” I quip, sliding it onto her finger. “I held up a liquor store and planned to use the cash for an engagement ring.”
“Good plan.”
