“It’s nice,” I tell him.
He tilts his head in a wishy-washy motion. “I know the kitchen isn’t all that impressive, but the porch is.”
“The porch?”
“There’s a back porch right through this door.” He ambles past three boxes piled up and opens the back door, leading me onto an enclosed porch. The floor-to-ceiling windows look out to a view of the woods beyond. “This is the reason I bought this place. When I’m not on a soccer field, this is where I’ll spend every sunset and sunrise.”
He watches out one of the large windows, a serene smile on his face.
I blink from Roman back to the great outdoors—the moss-covered ground littered with twigs, rocks, and pines that shoot from the ground and tower overhead. “Wow.” It’s as if I’m outside without being outside. Once it snows, this room is going to be magical—and heated. “This is beautiful, Roman.”
“Yeah. It’s my favorite part of the house.”
My heart thumps with his confession.
It’s the Roman I knew as a kid showing up, reminding me that we aren’t strangers. BecauseEngaged to a Strangersounds like an awful reality TV show.
I can’t be a part of a cringy reality show. I have a lot of baggage that I’m not ready to unpack. And everyone knows reality TV forces you to confess all your secrets.
“The lighting is great.” I clasp my hands in front of me, nerves rising.
Roman shoves both hands into his pockets. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“Okay.” I push up on the rim of my round glasses, my contacts tucked safely away in my suitcase. I’ll wear them again … one day.
It doesn’t take long to backtrack through the kitchen to the short hallway that leads to two bedrooms and one Jack and Jill bathroom.
“Right or left?” Roman says after walking me through all three rooms.
“Oh, um—” My brow furrows. “I don’t?—”
“They are the same size and have the same exact access to the bathroom. I haven’t moved my things in yet. I thought you could pick.” He’s giving me yet another offering. One I do not deserve. Lifting his hand, he shakes one finger to the right. “This bedroom has the same back view of the woods as the porch. And the left has a view of the front woods, including the road and the walkway to the house.”
I hum out in thought. “So … do I want to be warned of visitors coming or not?”
“There will be no visitors.” Roman’s tone is flat and serious. No visitors. That’s not like Roman.
“Okay, then. I’ll take the right.”
Roman leans past me, hand on the knob, opening the door to my room. And with his movement, I breathe him in. He is all musk, pine, and man. And I am woozy.
“Take your time. Figure out where you want things,” he says.
The room is a box with a door to the hall, a door to the bathroom, and a tiny closet. Roman special-ordered furniture for us, including beds, or I wouldn’t have a place to sleep tonight. Everything arrives later today.
He leaves me to look around in peace. He said he’s going to unpack a kitchen box or two while I situate. Really, I think he’s giving me space to think.
But thinking is only making my chest go tight and my breaths short. Roman doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Not completely. Marrying him is an answer to all of my failures—no job, no home, no life. My family won’t see any of that if Roman is literally at my side. And while the cabin might be officially his, I feel like I’m taking advantage of the sweetest boy I ever knew.
My body starts to tremble with the thought. In sixty seconds, I have gone from calm to calamity. “Roman!” I bellow, then slam my bedroom door open and into the wall, before racing into the doorway of the small kitchen.
Roman’s eyes are wide, and he’s holding a broom like a samurai sword. “Mouse? Racoon? What is it?”
“Why do you want to do this?” I say, my chest heaving with each breath.
His forehead wrinkles with confusion. He isn’t following my panic attack thought process. Which makes sense—I haven’t exactly clued him in.
“Marry me, Roman?” I cry. “Why? And don’t say your cabin. You could have figured that out.”
