I turned in her arms, pulling her against my chest.
“You told him I was your best friend,” she whispered.
“You are.”
“You told him you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“I can’t.”
She pulled back, looking up at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. “You told him you’re in love with me.”
“Harlow.” I cupped her face in my hands, wiping her tears with my thumbs. “I meant every single word. You’re not just someone I love. You’re the person I want to talk to about everything and nothing. You’re the reason I check my phone a hundred times a day. You’re the reason I actually want to come home at night instead of staying at the gym until it closes. You make me feel like myself, like the best version of myself, and I don’t know how to exist anymore without you.”
She let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Yeah, well.” I managed a smile despite the ache in my chest. “I burned your dinner, so I had to compensate somehow.” I moved into the kitchen and clicked the burner off.
Her gaze swept the room again, taking in the table setting, the candles, the effort I’d put into making everything perfect. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
“You did all this? For me?”
“No, for the other woman I’m secretly engaged to.” I scraped the ruined chicken into the trash. “Yes, for you. Who else would I…”
I turned around and found her staring at the counter.
At the black velvet box, sitting there, waiting.
Shit.
“Owen.” Her voice had gone very quiet. Very still. “Is that...”
I was across the kitchen before I could think, scooping up the box and dropping to one knee so fast I probably bruised something. But I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the look on her face, the hope and disbelief and overwhelming love shining in her eyes.
“I wanted to do this the right way. I know we said Vegas. I know we agreed to keep it simple. But you deserve more than simple, Harlow. You deserve the proposal and the ring and the whole damn fairy tale.”
I opened the box, revealing the ring I spent all morning finding.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I probably realized, and I’m going to love you for the rest of my life, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck with me. My terrible cooking and my horrible jokes and my inability to remember to put the toilet seat down…”
“You really need to work on that.”
“I know. I’m a work in progress.” I smiled up at her, feeling my heart expand to fill every inch of my chest. “But I’m your work in progress. If you’ll have me.”
She was crying again. Happy tears, I hoped, this time.
“Harlow Cruz.” I took her hand, feeling her tremble against my palm. “Will you marry me?”
She stared at me long enough that my knee started to ache, and my brain started to panic.
Then she launched herself at me.
We went sprawling across the kitchen floor, bodies tangled, lips finding mine. I caught her against me, holding on tight, and kissed back with everything I had.
“Is that a yes?” I managed between kisses. “I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Yes.” She was laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
I slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. She held her hand up to the light, watching it sparkle, and the smile on her face was worth every cent I spent.
