Checking myself in the mirror above the dresser, I shake my head. “Nope, everything looks perfect to me.”
“Yes, Mr. Arrogant, four days in bed and a bullet hasn’t done anything to your perfect face and hair.”
I smile so hard it hurts. “Did Dr. Evans give you the bullet?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I watch as she opens a drawer in the nightstand and takes out a metal box. “Why would you want to keep it?”
“It’s like a trophy.”
“No. Trophies are what you get for winning a state championship in sports or the national spelling bee.”
“I’m a shitty speller and an even worse team player.”
She joins me by the dresser and offers me the tin. “.45 caliber.”
I open the container and stare at the mushroom-shaped bullet. “Maybe I’ll make a piece of jewelry out of it.”
She rolls her eyes and waves me off. That’s when I notice the bling on her left hand. “Starlet?” I catch her fingers, finding the engagement ring I bought for her. “Where did you get this?”
Looking guilty, she frowns. “In your pocket. I’m so sorry, Brick. I know I should have put it away, but it gave me something to look forward to, hope that you’d pull through.”
I scrub my face and let her hand go. Can’t get mad at her for that. And it makes the asking part that much easier. “Sorry for the unromantic moment,” I say, kneeling on one knee in front of her. “But I can’t have you walking around wearing my engagement ring without asking you to marry me, can I?”
She covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes glittering with joy. “No, you most certainly can’t.”
There’s a hundred different reasons to love her—all of them worth mentioning. But it’s her heart I want most. It’s the best part of her—the purest one I’ve ever encountered. “I love you, Starlet. All of you. Even the broken parts. I promise to be faithful. Patient. And above all else, to stay in one place long enough to put down some roots. Marry me, sweetheart?”
She trembles slightly as she slowly joins me on the floor. We’re on the same level now, and she caresses my cheek. “I love you. Thank you for saving me, Austin. For giving me a reason to believe in myself again. For filling my empty heart with love. Yes. I want to be Mrs. Nomad.”
“Anderson,” I correct her.
“Nomad,” she counters.
Fuck it. I plunder that smartass little mouth, our tongues swirling together with need and excitement. Everything I ever wanted, ever need, is sitting right in front of me. And as soon as I’m done loving her, the first thing I’m going to do is cut that nomad patch off my leather. I have every reason to stay—every reason to live. Every reason to forget the past and welcome whatever future we choose together.
