Page 188 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Right.

We ride back to the hotel in something like stunned happiness.

The city blurs by, but all I can see is her.

My fiancée.

Jesus.

When the elevator glides open into the penthouse and the doors seal shut behind us, it feels like the world drops away.

Room service has done exactly what I asked.

The dining table is set with late-night supper—charcuterie, warm bread, olives, roasted vegetables, her favorite cheeses.

And in the center?

An enormous bowl of chocolate mousse topped with fresh raspberries and clouds of whipped cream.

“You really went all out,” she says softly.

“For my future wife?” I reply. “Yeah. I did.”

She blushes.

Even after everything tonight.

Even after cameras and confrontation and a public proposal.

She’s still that same woman who bites her lip when she’s overwhelmed.

“You know I love this gown,” I tell her as the elevator doors finish locking and the suite settles into quiet.

“Yeah?” she asks, backing away slowly, eyes bright and mischievous.

I nod.

I peel off my jacket first, tossing it onto the back of a chair.

Then the tie.

Then I unbutton my shirt slowly, deliberately, watching her watch me.

“I do,” I say again.

Her breath shifts.

The energy between us changes.

Not frantic.

Not desperate.

But heavy.

Intentional.

“But,” I murmur, stepping closer, “I need you to take that off, Baby.”