She nods slowly, processing this information. “That’s longer than we expected.”
“Tab’s trying to break it up, maybe get me home for a few days between legs of the tour.”
“But I think it’s good. Your international readers deserve to see you, too. You can’t just do local signings,” she voices as I lift her onto the kitchen island.
Her words surprise me. “Wait, you’re not upset about me being gone for that long?”
“Of course I’m upset.” Her hands move to my shoulders. “But this is your career, Aaron. Your readers are important.”
I study her face, searching for any hint of the disappointment I expected. “I thought you’d be more…”
“More what? Clingy? Demanding?” She raises an eyebrow. “I run my own law firm. I understand professional obligations.”
I step between her legs, hands resting on her thighs. “I was thinking of asking if you could come with me. Maybe not for all of it, but parts?”
Something flashes in her eyes, maybe hope or excitement, but then she gets practical. “I don’t know if I can be away that long. We just took on the Robertson case, and Jasmyn is still getting used to the corporate clients.”
“Even for a week? London’s on the itinerary.” I trace small circles on her thigh. “We could revisit that little pub in Notting Hill.”
She bites her lip, considering. “I could potentially do a long weekend somewhere. Maybe arrange some international client meetings to justify the trip.”
“Always the pragmatist,” I tease, leaning in to kiss her.
She meets me halfway, her lips soft against mine. When we part, she’s smiling. “Someone has to be, especially when dating a hopeless romantic.”
I pull her closer, needing to feel her against me. Six weeks suddenly seems like an eternity. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“You’ll be too busy signing books and charming readers to notice I’m gone,” she claims, but her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“Not possible.” I kiss her again, deeper this time. “I notice every second you’re not with me.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the flush spreading across her cheeks. “That’s the kind of line that belongs in one of your books.”
“Where do you think I get my inspiration?” I lift her off the counter, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist. “Want to help me brainstorm some new material before I leave?”
She laughs against my mouth as I carry her toward the bedroom. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Research,” I correct, laying her gently on the bed. “Very thorough, hands-on research.”
As I lean over her, something changes in my mind. Suddenly, the ring in my sock drawer feels important. I can’t leave for six weeks without making sure she knows how much she means to me.
“What?” she asks, noticing my hesitation. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“I’m just thinking,” I say, rolling to lie beside her.
“Dangerous pastime,” she quips, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. “Want to share with the class?”
“I don’t want to leave without…” My voice trails off as I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together.
“Without what?” Her eyes narrow slightly, that lawyer instinct kicking in. She can sense I’m holding something back.
“Hold that thought.” Great, now I’m suddenly decisive. I roll off the bed and move to my dresser, my heart thundering so loudly I’m sure she can hear it.
“Aaron? What are you doing?” She sits up, tucking her legs beneath her.
I slide open my sock drawer, feeling around until my fingers close around the small velvet box I’ve been hiding for months. When I turn back to face her, her eyes widen.
“Aaron…” she whispers, and for once, Minji Lee—the woman who always has a counterargument ready—seems speechless.
