I nodded, assuming he wanted to discuss a middle name for Morgan now that we’d decided on her first name.
“I was wondering what you’d think about changing your last name so we’d all have the same one.”
I considered it a moment. I’d loved being married to Derek. I’d loved sharing his last name. But I wanted to have the same name as my children.
“I’m not opposed to the idea,” I said. “But the only real reason I’d do it is?—”
I realized then that Frasier had shifted from two knees to one. He was kneeling before me, a plastic Easter egg in hand like the ones that were often thrown on the ice after a shutout game.
“This egg contains a promise, but it will only open when you’re ready for it.”
I had a pretty good feeling I knew what was inside that egg, and it wasn’t chocolate candy. A swell of emotion rose inside me, and I loved the fact that he’d given me a choice. He hadn’t put me on the spot; he hadn’t pushed. He was patient, as always.
And even though I knew I could’ve told him I wanted to wait, that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him, and I wanted this life—together.
I swallowed hard and whispered, “I’m ready.”
The corner of Frasier’s mouth lifted into a hint of a smile. “I love you, Bryn, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that. Marry me?” He popped open the egg, revealing…
“Is that a ring pop?” I laughed, removing the candy from inside.
When I glanced up again, he was holding out another ring with a gold band and two large stones—an emerald-cut diamond hugging a pear-shaped one. My eyes widened. I’d never seen anything like it.
“It’s called amoi et toiring. It’s French for ‘me and you,’ and I liked that it symbolized us—together.”
I met his eyes and vowed, “Together.” He slid the ring on my finger, and it sparkled and sparkled. “I love it. It’s perfect.”
He brought my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We can get married whenever you want. I’m a patient man, but I can’t wait to make you mine.”
I leaned forward, cupping his cheeks as tears ran down my face. “I already am.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two Months Later
“Holy shit,” Georgia said, eyes focused on the players as they raced across the ice at the Atlas Center. “Holy shit! Come on, Holden!” she yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth.
“Give us a handy,” Logan shouted, and I started laughing from our seats at center ice.
Logan looked at me, as if to say “what?” but Georgia bent forward, clutching her stomach as she laughed.
“Give us a handy?” I mouthed at Logan, waiting for her to replay her words. But then Holden was charging toward the opposing team’s goal, lining up to take that shot.
I held my breath along with most of the arena as the puck sailed through the air, landing squarely in the net. The buzzer went off, and the crowd went wild—the atmosphere in here was electric. I’d attended many home games over the years, but they’d never felt quite like this.
The Hawks were in the lead in the sixth game of the Stanley Cup finals. If we won today, wewon. And we were now one step closer to clinching that W.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” I was bouncing up and down—well, as much as I could this late into my pregnancy. And then—oof.
“Oh god.” I gripped the back of the seat in front of me, panting as a more intense contraction hit.
“Are you okay?” Allie asked.
I’d been in early labor for the past eight hours. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d been diligent about monitoring my symptoms. Cramping. Backache. The adrenaline from the game certainly helped.
“Yeah.” I breathed through it. “Yeah.” It was the second period of the biggest game of Frasier’s life. “I’m fine.” I smiled, but she didn’t seem convinced.
It passed, and I straightened.I’ve got this.
