She slammed the casserole into the oven, whirled on him. “You think it’s clever to throw my own words back at me.”
“I think it’s apt.”
“And why do you make me lose my temper? I don’t like to lose my temper. Why don’t you lose yours?”
“I don’t mind getting pissed.” He shrugged, picked up his lemonade again. “I’m not right at the moment. I’m more interested in the way you’re twisting yourself into knots because I love you and I want to marry you.”
“I’m not twisting myself into knots. I’ve very clearly given you my opinion on marriage, and—”
“No, you very clearly gave me your mother’s opinion.”
Very carefully, she picked up a cloth towel, wiped her hands. “That was uncalled for.”
“I don’t think so, and it wasn’t said to hurt you. You’re giving me cold logic and statistics. That’s your mother’s way.”
“I’m a scientist.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re also a giving, caring woman. One who wants moonlight and wildflowers. Tell me what that part of you wants, what that part of you feels, not what your mother pushed into your head as long as she could.”
“How can this be so easy for you?”
“Because you’re the one. Because I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. I want a lifetime with you, Abigail. I want a home with you, family with you. I want to make children with you, raise them with you. If you truly don’t want any of that with me, I’ll give you the best I’ve got, and hope you change your mind. I just need you to tell me you don’t want it.”
“Idowant it! But I…”
“But?”
“I don’t know! How can anyone think when they feel so much?”
“You can. You’ve got that big brain to go along with that big heart. Marry me, Abigail.”
He was right, of course. She could think. She could think of what her life had been like without him, and what it wouldbe if she shoved those feelings down and relied only on the flat chill of logic.
“I couldn’t put my real name on a marriage license.”
He cocked his brows. “Well, in that case, forget it.”
The laugh rushed out of her. “I don’t want to forget it. I want to say yes.”
“So say yes.”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, felt dizzy with delight. “Yes,” and threw her arms around him.
“This is right,” he murmured, turned his lips to her damp cheek. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He drew her back to kiss her lips, her other cheek. “My mother says that women cry when they’re happy because they’re so filled with the feeling they want to let it out, share it. And teardrops spread that happiness.”
“It feels true. I hope the potatoes turn out well.”
On a laugh, he dropped his brow to hers. “You’re thinking about the potatoes? Now?”
“Because you asked me to marry you when I was creating the recipe. If it comes out well, it’ll be a very special one. We’ll pass the story to our children.”
“If they suck, we can still pass the story on.”
“But we won’t enjoy the potatoes.”
“Jesus, I really love you.” He squeezed her until she gasped.
“I never believed I would have this, any of this, and now I have so much. We’re going to make a life together, and create a family. We’re mates.” She stepped back, gripped his hands. “And more. We’re going to merge our lives. It’s amazing that people do. They remain individuals, with their own makeup, and still they become and function as a single unit. Yours, mine, but also, and most powerfully, ours.”
