Page 133 of Robbin’ the Rich

I glared at him for another second before flipping the lid. There was no ring inside. There was a key. I stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the key. My heart started pounding for an entirely different reason.

“Micah.”

“The blue house came back on the market.”

I stopped breathing.

“The buyers' financing fell through a few weeks ago. Our realtor called me.”

His smile softened.

“I put in an offer.” I stared at him. “And before you murder me, I didn't buy you a house without asking. There are approximately nine thousand pieces of paper you still have to sign before anything is official.”

“Approximately?”

“I'm a scientist. I don't deal in absolutes without sufficient data.”

“You teach thirteen-year-olds how plants reproduce.”

“And I do it extremely well.”

I looked back at the key. My throat tightened. “I can’t believe it’s ours.”

“If you don't want it anymore⁠—”

I launched myself at him.

He barely had time to get his arms around me before I knocked him backward onto the rug.

“I take it you like your present.”

I kissed him.

“That isn't an answer.”

I kissed him again.

“Robin.”

“Do you want me to stop kissing you so I can answer?”

“No.”

“Smart man.”

After we left my parents’ house for Christmas there, Micah was driving across Briar Glenn while I stared suspiciously at his profile. I watched the familiar streets pass outside the window.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t say anything, he just grinned.

Then I realized where we were going.

“Micah.”

He kept his eyes on the road. We turned onto the street.

“Micah.”