“Get dressed.” She kisses me hard on the lips and laughs. “I’m starving, and you don’t want me to be hangry.”
I smile as I watch her walk out of the bedroom. I roll out of bed and quickly get cleaned up. She’s right—we burned a lot of calories in the last twelve hours, and we both need food. I slip on an old pair of jeans and the hoodie she tends to wear when she hangs out at the apartment. It still smells like her, and I breathe it in before making my way out to the kitchen, where she’s waiting for me, nursing a bottle of water.
“Isn’t that my hoodie?” she asks.
“If by yours you mean mine, then yes.” I smile down at her as I take the water bottle from her and drink the rest. My head is kicking me for all the champagne we drank last night.
“Someone looks a little hungover now that he’s up and moving,” she says as she wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me close.
“I think you should move in.”
I realize when she looks at me with very wide and very shocked eyes that I said that out loud and not in my head. No taking it back now, not that I want to. She’s been living with her parents ever since we got her moved out of her ex’s house. And really, she’s been staying here four to five nights a week anyway. Moving in wouldn’t be that much of a stretch.
“What?”
“I want you to move in with me,” I tell her again. “I love having you here. I like waking up in the morning to your grumpy groans and morning breath.” I wink at her, and her cheeks flame red. “And it’ll get you out of your parents’ house. I know you don’t like staying with them.”
“I don’t want you to have me move in just because you think it’s more convenient for me.”
“That’s not what I said. I want you here. All the time. I want to walk up these stairs after a long shift knowing that you and your fuzzy socks will be on the couch watching a serial killer documentary or snoring in the bed fast asleep. Our bed. All of your books can fit in the spare bedroom, and we can make that your private space. It can be where you go to escape me when you get sick of my newest hobby.”
“Like brewing your own beer.” She scrunches her nose at the memory of the smell. It stunk up the entire apartment and even the bar for a solid week.
“Yes, like brewing my own beer.” I smile down at her and kiss her nose. “Think about it.”
“I don’t need to,” she says, squeezing her arms tighter around my waist. “Let’s do it.”
I grab her face and kiss her hard on the mouth. Hers opens for me, and our tongues move together. I feel so incredibly light, I feel on top of the world. I pull away from her, running my thumbs over her cheeks and holding her gaze.
My beautiful girl.
“Let’s do it.”
“I like that one,” Charlotte says, her finger hovering over a pale blue stone surrounded by little diamonds.
“That is one of my favorite gemstones,” the lady behind the counter says as Henry and I move to get a closer look at the one Charlotte has picked out. “This one is a round Montana sapphire,” she continues as she pulls it out. “And it’s surrounded by a halo of baguette diamonds with a thin gold band.”
I take it from the saleslady and look at it closely. I know nothing about rings, but I’ve tried to figure out what Holly wants over the last few months. Ever since she brought up the idea of marriage, I’ve been eager to talk about it. The only thing I really know is that she wants a gemstone and not a diamond. I’m relying on Charlotte to help me out here.
“What do you guys think?” I ask, handing it over to Henry’s open hand. He looks at it for a moment before handing it over to Charlotte.
“I like it,” he says. “I like the pale blue color. And it isn’t small, but it isn’t huge. I’ve heard her talking to Charlotte about how she doesn’t want anything that she’s going to be scared to wear in public.”
“It’s perfect, Dad,” Charlotte says, handing it back to me.
“Wow,” I say, exhaling a deep breath and trying to calm my anxiety. “I’m nervous as hell,” I laugh. The lady across the counter smiles at us.
“Do you know when you’re doing it?” she asks.
“He’s taking her on vacation to Mexico,” Charlotte answers for me. “I told him he needs to do it on the beach at sunset, but Henry thinks that’s too cliché.”
“Because it is,” he counters.