He nods. “Make it profitable.”
“It is already, but I can make it better. I’ll need a raise. After all, you don’t want your wife bartending at Marcelle’s part time, do you?”
Amusement glints in his eyes. “Did you ever consider law school?”
“No.”
“You might have missed your calling. So. Yes or no?”
The sounds of the bookstore fade, muffled by my heart racing and my shallow breaths.
“Hello. You had me at ‘bookstore’ five minutes ago.” It means I can stay here for a little longer at least.
We gaze at each other, the seconds ticking by as heaviness lingers in the air around us, a tautness buzzing around the space.
Maybe we’re both feeling the weight of the decision we’ve made.
I’m thinking back to that moment when I ran from Kian by stealing Graham’s car.
We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that. I am the common denominator.
“Hmm, yeah . . . just . . . guess I should . . .” He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a velvet box. He opens it and reveals a ring. “This was my mother’s favorite ring. It’s an antique, and if it’s not to your taste, then we can get something else.”
I gasp at the square-shaped solitaire surrounded on the sides by smaller diamonds. “It’s . . .” Beautiful. Everything a girl could want.
He takes my left hand and glides it on my finger.
“It fits your finger.”
My stomach flutters at the sight of the ring on my hand. I trace my fingers over it. “You have to say the words.” Mostly I’m kidding, to lighten the mood, but another side of me yearns for it. Weird.
“What words . . . oh, I see. Really? You’re serious. Why?”
“We’ll need a good story. The truer it is, the more real we’ll sound.”
“I didn’t think you were a romantic,” he says.
“Can’t a girl just want something, and there’s not a label on it?”
“Is that any way to talk to your future husband? Also, your hand is shaking.”
“So is yours, Mr. Cream.”
He pops that eyebrow. “Mr. Cream?”
I wave my hand at him. “You wore a cream suit. Babs noticed. That’s why she was on the PA system earlier, telling me about the ‘cream situation.’”
His lips quirk.
“Come on, do it. Take the ring off and start all over.”
He takes the ring off as he growls under his breath, “Hardest proposal of my fucking life . . .”
“How many have you done?”
“Jealous?”
“No.”
He rolls his neck and shoulders. “I’m kinda sore from my workout. It’s hard to get on the floor. Let’s skip that part.”
“Ah, I see, the usual. You’ve never been on your knees in front of a woman.”
“Oh, I have, my darling.”
Sexual tension swirls in the air as I imagine him going down on me. My breath hitches as my body quivers—
Nope. One, I have a cat. Two, this is fake. Three, catch the fuck up, Emmy.
“Your face is flushed, Emmy,” he says, lids lowered.
I check my wrist for a watch I’m not wearing. “Look at the time. Guess I’ll see you later—”
He grumbles. “All right, all right, I’ll stop teasing, and if you really insist, I’ll get down on my knee . . .”
“I do.”
“You’ll be saying those words very soon.”
“I need to close up the store in ten minutes, Mr. Cream.”
He shakes his head. “‘Mr. Cream’ makes me sound like I sit around and masturbate all day.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
With a deep exhale, right there in the kitchen of the bookstore, surrounded by a bag of ice and dirty dishes in the sink, he gets down on one knee, looks up at me with a gaze I can’t decipher, and says, “Emmy, will you marry me?”
I cock my head. “You sound like a robot. I’m a woman. We’re in love. You can’t wait for us to be together forever. Put some soul into it, some excitement. I want to feel tingles over every inch of my skin. Give me some va-va-voom.” I shimmy my shoulders to make the point.
“My God. You’re the diabolical one. You’re being mean.”
I stifle down a laugh. “I admit, I’m enjoying messing with you. It’s not my problem you have thin skin. You’re the one who wants to get married, Creamy.”
“All I see is a giant pile of cum—or mayo—when you say that.”