Page 89 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
“Oh.” He blinks. His gaze shifts to the right for a moment, and then returns to me. “So, hypothetically speaking, if we did elope one day—no ceremony, just an officiant and a witness?—”
There’s a throat clearing from the hallway.
“Maybe a very well-behaved octogenarian witness,” Morgan raises his voice, not that Grandma’s having a hard time hearing us. “What kind of ring would you want?”
I’m grinning. It hurts. I don’t care. “Well, maybe two rings?—”
“Two rings?” he asks with mock incredulity.
“One silicone so that I can wear it while I’m working.”
“Smart.”
“And one small band.”
“No diamond?”
“No diamond,” I confirm.
“Gold? Silver? Platinum?”
“Gold,” I decide. “Maybe engraved?”
“Romantic.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
One little tug is all it takes, and Morgan rises up to gently kiss my battered—but happy—smile.
Morgan
* * *
Princess is pogoing again.
Boing.
I park my truck in the driveway right up by the garage.
Boing.
I get out and wave at Mrs. Patterson on the back porch. She gets to her feet while I walk around to the passenger side.
Boing.
I bend down. “All right, my queen, ready to come home?”
Rory tosses her head back against the headrest. “Yesssssss.”
It’s a hell of a lot easier for me to scoop Rory out of the truck than it is for her to get out on her own accord, so I dig my arms underneath her legs, careful of the cast, and pull her out of the car. My live-in girlfriend (yesssssss!!!!) wraps her arms around my neck. Mrs. Patterson waits at the gate.
Boing.
“Good heavens,” Rory’s grandmother tells my dog. “Get ahold of yourself, young lady.”
I stop at the fence and Rory reaches a hand down to Princess. The pogoing stops and the energy is converted to a full-body wiggle instead. Then, just like I expected, Princess darts off to find a toy to bring to Rory.
