Page 114 of Whiskey Proposal
“No. You can make a hundred copies, and I won’t sign a damn one.” He traces my jaw with his fingers. “You can get more lawyers. You can move back to Denver. I’m not signing.”
“Why?” I whisper and my vision grows watery. I messed up. I’ve done my best before, and people still leave. They don’t have this much patience. “You’ve been dedicated from the beginning. You’ve been committed. I filed.”
“You got divorce papers drawn up. You haven’t filed.”
There’s a difference? My hopelessness lightens. “But . . .”
“It’s not enough, Scrappy.” His lips curve upward. “You’ve tried to sabotage this from the beginning, and I only love you more.”
This man is everything, but he cannot be real. “What if you don’t when I’m glued to your side?”
His gaze brushes over my features, full of affection. “You’ve been that too. I fell deeper.”
“You’re too perfect,” I whisper. A hot drop rolls down my cheek. “You’re a good man and a good partner.”
His jaw clenches and he glances out the window to the driveway and the chickens darting over it. “I also lied.”
The chill is back. “You did?”
“You didn’t have to live with me. It’s not stated in the trust.”
“Excuse me?” I . . . didn’t read the trust. I assumed he was telling the truth. And maybe . . . his house was more of a refuge than this place.
“Nope. The rest was true. I tried to talk some sense into Hutch about this arrangement, but not that hard. Wasn’t going to risk him picking someone else. Myles didn’t think we should meet with you at all, but I insisted, said I would just listen and send you on your way. I had no plans to do that.” His smile is sad. “Your dad interfered with that a little bit. Until he passed, I spent the rest of the week after you stood me up figuring out how I was going to see you again.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Not stalker-ish?” Worry fills his eyes. He presses a light kiss to my lips and uses his thumb to brush away the tear.
“Only if it’s unwanted, and I want your obsession for the rest of my life.” An exhale shudders out of me and I push my hands through his hair. “You did all this for me?”
“There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than for you to be mine.”
“I really do love you.” But remnants of the ever-present fear still linger. “I want this to work. So much.”
“It will. We’ll both make sure of it.” He steps away and a flood of cold air sweeps between us. He reaches into his pocket and I hastily wipe my face. “I was going to do this later, but I’d like to now.”
When he produces a small velvet bag, I gasp. “You had that in your pocket?”
He opens the little drawstring. “A box was too hard to carry in my pocket, and I didn’t want anyone to notice a bulge.”
He withdraws a gorgeous ring with an obnoxious diamond and drops to his knees.
I slap my hands over my heart. This is really happening. He’s proposing. He doesn’t have to. I’m his and we’re married, but this extra is just like him. Just like he knows I need it.
He holds it up, and the gold band twinkles so strongly yet delicately in his big fingers. “Emerson, will you stay married to me?”
“Oh my god, Lane. Yes. A thousand yeses.” My hand trembles when he slides it on. Then he rises and is twirling me around in the kitchen I grew up in. A place where I have some happy memories and a lot of sad ones, but right now, it holds the best one.
“What’s going on?” Hillary asks. “Auntie Em, you made it inside! Was it my chicken facts?”
I grin at Lane. He’s still holding me off the floor. “Yeah, Bunny. It was the chicken facts.”
I was the chicken, and I accepted the fact that Lane loves me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lane
