Page 207 of Fake it ’Til Fall

At the key in my hand.

At Puck in his ridiculous sweater, sitting beside the man I love like the world’s most judgmental witness.

I wipe under one eye with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Before I answer, I need clarification.”

Forrest closes his eyes.

Puck sighs.

“Does this proposal include shared custody of Team Snacks?”

“Yes.”

“Equal closet negotiations?”

“Yes.”

“Protected bookshelf expansion?”

He opens one eye. “Reasonable expansion.”

“Define reasonable.”

“Daisy.”

“Fine. We’ll revisit it in the committee.”

“Any other questions?”

“Yes.” I look down at him, and my smile trembles. “Do I get to keep choosing?”

The answer comes immediately. “Always.”

That does it.

The last defense falls right there on his living room floor beside ribbon, wrapping paper, and our overdressed dog.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His eyes open.

“Yes?”

“Yes, Wolfe. I’ll marry you.”

Forrest stands fast enough that Puck barks, and then his arms are around me, my feet almost leave the floor, and I laugh into his neck while crying because apparently happiness has terrible manners.

He kisses me once.

Then again.

Then he pulls back, breathing like the proposal was more physically demanding than moving fourteen vineyard tables.

Then, he takes my hand. His fingers are not quite steady as he slides the ring onto mine. The ring settles into place, and for a second, neither of us speaks.

Puck barks again.