Page 5 of You Again

“I was. And yet, you still haven’t accepted my proposal. Maybe it has been a long year. At least, this wait feels like forever. See? Not incorrigible. In certain matters, my handle on time is very unrealistic.”

Rosalie sighs and gives me another childish glare. “Zevulun Hayes, you have not proposed to me. You can’t say you’ve been waiting forever when you’ve never actually popped the question.”

“I have. Four times, in fact.”

Rose turns onto the freeway to take us back to Reno—we will have forty glorious minutes to banter about how long I’ve loved her. And how many times I’ve asked her to be my wife.

“Telling me that you’ll do all the cooking when we’re old if I do the shopping is not a proposal.”

“Actually, it is.” I stretch out my arm, resting my hand on the headrest of her seat, my fingers lightly brushing the skin at the back of her neck.

“Also, telling me that I can name all of our children—” She glances from the road to scowl at me. “Not a proposal.”

“I disagree. Pretty sure that one is as clear as day.” I watch her side profile, waiting for the slight wrinkling around her eyes—a sign she’s fighting a smile. “What about telling you I’d like to love you for the rest of my living days?” I used that one last week.

She clears her throat, remembering that sweet moment just as I am. Her lips purse in determination though. “That’s not a proposal either.”

“I see.” I huff out a long breath. I hadn’t planned to do this here, but then, we are talking about it, and I have been waiting for the right time. “Then what about Rosalie Noreen Conrad⁠—”

“Zev,” she hisses, her knuckles turning white around the steering wheel.

“I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you lecturing Callum in that elementary school gymnasium.”

She blows out a raspberry.

“And it would be the greatest blessing of my life if you’d agree to be my wife.”

Her jaw clenches. “Zev,” she whisper-lectures me.

I trace my finger over the skin on her neck. “Is that a good enough proposal for you?”

“I am driving.”

I mimic her latest sigh. “Then maybe you should pull over.”

Her eyes rove over my face before returning to the highway. “Zevulun,” she grumbles.

My heart thumps in my chest. I’ve left it all out there. All I need now is an answer. “Come on, Rose,” I say, my tone hushed. “Marry me.”

Thankfully there isn’t a car behind us, because that girl slams on the brakes so hard that my seatbelt locks up. She pulls off to the side, aggressively jerks the car into park, then swivels her body and her glare until it’s facing me. “You were saying?” she says, her baby blue eyes peeking out through thin slits.

But I’m not afraid. “Marry me.”

She shakes her head and scoffs.

But I am in earnest. I reach out, cup her cheek in my hand, and pull her gaze to mine. “Rosalie, I love you. Marry me.”

“You aren’t serious,” she says, but her tone is weak.

I inch my face closer to hers. “There is a ring burning a literal hole in my wallet.”

“There isn’t,” she says, leaning my way.

“There is.” I trace my thumb over her cheek.

Her voice is shaky and her eyes drop to my lips—oh how I love those baby blues. “Wrong use of the word literal,” she says, her voice quiet and raspy.

“I’ll show you the hole,” I say, tilting my head, taking in her expression.