Page 33 of Trigger Happy

The shop owner goes to wrap up the ring, but Chastain stops her. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.”

I cock my head. “You don’t want her to wrap it?”

She lifts the ring between my eyes, close enough that I can see all the rainbows on the stone. “You want me to be your wife? Get down on one knee and propose, darling.”

16Sabrina

Lawton blinks down at me, jaw agape. “What?”

“If you want me to be your wife, then put those Southern manners to good use and ask me properly.”

I brace myself, half expecting an argument, but after what appears to be a brain glitch, he slowly drops to one knee. My palms start sweating. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the small crowd gasping in delight.

What am I thinking? We’re in public.

There are too many witnesses, but I’ve always enjoyed a good dare. The thrill of wondering if someone will bend to my whims. So if I want to dare my nemesis to propose in the middle of the cutest farmers market to grace this planet, I will. As a girl who never got to play truth-or-dare growing up because she was too busy practicing loading magazines into a pistol, it’s my right.

He clears his throat, knee wobbling on the gravel. “Will you—”

“Hold up the ring,” I interrupt.

He’s down there now, so I may as well enjoy how uncomfortable he looks. I don’t see Bobbi or Arch anywhere. Her Cowboy Candle booth is on the complete opposite side of the farmers market, anyway. I memorized the map before coming here.

“Fine.” He scowls, looking about as thrilled to do this as a man having his tongue sliced off, but lifts the ring between us. “Marry me?”

That’s not nearly good enough for twelve-year-old Sabrina, who dreamed of the “normal” man she’d marry one day (hates dogs, likes Skittles, can do a trampoline-backflip), so it’s not good enough for me.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands, glancing around at the people clasping their hands in anticipation. “I’m down here.”

“As enticing as being ‘down there’ is, try again.” I wrestle with a smile. Admittedly, I’m having way too much fun watching him mutter curses under his breath.

“Do you know how awkward this is?” he quietly grinds out, glancing around. “My knee hurts, everyone’s watching, and I can see up your nose. Just say yes so I can stand back up.”

“No.” I cross my arms but smile for our audience. “I want a real proposal. Be specific too. This might be the only one I ever get, since men as a species haven’t really impressed me much.”

“Men aren’t a species, they’re…” He searches for the right word.

I cock a brow.

He blinks. “Doesn’t matter what we are, but fine. On behalf of all men,” he relents, heaving a sigh. “You’re the most infuriating woman—”

“Not off to a great start,” I say, tapping my heel.

“You didn’t let me finish.” His gaze sears mine, but it’s a different kind of heat, a less murderous kind. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met, and I hate your family. One day, I’m gonna track down your parents and—”

“This is what you call a proposal?”

“I’m getting there.” He rubs one of his temples. “You also packed way too many clothes for this trip, but…”

“But?”

He swallows, looks at me head-on. “Your plans go to Z when I can’t even think up a plan A, your aim is more consistent than mine, and no, I’ll never admit that again, and you smell nice. Like a garden. What else? You pack those habanero beef jerky sticks in your purse. I’m always hungry, so that’s nice. And you’re smart. That Venmo thing? Not bad. So will you marry me? Or at least tell me where you get those habanero beef jerky sticks from?”

My heart’s burning. I’m burning. Something’s burning. Most of my fake dates can’t remember my fake name. I don’t know what to say, and even though he looks like he’s having his legs sawed off, this might be the most romantic moment of my life.

But I will be rotting in my biodegradable urn before ever admitting that out loud.