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“What?”
“It was you or nothing. Em is already taken.” I wink at her.
She rolls with laughter, turning heads in the small diner. “Don’t let Rome hear you say that.”
“He knows I would never.”
“You’re a good man, Legend Raines.”
“And you’re an incredible woman, future Mrs. Raines.”
“Monroe Raines. I admit, I’ve said it a few times in my head, trying it on.”
“Rolls off the tongue,” I tell her.
“It’s going to take some getting used to. Is that going to be weird for you? Me having your last name?”
“No.” There’s no hesitation in my reply. I don’t tell her that my cock hardens every time I think about her taking my name. I don’t tell her that there have been nights where I’ve lain awake, staring at the shadows on the walls and thinking about that very thing.
I don’t tell her my biggest truth—and fear.
I don’t tell her that I want her to be mine.
“What about the wedding?”
“I want it to be perfect. Whatever you want, I want, but it will need to be pulled off quickly so that I’m not tying you up with this forever.”
“So, a dress?”
“Yeah, gorgeous, a dress.” That’s something else I’ve thought about more than I should have, considering this is an arrangement between friends.
She hasn’t asked me about a ring, and that’s okay. If she asks, I’ll tell her, but I want it to be a surprise. This needs to be real to everyone except for us and our closest friends. What kind of man doesn’t buy the love of his life an engagement ring? Not this one.
“I’m stuffed.” She pushes her now empty plate away from her.
“You need me to carry you out to my truck?”
“Yes, actually, that would be great.” She laughs.
I wave down the waitress, hand her a couple of twenties, and tell her to keep the change. Standing, I offer her my hand and help Monroe out of the booth. When she’s standing before me, I bend and pick her up bridal style. She shrieks as her arms lock around my neck.
“Legend,” she whispers. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying my girl to the truck.”
She relaxes into my hold, and nothing has ever felt more right.
We’re back at my place—our place—and snuggled up on the couch, watching a movie. Strawberry waffles and a night with Monroe is my new favorite thing.
“I need a snack,” I tell her.
She reaches for the remote and pauses the television. “I made you some of the peanut butter fudge you like.”
“What?” I sit up and turn to face her. “Where?”
“It’s in a container on the counter in the kitchen.”
“You made me your peanut butter fudge?”
