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“I’ll turn on the lights,” he said. “Hold, please.”
He went over to the door and opened it enough to reach the switch inside, and then I could suddenly see.
My stare immediately fell on the cursive words that glinted on the inside of the ring.
Always by your side, my love.
A breath gusted out of me, and I had to swallow.
Yeah. This was the perfect way.
“I took the liberty of adding the same inscription to mine,” he admitted. “But I have a soft spot for when you call me baby, so I used that instead.”
He was fucking incredible. I had no words. Instead, I slipped the ring on my finger, made sure he got on his too, and then I kissed the fuck out of him.
“I love you.” I felt his vacation stubble under my fingertips and deepened the kiss.
I love you so much. You’re perfect.
“I love you too.” His hands roamed my arms, then up my shoulders and to the back of my neck. “I will always need you, KC.”
I nodded. “Me too, baby.” I swept my tongue around his and inhaled deeply through my nose, tasting mint, Sprite, and smoke. It made me grin a little, because it fit the hour. His not-so-secret indulgence, my botched attempt at romance, us cursing each other out once or twice, and then a proposal.
It couldn’t have been better.
I slowed down the kiss and rested my forehead against his, and we opened our eyes at the same time.
I smiled and brushed my thumbs across his cheeks.
He smiled back.
* * *
“Woo-hooo! Faster, Daddy! Faster!” Noa shouted.
I laughed and made a swift turn, sending a spray of water over Colt and Kit’s Jet-Ski, and then I was off again. Adrenaline pumping, sun shining, and Noa hugging my middle as tightly as he could. He laughed so hard.
“Lock the target, Daddy!” I heard Kit yell behind us. “Catch them!”
“It’s a Jet-Ski, not a fighter jet, baby!” Colt shot back, the sore loser.
I couldn’t stop grinning. Fuck me, how I had missed activities like this one.
We tore out over open waters, bouncing across the calm waves, and it was so goddamn beautiful here. We had to travel more often. Noa and I needed the Caribbean in our lives.
Tragically, an hour went by fast, and soon, we had to return the Jet-Skis.
Maybe I was high on the adrenaline, high on happiness, but there was so much I wanted to do.
Colt and Kit decided to stop for snow cones by the little marina, while Noa and I started our trek back to the beach. Since Macklin and Tate had planned a beach party slash barbecue here in St. Croix, they’d opted for a beach that was farther away from the tourist cluster.
“Oh, farts! The sand is so hot!”
“So jump up in my lap, silly boy.” I slowed down and waited for him. The boardwalk, if one could call it that, was a narrow strip of old wooden boards that needed to be replaced fifty years ago, and at least two or three inches of sand were in between each one. But it was nothing my chair couldn’t handle. Noa had asked me to buy it because it was an upgraded version of my all-terrain chair. This one was geared toward athletes.
The trek became a ride, and Noa giggled at each bump we rolled over.
He was damn gorgeous with his tan, sun-kissed hair, and extra freckles.
