“That’s probably our fault.” A flush went to the tips of Owen’s ears. “We burned through half a box last year.”
“Go us.”
When Owen had finished starting the fire and making the bed, and I’d laid out an assortment of snacks, I walked to the room and waited for him to look at me.
“You look like you’re up to something,” he said.
I dramatically shrugged out of my winter parka. “Tada!” I yelled.
Owen’s mouth dropped open. At least four emotions passed over his features, ending on confusion. “I thought you burned that.”
He reached out to run a hand up the sleeve of my faded multicolor snowsuit from the nineties that he’d stolen for me lastyear. “I tried to but alas. Too much sentimental value.” I pointed at a melted part near the cuff. “Also, strangely inflammable. Wait. Flammable?” I tilted my head. “Contranym?”
He shook his head. “Non-flammable is the opposite. Inflammable and flammable mean the same thing.”
“That makes zero sense.” I shook my head.
He chuckled and came over to me. “Are you wearing the bikini underneath too?” He tugged at the collar, trying to peek down the neck.
“No. No,” I said, and he frowned. “I’m not wearing anything,” I clarified.
He grinned and started to tug down the zipper. I giggled as we fell into the bed and quickly stripped each other of our clothing.
We had a condom record to beat.
As we waited for official midnight, we alternated between laughing and talking and great orgasms, obviously.
As the clock turned over into the new year, we kissed passionately as I was lying in his arms by the fire in a burrow of blankets and pillows. The snow fell softly outside, but nothing compared to last year. I hummed contentedly, twirling my fingers along his chest and listening to the hard rhythm of his heart beating.
“Happy New Year, Bee.” Actually, his heart was thumping so loud I was about to tell him to turn it down, so I could hear him properly.
“Happy New Year,” I said again as I kissed his chest, feeling the hard beat bouncing against my lips.
We had finished our last round of horizontal hustle ten minutes ago. It shouldn’t be hammering so loudly. I was about to tell him to see the local GP (general practitioner,notguinea pig in this case) when he cleared his throat.
“I was lying when I said that I didn’t have any resolutions at Ivy’s earlier,” he said with a shaky voice.
“Oh?” I propped my chin onto my fists so I could meet his gaze.
“I’d really like to plan a wedding. Even if it’s just a small ceremony. Or maybe an elopement.” His eyes watched me carefully as he spoke, a careful flatness of features.
I sat up quickly, feeling the blood rush out of my face and my fingertips tingle.
“What are you …” I started.
The blanket had fallen down, and my breasts were on full display, and Owen stared slack-jawed.
“Does this mean …” My own heartbeat now rushed through my ears, my mind zoomed around my head, throwing her hands up in the air and screaming,This is not a drill!
Owen didn’t respond. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Those things really are troublemakers.”
I looked down at my breasts, trying to steal the moment, and crossed my arms over them to keep him on task. He rolled to the side and grabbed a small velvet box from his pants, divested earlier on the chair next to us.
“Oh, this is happening.” I turned back around to face him fully, my whole body vibrating. I’d been hoping and thinking, pretty much since our second date, that we would make a life together officially, but I never thought he’d make me wait a full year. “Should I put on a shirt?”
“I will never say yes to that question,” he answered dryly. He scooted until he knelt in front of me.
“Owen. This is important.” I knelt too. My whole body trembled in anticipation.
