“How long, hypothetically, should one wait after meeting the love of one’s life before it’s acceptable to propose?”
She shook her head with a laugh.
“Well, hypothetically, longer than four months. One may not know this supposed love very well.”
I hooked my hands under her legs and pulled her into my lap so she was straddling my waist.
“He does, hypothetically, of course. And he knows that whether it’s right now, a month from now, or ten years from now, he’ll always want her.” I kissed her cheek. “He’ll make her his wife.” Jaw. “Give her as many children as she wants.” Neck. “And make her Mrs. Violet Olivia Winterhayes.”
“Winterhayes?” she asked.
I nodded, looking up at her. “My last name is Winters, yours is Hayes. I figure we combine them.”
She chuckled softly, raking her fingers through my hair. “This doesn’t sound very hypothetical anymore, Aus.”
“And if it wasn’t?”
“I didn’t know your name until last month, I just found out your last name two seconds ago; we barely know each other.”
“I know everything I need to. But if you want to know more about me, ask me anything. I’m an open book.”
She took a minute to consider. “I guess I know a lot of the big things. But the little things are missing… Like what’s your favourite colour?”
“Easy, purple.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “I love watching the sunset and seeing purple in the sky. It’s been my favourite since I was five or so.”
She smiled softly. “Okay… Favourite food?”
“Burgers—fully loaded. Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, ketchup, mayo, throw in some chipotle and I’m the happiest boy in the world.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I hate pickles, you just lost some points.”
I gasped. “But now if you accidentally get pickles, you have someone to eat them for you.”
“Nope. If a pickle even touches my food I can’t eat it.” She gagged. “Disgusting.”
“No you’re right, it’s good we had this conversation now. Saved me from a life time of being stuck with someone who has terrible taste. Hypothetical marriage offer officially rescinded.”
“Fine.” An overdramatic pout painted her face. “Did you need help packing up your stuff or am I good to sit on the couch and cry over you now?”
I laughed, picking her up and walking us into the bedroom.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Me? You’re practically begging me to marry you—hypothetically—and then you backed out over pickles.”
I climbed onto the bed and dropped her on her back. She let out an adorable little squeal and I had to reel myself in. Not yet. Not until I knew she’d say yes.
“I never beg and I was obviously kidding about rescinding. Now, is there anything else you want to know?”
“Favourite season?”
“Fall.”
“That was the correct answer, you’ve redeemed yourself from the pickles incident.” She paused, drumming her fingers over her chin. “Favourite movie?”
