Page 340 of Wild Card 13

“It did,” he agreed, solemnly. “I love that Dottie thinks she owns half my pillow.”

“She owns more than half.”

His eyes held mine, warm and bright and unguarded. “I love the sketch in the entryway. I love that every time I come home, I see this place the way you saw it before I understood what it could be.”

My breath caught.

“I love that it’s ours,” he continued. “Not because I asked you to move in. Because you stayed. Because I stayed. Because we made it that way.” His voice broke a little on the last word, and he shook his head once, like he was annoyed with himself. “I told myself I wasn’t going to get messy.”

“You’re doing great.”

“I am wildly aware that I’m sweaty.”

“It’s very romantic.”

“Thank you, Shortcake.”

The nickname landed between us, soft as the morning, loved back into tenderness.

My mouth trembled.

“Will you marry me?”

I leaned closer. “Yes.”

His exhale broke into a laugh, disbelieving and breathless. “I had a follow-up sentence.”

“You can say it later.”

“I worked on it.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

“I feel like you’re rushing my process.”

“I am accepting your proposal.”

“That’s fair.” His laugh came out shaky again, but his eyes had gone bright.

“Yes,” I said again, because I liked the sound of it. Because I wanted the word everywhere. In the boards beneath us. In the breeze. In the house behind us. In every ordinary morning we had already built and every one waiting ahead. “Yes, Ty.”

He took the ring from the box. The diamond caught the sunrise and flashed gold. Then he slid it onto my finger.

I stared at it there, delicate and real on my hand. His grandmother’s ring. His question. My answer. Our morning.

Ty covered my hand with his and rested his forehead against mine.

The kiss came after that, soft and salt-wet from my tears, both of us smiling too much to do it properly. Dottie objected to the lack of attention by pushing her nose under our joined hands and snorting directly against the ring.

Ty pulled back and looked down at her. “You are not the bride.”

Dottie sneezed in response.

“She disagrees,” I said.

“She can be the witness.”

Ty leaned back on one hand, his other still holding mine.