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I pause, turning to look at him. “Touché.”
He wraps his arms around my waist from behind as I unpack the food. His lips find the curve of my neck, and I melt back against him. “Your mom did great today,” I tell him, tilting my head to give him better access. “She actually talked about her childhood.”
I feel him tense slightly, then relax. Progress, not perfection. That’s what we’ve been working toward.
“Thank you,” he says against my skin. “For being there for her. For being patient with both of us.”
What he still can’t comprehend is that I want to be here. I want all of it. Being with Beau isn’t some fairytale wrapped in neat little bows. It’s raw and real and healing in ways I never saw coming. It’s loving the hell out of someone who spent too long believing he wasn’t easy to love.
I reach my hand behind me to allow my fingers to drift through the hair at the nape of his neck, and I breathe him in—sandalwood and sweat and something distinctly him.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I whisper, tipping my head and letting him kiss that spot behind my ear that turns my knees into soup, already knowing we’re about to forget all about the damn food.
“Marry me.”
Oh.
Okay.
Sure. That’s fine. Totally normal. Just a man with literal sex-god lips kissing behind my ear—the spot—and casually dropping a marriage proposal like he’s asking if I want extra garlic knots.
Which, to be clear, I do. Always. But now my brain is short-circuiting.
I mean, what do you even say to that? Sir, I am not wearing pants. I am approximately three seconds away from letting you defile me on the kitchen counter next to a to-go container.
I spin around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “What did you just say?”
Beau stares at me, his eyes steady and sure, not a hint of doubt anywhere in that handsome face. “I said marry me.”
“I—” My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. “Are you serious right now?”
He doesn’t drop to one knee. Doesn’t pull out a ring. Just cups my face in his hands, those rough fingers impossibly gentle against my skin.
“Never been more serious about anything in my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you, Whitley. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want to argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes and then have fucking insane makeup sex.”
My heart is hammering so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break right through my ribs. I shake my head. “I’m not saying yes unless you tell me how many kids you want, whether you’ll build me a walk-in closet, and if you plan on letting me name the dog.”
“Three, yes, and hell no,” he says without missing a beat.
I laugh, a bubble of joy bursting in my chest that’s so overwhelming I almost can’t breathe. “You’ve been thinking about this?”
“Every day since you called me out on my shit.” His thumbs trace my cheekbones, eyes never leaving mine. “You turned everything upside down.”
“In a good way?” I whisper, pressing my lips together when they start to tremble.
“In the best way.” He presses his forehead to mine. “So what do you say, Red? Want to drive me crazy for the rest of our lives?”
Tears spring to my eyes. “This is one hell of a way to propose, Beau.”
“Since when do we do anything the way we’re supposed to?” His lips quirk up at the corner in that half smile that makes my heart flip. “But if you want traditional…”
He steps back, reaches into his pocket, and drops to one knee right there on my kitchen floor. The box he pulls out is small and covered in black velvet.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, hands flying to my mouth.
He looks up at me with steady eyes.
“Whitley,” he says, voice deep and low and completely ruining me. “I love you more than I know what to do with. You make everything louder and brighter and messier…and better. So much better.”
