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Too bad he’s retired to Ellamore.
Mason stared at me, stunned speechless. Then he shook his head and cracked a smile
. “Manly sword?”
“What?” I shrugged. “I never claimed to be a good poet. You try to come up with something that rhymes with Waterford.”
I’d been stretching it enough to make Ellamore go with Waterford.
“Hmm. Well, thanks so much. It’s simply romantic. Brings a tear to my eye. Seriously.”
I scowled, afraid my sarcasm was rubbing off onto him a little too well. Shoving at his arm, I pretended to pout. “Hey, you said you wanted a limerick. And limericks are not romantic. I looked it up. They’re witty, humorous, nonsensical, and kind of dirty.” I shook my rumpled scrap of paper in his face. “So this is what you got, buster.”
“I never said I wanted a limerick written about me. I said there probably would be.”
I snickered. “Well, now there is. Don’t you just feel…immortal?”
He shook his head and pulled me into his arms. “You are so weird. But I don’t think I could love you any more than I do right now. Thank you for my dirty poem. You’re amazing, and I’m the luckiest guy on earth.”
See, had that been so hard for him to say?
I flushed, pleased by his praise. “Well, you’re welcome.”
We kissed, and life was perfect.
“And I love you too,” I felt inclined to add.
“You know,” he murmured thoughtfully, pressing his forehead against mine as he toyed with the collar of my partially unbuttoned shirt. When he oh-so-accidently slipped the next button free, my sleeve slid off my shoulder. His fingers coasted over my bare skin. “The more retired and free I feel lately, the more I actually want to be tied down again. To you.”
I frowned until the significance behind his words took root. Did he mean…?
He didn’t mean…marital ties. Did he?
I sent him a suspicious glance, but he only winked.
THE END
