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“Nothing, beautiful.”
I crossed my arms. “Then stop smoking so much.”
“It’s just a little more than usual,” he said but dropped the half-finished cigarette to the curb. He stamped it out, nodding at me. “See? Now come here.”
I went to him, hugging his middle as I looked up at him. “What’s wrong, Manning? Really? I’ve seen your books. We did our tax returns together. I know we’re not having money trouble.”
“We easily could be. With your tuition and a wedding and starting a family on top of the mortgage and business expenses—Lake, your dad’s right. I’ve hit a ceiling with how much I can produce. I could be making a lot more.”
I shook my head. “We’re fine. We’re in less debt than most people and we only have it in the first place because of my student loans. I’m graduating soon, and I can start contributing. Plus, I still have some money saved from when I worked on the show.”
“Money you set aside for our baby’s future.” He smoothed a hand over my hairline. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this. We are fine. We’re perfect.”
As he said it, I rubbed the frown lines from between his eyes. Worry was stitched into Manning’s DNA. “Perfect doesn’t exist.”
“As long as you exist, your argument will fall on deaf ears.”
“I’ll support whatever you decide,” I said. “I love that you’re so dedicated to your craft, but I also worry you work yourself too hard. If you hire help, it means you can spend more time with me.”
“It also means being responsible for someone else’s income. If the economy tanks even more, then what?”
“You fire him.”
“He—or she—would depend on me. I’d only bring on someone skilled, not someone I could just let go when times are tough.” He sniffed. “By the way, I would never make an ‘affordable line.’”
“I forbid you from it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. You’re too good at what you do. It would devalue your work. And while we’re at it, I also demand that you cut back on the smoking before you get in too deep again.”
He covered the top of my head with his hand. “This little girl thinks she can forbid me from anything.”
“I’m not so little anymore,” I said, straightening up.
“No, you’re not.” He laced his hand with mine and pulled me away from the truck. But as I turned back for the house, he tugged me in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”
“Where?” I asked as we walked off the curb and toward my parents’ neighbor’s house.
He didn’t answer, walking us along their front lawn until we were standing at the end of their walkway. He released my hand to point at the wall we’d both sat on the day we’d met. “I can still see you standing in front of me, that giant backpack weighing you down. And then, up on the wall, nervously kicking the heels of your tennis shoes against the bricks.”
“What makes you think I was nervous?”
“Call it a hunch.”
I smiled, sticking my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. Summers didn’t have that same breezy, careless feel anymore. They were different now, but so were Manning and I.
He’d been right when he’d said we’d both been kids back then. To me, he’d been as much an adult as anyone else I knew, but the truth was, he’d been as young and unsure of himself as I’d been. That Pink Floyd shirt he’d worn had been so old, it would’ve been impossible to keep it around, but I wished he still had it. I’d never forget that image of him sitting with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he’d assessed me with a curious, albeit restrained, gaze.
“Ready to go back in?” he asked.
Lost in the memory, I hadn’t noticed him leave my side. I turned to find him a few feet back, as if he’d started for the house without me.
“Sure.”
“Don’t forget your jewelry,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Ha-ha,” I said, showing him the bracelet on my wrist. “You wish I’d lose it again, just so you could be the hero and find it.”
“I’m serious.” He nodded at my feet. “You dropped something.”
As I glanced down, a glint of gold caught the light of the lowering sun. I stooped, about to pick up what looked like a piece of jewelry, but froze. A ring shone against the pavement, centered with a pearly, iridescent stone surrounded by diamonds. Although it looked valuable, its uniqueness struck me first, that awful feeling of losing something sentimental. “This isn’t mine, but it’s beautiful,” I said.
He bent down and dusted it off. I barely caught the suppressed smile on his face before I noticed he was on one knee. I gasped, covering my mouth as my eyes watered. “Manning—what . . .?”
