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“Tonight.”
“—you’re gonna have to use layman’s terms. Jess has warned me about Seth Speak, but I never really took her—Wait,what?”Histonightjust clicked in my mind and now the game of Twenty Questions makes sense. I gape at him. “Tonight, tonight? Marry you? In, like, a few hours?”
To my bewilderment, he nods.
“But what about your sister and everyone else and Joanna would kill me if I got married without her and we don’t have dresses or anything and—and you want to get marriedtonight?”
“Well, unless you’d like to wait, yes. I’d say we could do it this weekend, but I’m working. I could care less about having a big wedding, I don’t want a long engagement, I don’t care where it takes place, and the date doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is making you my wife and spending the rest of our lives together.”
“But…we need a marriage license.” It’s a lame excuse, especially because I know I’m going to say yes, but I can’t get the word out.
“Yes, well, that’s why we’ve got a courthouse in town.” His smile is downright mischievous. “Word is that they let you get marriage licenses there, but what do I know?”
I stare at him. My big, strong, handsome as all get out fiancé who doesn’t do spontaneous things is asking me to marry him in mere hours. The man I struggled to get a smile out of until this summer, the man who’s become my safe place and my children’s dad, the man who would do anything for me and the kids.
He’s asking me to marry him.
“In that case…” I turn so I’m facing him and frame his face with my hands, pressing a kiss to his lips as his fingers find my waist. “I would love to marry you, Seth Johnson.”
Epilogue
Jenna
Six Months Later
Ipause just before walking into our kitchen, resting my left hand on the arched doorway between the entryway hall and kitchen/living room, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It’s Saturday, one of the ones Seth has off, and we have plans to use it to its full potential. The sun decided to grace us with its presence on this early March day, and even the trees are behaving by sitting still. Seems like forever since we had a day without wind.
Of course, I can’t complain too much about these chilly early spring days. It gives me a reason to use my husband as a human heating pad, and I’ve discovered that snuggling with Seth is one of my favorite things to do. Especially during the cold winter while snowflakes drift down gently from the sky beyond the window of our bedroom, Ella and Eli burrowed in on either side of us, Seth and I acting as the peanut butter and jelly. There is something mesmerizing about having my daughter nestled into my side while my husband traces lazy circles on my arm.
Quite honestly, I wouldn’t mind just one more blizzard before spring’s warmth seeps through the earth in gentle shades of pastels, chilly mornings and evenings, and that fresh scent of a new beginning in the air. People, my husband included, would probably curse me out if I voiced the blizzard thought aloud. Even Ember, who always wishes for snow on her December birthday (last year she didn’t get her wish) was grumbling about the cold temps when I stopped into the coffee shop Wednesday to pick up cinnamon rolls.
But I happen to find it sexy as all get out when Seth comes home after a shift in the winter, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his hair in disarray from a stocking cap, and his body in need of warming up. A close second to having Seth warm me up is getting to do the same for him. I feel like everyone would understand where I’m coming from if they could experience it.
Which they won’t, because Seth is mine.
I promise I’m not a crazy possessive woman. I’m not.
I am, however, married to the man standing at the kitchen island right now. The evidence being the black band around his incredibly masculine finger. It’s not his real wedding band—he generally wears this one in his day-to-day life because silicone is more giving than titanium while he’s working—but I don’t care. He could wear a rubber band and I would love it. Plus, this is the ring I gave him when we got married on my birthday last year—yes, we did that whole whirlwind wedding thing—so it’s almost more special than his other one.
Ella’s perched on the counter beside Seth, whisking her own bowl of pancake batter as her dark curls stick up in all directions because she just got up ten minutes ago, and Eli’s on Seth’s shoulders, his blond curls in just as much disarray as his daddy’s. Both kids are in their pj’s, but not Seth. No, he’s wearing that really awesome pair of black athletic shorts he wears when we do yoga, barefoot, with a Dri-Fit light blue T-shirt. I don’t think I’ve never enjoyed seeing someone in a workout shirt more. I’m enamored by how the lightweight fabric drapes over his muscular shoulders, hugging his upper body in all the right places.
My biggest discovery in the past six months? Of all the art I’ve seen and all the art I’ve created, Seth is my favorite. His lake-blue eyes, his shadowed angular jaw, his lazy smile reserved for me that nudges a dimple to life. I can’t go without mentioning his shoulders, which are my favorite place to rest my head. His hands, because they’re strong and tender all at once.
And his abs because…well, I just can’tnotmention them.
I allow myself to linger in the doorway for a few more moments before stepping into the kitchen, my stomach doing a flip-flop when all three of my favorite people look in my direction.
“Mommy!” Ella exclaims, causing pancake batter to splatter on her pajamas. Her brown eyes widen, but she giggles. “Oopsie.”
Seth tsks his tongue as if he’s majorly disappointed. “That could’ve made a whole ’nother pancake, but now Princess Ariel gets it.Whatare we going to do?”
His exaggerated words lead to both of our kids giggling, which leads to Ella nearly dropping her mixing bowl altogether. Seth catches it and sets it on the counter, then reaches up to get Eli. The muscles in his arms smile at me from under his short sleeves as he lowers Eli to the ground, and again when he helps Ella off the counter.
Part one of my plan complete.
“How about the two of you go change into the outfits Mommy put on Ella’s bed, okay?” I say this in my most normal voice, sliding my arms around Seth’s waist. There’s no way we would’ve survived the historical era when showing affection in front of your kids—or anyone else, for that matter—was frowned upon. Until Seth, I never realized physical touch art was my favorite, but hey, you learn something new every day. “Maybe there’ll be pancakes when you get done.”
I’m pretty surepancakesandSantaare interchangeable around here, because Ella and Eli race off like bottle rockets and both Seth and I remind them not to run in the house. We do those cheesy things—you know, finishing each other’s sentences and grinning like fools afterwards—and I will never apologize because it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. I feel like people would benefit greatly from realizing that great love stories are not unrealistic. They just require work (which people don’t want to do) and giving up people’s opinions (another thing people don’t like) because who really gives a damn if someone loves love? I feel it’s imperative to remind those people that, if itwasn’tFOR love, they wouldn’t be here.
