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She proceeds to serve up some details about a Henry Cavill-esque guy who can solve a Rubix Cube in thirty seconds. “In short, he’s perfect for her.”
“That sounds very Gigi,” I say.
“I know, right? I can’t wait to find out when she’s going to see him next. I have a feeling about this one. Like he could be the one for her.” Her nose wrinkles. “Unless it turns out he secretly hates pie or something. Ooh, wouldn’t that be scandalous?”
“Yes, but let’s back it up a sentence or two. Do you believe in that?”
She blinks. “People who hate pie? Yes, they absolutely exist. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s something about the texture of the filling or—”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “The one. You think it’s a real thing?”
It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “You know I do, weirdo. You’re the one.”
I smile. Hard. “Yeah. You’re the one too.”
“Duh,” she says dryly, even as she snuggles closer to my side.
Look at us—a pair of lovebirds.
A lucky pair indeed.
When we reach Brooklyn, we set a world record for speed in removing only enough clothes to slam our bodies together on her kitchen counter. Why bother heading to the bedroom when the counter is the perfect height for me to get close to her.
As I fuck and make love to the woman of my dreams, my certainty for tomorrow’s plan intensifies.
This woman, these nights, these days—it’s all I’ll ever want, and I hope she wants it too.
The next morning, after we devour French toast and savor coffee, I pull her onto my lap in the kitchen, nuzzling her hair. “I have a surprise for you this afternoon.”
“It’s not a Prince Albert, is it? Or is it?”
“No, I’m not getting my penis pierced.”
She sniffs. “Huh. Then I’m stumped.”
Laughing, I drop a kiss to her forehead. “Meet me at two and I’ll un-stump you. I’ll text you the address. I need to go to see Max.”
I slip away to meet my lawyer friend for cinnamon and sugar cortados and to cement my final plans.
She’s on the dot, rapping on the door as the wall clock with cherries for numbers chimes on the hour. I found it for her in the Venice shop, and sent it home with my mom.
I swing open the door, my pulse jittery. Ruby’s eyes are wide and curious.
“What on earth is this?” She peers inside, scanning the small space for clues.
That’s the coolest thing about this place. It’s not quite obvious from the outside what’s behind door number one.
But it’s about to become as clear as the blue sky painted on the ceiling.
Nerves flicker through me, racing across my body.
Will she like what I’ve done?
I thread my fingers through hers and show her around a small but well-lit artist studio.
“Here’s a standing desk,” I say, patting the solid wood.
“Some of my best ideas come while I’m not sitting,” she says, her voice pitching upward as she invites me to fill in the dots.
I gesture to a peace lily in the corner, next to a south-facing window that bathes the room in sunlight.
“I like peace lilies,” she says, in that same I’m curious what you’re up to tone.
“And the cherry clock you liked in Venice.”
“I do love that clock.”
Time to tell her. “What do you think about a studio of your very own? A place to come where you’ll have more space to work, room to meet with clients, and even host a little gallery show if you want to?”
Her irises sparkle with excitement, but questions too. “It’s amazing, but I don’t think I can afford it, Jesse. This space is gorgeous, however—”
“You don’t have to afford it.”
She swallows, takes her time, then whispers reverently, “What do you mean? What are you up to?”
Nerves rush through me again, but they settle quickly.
This is it.
“This could be your studio,” I say.
“My studio,” she repeats, her tone awed.
I take her hand, leading her to the door on the other side of the airy space. I wrap my hand around the knob. “That is, if you don’t mind spending time with the guy who’s about to buy this garage.”
Her jaw slackens. She tries to speak, but no sounds come out.
I open the other door into an adjoining garage. It’s empty. No cars, but the counters and tools reveal what could be here.
If she says yes.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Jesse,” she whispers around her fingers, then lets them fall. “What did you do?”
I wheel around, clasp both her hands in mine. “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll make this ours. Max found the space last week. And I can buy it today for us. If you want me to come home.”
“Home,” she echoes, and it sounds damn beautiful falling from those gorgeous lips.
“I can’t stand being apart from you another day,” I say, pouring out the truth. “I can’t stomach the thought of going back to Los Angeles and leaving you behind, and I don’t want you to leave your business or your family. I’m ready to move back.” I lay it on the line as her eyes shine. “I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts. You’re all I think about. I just want to be with you for the rest of my life. With you in the same city, sharing the same bed, enjoying as many days and nights with you as I can get. Will you marry me?”
