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Slowly, but surely, more and more of the knick-knacks she picked up on her travels found their way to the surfaces of this house. There were new blankets, TVs in the bedrooms, carpets.
She warmed up the place.
She made the house a home.
Cheesy, but true.
“Well, maybe this will help,” I suggested, nodding to Laird who shook his head, and moved to open the door to the crate.
Which sent a squealing pig racing through the space.
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” she shrieked, dropping to her knees, holding out her hands to the pink thing still zooming around the space, a blur of hoofed feet and a squiggly tail. “Oh my God. You sweet, sweet baby,” she cooed, scooping him up as he made grunting noises at her. “You got me a mini pig?” she asked, beaming up at me.
“Actually, no. We had a visitor. Who promptly caught sight of someone in a tight dress and disappeared.”
“Fenway?” she asked, smile bright.
“I guess he never did forget.”
“Forget what?” she asked, brows drawing together for a second before she showered kisses all over the pig’s head.
“That day on the yacht,” I started, knowing she knew what day and which yacht. “You told him that a pig would have made the situation better.”
“And I told him not to get me one because I’m too busy,” she agreed, actually booping the pig’s flat nose, letting out a squeal of joy as she did so.
“He was looking up pigs on his phone before Bellamy and I talked him out of it. He said he was making a note for later, though.”
“This is random, even for him.”
“It’s not,” I told her, shaking my head.
The pig leapt from her arms, doing another lightning-fast tour of the room, much to Melody’s delight, but she sent me a glance. “It’s not?”
“It’s been one year,” I told her. “Since you came here the first time.”
“Since you had me drugged and kidnapped, you mean,” she specified, giving me a smirk.
“Yes, since then,” I agreed, not regretting it a bit.
“That’s unexpectedly sweet of him that he remembered,” she decided as the pig made his way down into the dining room. And then, judging by the yelp of surprise, into the kitchen with Cora.
“I remembered too,” I told her, reaching into my pocket as she got back on her feet. “Fenway kind of took the wind out of my sails here,” I added, pulling out the small jewelry box, watching as her eyes went to it. “But I’ve been planning this for a while, so I am going to do it anyway,” I told her, flipping open the lid as I walked closer, and went down on one knee.
“Oh my God,” she said, sounding breathless as her gaze fell on the simple pear-shaped diamond on a white gold band. Jules, Gemma, Aven, Jenny, Meadow, Sloane, and Nia had all conference called with me while I toured the jewelry store, helping me pick it out. “Really?” she asked, hand moving out, finger tracing over the diamond.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I told her, sliding the ring on her finger, liking it even more than I expected, seeing it there.
Her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips crashing to mine, kissing me hard and long before going back down on her flat feet, pulling away.
“Well, now you took the wind out of my sails,” she told me, making my brows furrow.
“What?”
“Well, I didn’t forget either,” she told me, reaching for my hands, grabbing them by the backs. “I have been planning on telling you something for a little bit too,” she told me, resting my hands on her belly.
Realization soared through my system, stealing my breath.
“Really?” I asked, gaze meeting hers, finding her eyes bright, and a little teary.
“Really,” she agreed, nodding.
I don’t know if I ever truly understood what wonder felt like until that moment. But there was no denying that was exactly what the soaring sensation felt like in my chest.
“I love you,” I told her, with nothing else to say.
“I love you back,” she told me, beaming for a moment before we felt the piglet force in between our feet, making her break away, and lean down to scoop him up. “I love you too, you precious thing, you.”
As with everything that has to do with Fenway, that pig came with some very unexpected consequences.
Miller – 8 years
“Come on, buddy,” I demanded, patting the massive flank of what had once been a very small piglet.
Fenway had his heart in the right place.
He often did.
But the man hadn’t done much research.
As he often did not.
See, Oliver was not your typical mini pig, short and stout, roughly the stature of a medium-sized dog, weighing in at a healthy ninety to one-hundred-thirty pounds.
Oh, no.
Oliver was not a mini pig at all.
Nope.
Oliver was your standard pink-skinned farm pig.
