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Fresh tears stream down my cheeks as my heart soars with joy.
Avery joins me in the living room later that night, one of his hoodies in his hands. He looks deliriously delicious in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants and a long-sleeve Henley that shows off every curve and dip of his outrageously glorious muscles.
“Want to watch the sunset?” he asks, fitting the neck of his sweater over my head.
Smiling up at him when he takes my hand, I let him haul me off the couch. “That sounds nice.”
Curling up on the lounger, Avery retreats back into the house to retrieve a blanket. When he returns, I snuggle into his chest, enjoying the feel of being wrapped up in him while the sun glows orange and pink as it descends toward the horizon.
Avery’s lips meet my neck, my cheek, my ear. “Are you happy, Claire?”
Twisting, I capture his mouth with mine. “So damn happy.”
I feel his smile against my lips before he turns to gaze out at our yard. “Do you like it here? Do you like the house?”
He knows I do. I still secretly think the biggest reason he chose this particular house is because when we came for the viewing, he discovered that the Toronto Blue Jay’s first baseman lives next door. He happened to be getting out of his truck with his gear when we were finishing up, and Avery fan-girled hard.
We made an offer on the house forty-five minutes later, and an hour after that it was accepted, even though the house hadn’t officially been listed on the market yet. But because Avery’s Avery, he doesn’t do anything half-assed—he made a generous offer substantially over asking price. He says it’s because my face lit up when we walked around, and it did, but, well…you know him.
“I love it here, Avery. I love our house. But you know I would’ve been happy with you anywhere.”
“I know,” he says softly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true. With you is my favorite place to be.”
“Mine too.” The sun dips just low enough at this moment to trigger the solar twinkly lights strung across the yard. Avery sucks in a deep, raspy breath. “Claire,” he whispers, shifting beneath me.
He slips out of the chair, and I watch in slow motion as he sinks to the ground beside me on one knee.
My heart stops.
For a second.
And then it detonates.
Avery tucks his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small, blushing velvet box.
And I’m still not breathing. My jaw’s just hanging there in midair while I watch his hands shake, watch him scrub an anxious hand over his jaw, his eyes.
“Fuck, I’m so nervous,” he mutters, I think to himself. Those soulful, penetrating, chocolate brown eyes rise to meet mine. “Claire, I-I…fuck,” he says with a sigh and a tiny chuckle. “I think you broke me, baby.”
“Avery…” I cup his cheek, thumb sweeping under his eye. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” His grin is wobbly, not the self-assured smirk that pissed me off so much when I first met him. I’ve never seen him like this before.
“You don’t…you don’t have to do this.” For God’s sake, why the hell am I talking?
His smile falters as he drops back to his butt on the concrete. The increase in distance is marginal, but I’m acutely aware of it. And I hate it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…you don’t have to do this, if this is just what you think needs to happen. If this is what you think you’re supposed to do.” I look down. Down at my hands. Down at his hands, which are clutched tightly around that pretty box. “If you don’t…want to.”
Still talking, eh, Claire? Cool. Keep going. See where that gets you.
I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe for him to just sit there in silence, staring up at me. Maybe a fight. Maybe for him to just stand up and walk away, cool off on his own. Maybe even a breath of relief, an oh thank God; I’m so not ready for this!
Whatever I expected, it certainly wasn’t this. Not Avery, sitting here in front of me, that goofy grin sliding onto his face, taking over.
