“How? How did you feel with me?”
“Alive. Happy. And I knew I was never going to feel that way again unless I came back.” He let his hands slide away. “C.C., you told me once that what we had could be the best part of my life. You were right. I don't know if I can make it work, but I need to try. I need you.”
He was afraid, she realized. Even more afraid than she was. With her eyes on his, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “I can give you a guarantee on a muffler, Trent. Not on this.”
“I'd settle for you telling me you still love me, that you'll give me another chance.”
“I still love you. But I can't give you another chance.” “Catherine—”
“Because you haven't taken the first one yet.” She touched her lips to his once, then twice. “Why don't we take it together?” she asked, then laughed when he dragged her close. “Now you've done it. You'll have grease all over you.”
“I'll have to get used to it.” After one last spin, he drew away to study her face. Everything he needed was right there, in her eyes. “I love you, Catherine. Very much.”
She brought his hand to her cheek. “I'll have to get used to it. Maybe if you said it a few hundred times.”
He told her as he held her, as he traced kisses over her face, as he lingered over the taste of her mouth. “I think it's working,” she murmured. “Maybe we should close the garage doors.”
“Leave them up.” He stepped back again, struggling to clear his head. “I'm still St. James enough to want to do things in their proper order, but I'm running low on control.”
“What order is that?” Smiling, she ran a finger up his shirt to toy with the top button.
“Wait.” Churning, he put a hand over hers. “I thought about this all the way up from Boston. It played a lot of different ways—I'd take you out again. A little wine, a lot of candlelight. Or we'd walk in the garden again at dusk.”
He glanced around the garage. Honeysuckle and motor oil, he thought.
Perfect.
“But this seems like the right time, the right place.” He reached in his pocket for a small box, then opening it, handed it to her. “You once said if I offered you a diamond, you'd laugh in my face. I thought I might have more luck with an emerald.”
Tears backed up in her throat as she stared down at the deep green stone in its simple gold setting. It gleamed up at her, full of hope and promise. “If this is a proposal, you don't need any luck at all.” Wet and brilliant, her eyes came back to his. “The answer was always yes.”
He slid the ring onto her finger. “Let's go home.” “Yes.” Her hand linked with his. “Let's go home.”