So, no, I hadn’t changed. But my life sparked a little brighter—and that was that.
“The deck needs some work done,” Eli told me on the porch of my cabin, while I leashed Tiny and let him lick my cheek like the pushover I’d become. The power of dogs was astounding. “I might be able to take care of it on my own.”
I’d not expected to feel a deep sense of immediate connection with my father’s cabin, and I’d been right. But I was a homeowner, and it felt nice, being in possession of something that someone had wanted me to have. I adored how secluded it felt here, the fresh air, the woodland scenery. Plus, I thought when the phone pinged with a text, we had cell reception.
“Tisha?” Eli asked. “More questions about your totally straightforward and reasonable forty-three-step instructions on how to take care of the children?”
My plants, he meant. “Nope.” I showed him the notification, and he snorted.
“Oh, come on.”
“What?”
“You need to uninstall that app.”
“It’s how we first met. It has a sentimental value.”
“And you are so sentimental.” He tugged me down the path that led to the hiking trails we’d planned to explore.
“Did you? Delete yours?”
“I deleted my profile after the first time you stayed over at my place.”
I glanced at him, feeling that cozy warmth that was always there when he was around. “It’s in bad taste and overdone.”
“What is?”
“Bragging about how you knew before me.”
He laughed and pulled me in for an embrace. “I don’t think it’s overdone. In fact, I’m not sure it’s done enough.”
Around us, everything was wild. The sun-dappled trees, the sound of little critters going about their lives, Tiny’s enthusiastic explorations. “If we come back this winter,” Eli told me an hour in, when we stopped for a break, “we might be able to skate on that pond.” He crouched down to retie his shoelaces, and I glanced at the water, a small smile curving my lips.
This winter.
“Are you picturing the myriad ways in which we could die?” he asked from behind me.
“Yup.” We could try, but would have to drill in the ice to check, first. We needed at least five inches to—
“Hey, Rue?”
“Yeah,” I said distractedly.
“Since we’re here.”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering.”
I turned around. He was still tying his shoes, head bent low.
“Would you like to get married?”
Eli looked up. Met my eyes. His words glided buoyantly around my head for a few seconds, devoid of any significance. And then their meaning clawed into me, and I was suddenly made of heat. “What did you say?”
“Marriage. Would you like to?”
I opened my mouth. Stayed like that.
“To me, that is. I should have specified.”
I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. My body, my brain, I was all heartbeat. “I . . . is this how one proposes?” It was a genuine question.
“I’m not sure.” Eli shrugged. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Yes, you have. You were engaged.”
“Was I?”
“I have met her. She is very kind. She made us dinner and—”
“Ah, yes. It’s coming back to me. Well, that engagement came about when the two of us looked at each other and decided that getting married was a good next step. There was never a proposal.”
“I see.”
Would you like to get married?
He’d said that. Hadn’t he?
“Shouldn’t . . .” My cheeks heated. I was dizzy. “Shouldn’t you be on your knees?”
He glanced down at himself. He was, in fact, on his knees. On one knee. Which I knew. I was just—flustered. That’s it.
“And have a ring?” I added.
“Jesus, Rue.” His smile was delighted. “For someone who lets me tie her up and slide plugs up her holes on a weekly basis, you’re a traditionalist.”
“That’s not it.” I took a deep breath. Tried to think about it calmly. “It doesn’t seem like a good impulse decision to make. You can’t just propose on a whim in the middle of a walk. You should probably think about it a lot more. Make sure it’s what you really want.”
He rolled his eyes, sighed, and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a—
I gasped.
“Better now?”
“When did you even—”
“Around eleven months and three weeks ago.”
My eyes were going to roll out of my head. “This is unhinged.”
“I know. But you asked.” He grinned up at me, and my hands were trembling. The rest of my body, too. Was he really . . . ?
“Is it because you really like the cabin? And my patent?”
“Yes, Rue. I’m asking you to marry me because Texas is a community property state and I want to own half your stuff. You uncovered my long con. Are you going to pass out?”
“Maybe,” I said in all seriousness.
“Then move away from that precipice, please.”
I took a step forward, and then we were there. He’d asked the question. I’d heard and understood it. And all that was missing was my answer.
“It’s fine, if you’re not ready. This is not an ultimatum.” His eyes and voice and smile were soft. He didn’t sound nervous, or scared, and I thought that this man—he knew what was in my heart just as well as I did. “I’ve been feeling like asking for a while, so I did. But I can check back in a few months.”
“Don’t.”
“No checking back?”
I shook my head. “Don’t bother, there’s no point. My mind is made up, and I won’t change it.”
It was a cheap trick, and someone else would have fallen for it. But Eli—Eli understood my words for what they were, and he smiled, took my hand, slid the ring on my finger. He didn’t stand, and instead buried his face against my stomach, nuzzling into me.
I ran my hand through his hair, glanced at the trees, smelled the earth, and said, “I was so wrong.”
“About what?” he asked against my shirt. It meant that he probably couldn’t see my smile, and wasn’t that too bad?
“About whether my story could ever be happy.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thao Le, my agent, and everyone else at SDLA. Sarah Blumenstock, my editor, as well as the rest of my Berkley Romance team (Liz Sellers, Kristin Cipolla and her cipollina, Tara O’Connor, Bridget O’Toole, Kim-Salina I), and everyone else in PRH’s various departments who worked on getting this book into shape and putting it in the hands of readers. Lilith, for the perfect cover illustration. Katie Shepard, for the Finance Bro Markup. Margaret Wigging and, of course, Jen, for helping me make this mess a slightly less messy mess. My foreign publishers. Booksellers, librarians, and every reader who has ever picked up a copy of any of my books or clicked on one of my fan fictions. My author friends and my nonauthor friends. My family—including my cats, my deer, my racoons, my foxes, and my single possum. Love you, guys.
ALI HAZELWOOD is the New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis, Love on the Brain, Love Theoretically, Check & Mate and Bride. Ali is also a writer of peer-reviewed articles about brain science, in which no one makes out and the ever after is not always happy. Originally from Italy, she lived in Germany and Japan before moving to the US to pursue a PhD in neuroscience. When Ali is not at work, she can be found running, eating cake pops, or watching sci-fi movies with her three feline overlords (and her slightly less feline husband).