Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Is that right?” I ask.
He nods. “You could say I’m a little obsessed, actually. I can’t stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you, actually. And they are not PG dreams.”
I grin. “Should I call security?”
“You could, but they’re on my payroll. I think they’ll let me do what I came here to do.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And what is that, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Well,” he says. “It starts with you signing this for me.” He pushes the book toward me on the table, palm covering the front cover for a moment too long.
I frown down at his hand, wondering why he’s being weird. Then he pulls his hand back and I see my book’s cover, except the title is different. Everything else is exactly the same, but the title on this one reads, “Will You Marry Me.”
My jaw falls open. I look up at him and then notice the line has fanned out. I spot my dad first and do a double take. He’s clasping his hands in front of his chin like a high school girl watching a really good promposal. He smiles through clenched teeth at me.
I’m still trying to process what my dad is doing here when I see my mom and then my sisters and brother. Even Meemaw is there with both of Jameson’s sisters standing behind her.
Roxie throws me a friendly middle finger from the other side of the crowd and Gemmaline waves.
“What?” I whisper.
Jameson smiles, but I realize he’s actually nervous. Seeing Jameson nervous is a huge rarity. He points to the cover of the book. “I thought it would be more special if the people we care about were here.”
“What would be?” I ask, mind moving at about negative two miles per hour.
“Either my happiest or saddest moment.” He points again to the cover of the book.
I look at the words again, reading.
Will You Marry Me?
If I wasn’t already sitting, I would fall down. My knees are useless and my body has forgotten how to breathe.
“I was thinking you would open it,” he urges.
I glance up at him and lift open the cover. The inside of the book is hollowed out in the center. It’s a neat, perfectly cut square with a velvety box in the center. The words above the square are printed in fancy, script lettering.
Marry Me?
There are three boxes below.
Yes, maybe, and no.
I grin and pick up the pen I’ve been using to sign books. My heart is thumping like an overheating engine, but I decide to mess with everyone and let my pen hover over the box that reads “no”.
Jameson visibly gasps, and I feel suddenly bad for even joking. I jerk the pen over to the yes box, check it quickly, and jump up out of my chair, rushing to hug him tight.
He scoops me up, then sets me down and pulls the box from the book, getting to one knee.
“I realize this is getting a bit redundant,” he says. “But Charli McBride, will you make me the happiest, most undeserving man on Earth and marry me?”
“Yes,” I say, watching as he slides the ring on my finger.
Everything else is a blur because I’m kissing him and the world is fading away. I barely hear my friends and family clapping for me or my fans–my actual fans–cheering.
It’s a moment of pure, delirious perfection. It’s wonderful, and I know it’s only the first of many more to come.