Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
He didn’t sound particularly tired either, tone more teasing than protesting as he tossed his suit coat over one of the breakfast nook chairs. My mom had helped match the little two-person table to the white kitchen cabinetry, but the framed vintage rock concert poster on the wall was all me. And the neat little shoe rack by the patio door was all Lieutenant Organization. I loved how with each passing week, the place reflected more and more of us.
“Midnight?” I scoffed. “My stick-in-the-mud roomie is getting old. Cinderella, who better make it home by twelve before turning into a pumpkin.”
“Ha.” He laughed and pulled me close enough to kiss my cheek. “Maybe your boring old roomie is planning on making you get up early to run. Or clean.”
“Perish the thought.” Giggling, I sauntered toward the fridge. I was definitely still feeling the champagne I’d had after Danny and Cash headed home, but it was a pleasant sort of tipsiness where I could be extra cute but not sloppy drunk. “Pie, please.”
“Fine. Get your pie.” He opened the fridge before standing back, leaving me to peer in and gasp.
“Duncan.” My eyes were almost painfully wide for the late hour. But it was impossible to ignore the large pie with a craggy crust in a glass pie plate in the center of the fridge, right there next to Duncan’s three kinds of coffee creamer and my milk. Not being on tour meant all the cereal and other lazy meals I wanted and apparently had transformed my boyfriend into a food blogger. “There’s a homemade pie in my fridge.”
“Looks that way.” A smile danced around the edges of his mouth, but his eyes were nervous, darting between me and the fridge as I pulled the pie out and set it on the counter. “Your mom did a video chat to talk me through the crust. And the filling. And it’s not blueberry season—”
I gasped again as I studied the pie closer. Yep. Blueberry with a crumb top. “You remembered the pie flavor from St. Louis?”
“You didn’t?”
“No way could I forget. We need to go back to that hotel when…” I trailed off as I spotted something silver in the center of the pie. A little twist of plastic wrap with a silver bow cradling a ring. “Oh. My. God. Duncan. There’s a ring on my pie. My homemade pie.”
I sniffed loudly. Tears would probably be the wrong reaction here, but when he’d teased about having a plan, I hadn’t thought he meant tonight. I figured he’d need another few years of hints, maybe some subtle cajoling, and then if I was lucky, I’d wear him down to the idea of an engagement. He’d come a long way on the idea of commitment, but I hadn’t expected this at all.
But sure enough, there he was, lowering down to one knee and all, on the tile floor of our cozy kitchen.
“Marry me, Ezra, and I’ll buy you all the pie you want in whatever city you land in next.”
“Here.” I managed to not cry, but my voice was little more than breath and hope. So, so much hope. “I’m staying right here with you.”
“That’s a yes, right?” He cocked his head, nervousness infiltrating more of his expression. Like there was any chance in hell I’d say no.
“Yes, you big doofus, that’s a yes.” I started to slide the thick silver band on, then paused. “There’s writing inside. Wait. It’s a lyric of mine. ‘I’m always myself with you.’ That’s from our first single.”
“That song got me through a lot of lonely nights. I did a pretty good job of being a secret We Wear Crowns superfan, but I think it’s always been you, Ezra. You make me less alone. You’re the friend I didn’t know I needed and the lover I was scared to want. But I’m my best self with you.”
“Damn. That much speech and you thought I might say no?” Shaking my head, I finished sliding the ring on. “I’m never letting you go, baby. Even when we tour next, I’m dragging you along.”
“Deal.” He let me haul him off the floor so I could tug him tight against me. He rested his head against my cheek. “I’m always going to be your number one fan.”
“Excellent. I’ll reserve you VIP seats from now until our retirement tour.”
“Ha. You’re never ever doing a farewell tour, and you know it. Besides, I can be more than a pretty face in the front row. We could use the security contract,” he deadpanned like A-List Security wasn’t swimming in business now with a bunch of new employees and prospective clients lining up faster than he and Harley could hire.
“Oh, I’ll put you to work, baby.” Turning, I grabbed a fork and speared a bite of pie. I held it out for him to take.