by Moira McTark
“That’s very good to hear, Nichole.” He pulled the last item from the bag. Handing her the enormous golden box of chocolate truffles, he asked, “Still good?”
“Matt, you shouldn’t have! What were you thinking?”
His smile turned bittersweet. “I was thinking that a decent man brings the woman he loves chocolate and flowers for Valentine’s Day. After blowing my opportunity for twelve years straight—and even now, a day late—I wanted to make a statement.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets with a sheepish grin, “This is actually the second set I bought. When I got back here with the first ones, I realized they weren’t right.”
The flowers in the Dumpster. They had been for her. “Matt, you could have scribbled on a ten cent greeting card with a crayon and, if you’d told me you loved me, it would have been everything I’d ever wanted.”
He cocked his brow at her and tucked back his chin. “Too much? Am I scaring you off?”
“It would be impossible to scare me off.” This was ridiculous. “I love you.”
“That’s a relief, because I’m ramping up here and wouldn’t want to blow my chance.”
The corner of her mouth curled in delight.
He loved her.
She could breathe for the first time in over a decade. She wanted to scream it from the windows—he actually loved her! “How can you possibly top all of this?”
Matt freed his fisted hands from his pockets. God, his whole body was tense. He shook out one hand, looking as jittery as she’d ever seen him, and took the bouquets and chocolate from her to set them aside on the coffee table. He faced her, and his jubilant expression turned serious; his gaze, intent.
Taking her hand, he tugged her closer and leaned down to her ear. “I could top it all if you’ll give me forever.”
Nichole jerked back, searching his face—his smiling, confident, gorgeous face—as he stared down at her. He opened his hand and held a platinum band adorned with a spectacular, glittering solitaire diamond poised at the tip of the third finger on her left hand. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. He’d had it in his fist, in his pocket! He dropped down to one knee, stealing her breath away in the motion.
“Nichole, I love you.” His smile spread as she began to nod her head vigorously and her heart raced like a runaway train. “Will you marry me—”
His words were cut off as she flew into his arms, nearly knocking him backward, her lips devouring his laughing, smiling, sensual mouth. Her arms locked around his neck, the engagement ring looped around the second knuckle of her third finger, her feet pulled up behind her, her knees hanging inches above the floor as he held her suspended in his arms, swinging her back and forth. Their kiss, promising forever, was punctuated by one word spoken back and forth with increasing fervor.
“Yes.”
Author Bio
Moira McTark lives with her husband and four young children in a small town in Minnesota. She can most often be found enjoying a spot of imaginary tea, crashing Hot Wheels, and building elaborate railways over the Island of Sodor.
When Moira needs a sanity break, she slinks off to her office and writes. You can find her on her website at www.moiramctark.com or at www.moiramctark.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from her readers.
