Chapter 40
Jeremiah
The drive home was an exercise in managing a sugar-high five-year-old who’d apparently consumed her weight in wedding cake and was now vibrating at frequencies that only dogs could hear.
“And then Mrs. H made the pipes go WHEEEEEEE and the security man was like, ‘Ma’am, please stop,’ but she was like, ‘This is culture,’ and then the alarm went BEEP BEEP BEEP, and Omar had cake on his head and—”
“Button, breathe,” Theo said from the driver’s seat, catching my eye with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion and amusement.
“How much cake did she actually eat?” Theo muttered.
I did a quick mental calculation. “Three pieces of traditional, two of the woodworking table, plus she ate most of the fondant hammer with a coating from the chocolate fountain thingy.”
“She what now?”
“I dipped everything in chocolate,” Debbie chirped helpfully. “The strawberries and the cookies and that piece of cheese that tasted funny but looked pretty . . . oh, and the hammer. That was so yummy.”
“Our daughter covered cheese in chocolate and ate it?” Theo’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “She’s so going to puke later.”
“Our daughter,” I agreed, feeling that warm flutter at how naturally the words came out.
“Yeah! Our daughter!” Debbie bounced in her car seat, never missing a single word despite claiming to never hear Theo’s nightly call to brush her teeth. “That means I have two daddies and I can eat weird food because families support each other’s life choices.”
“That’s not how family support . . . or life choices . . . work,” Theo said, but he was smiling.
By the time we reached the house, Debbie had moved on to planning what she’s dubbed “Operation Dragon Wedding”—our apparently inevitable future ceremony featuring forty-seven unicorns, a castle cake, and mandatory sparkles for all guests.
She had also decided Theo would wear dragon wings she’d seen on some TV show, while I was going to don a unicorn horn on my forehead.
“That might make the ‘you may now kiss your husband’ part difficult,” I pointed out.
Debbie was undaunted. “You kiss all the time. This will give the wedding lots of drama.”
Theo snort-laughed at that.
Once home, getting her changed and packed for her sleepover was like negotiating with a tiny, sugar-powered diplomat. She insisted on bringing three unicorn books, a plastic tiara, two pairs of sunglasses, and inexplicably, a spatula from the kitchen.
“Why do you need a spatula at a sleepover?” I asked.
“In case we need to make pancakes. Chloe’s mom makes terrible pancakes. This spatula has magic flipping powers.”
When Chloe’s mom arrived, Debbie hugged us both goodbye with an enthusiasm that suggested she was leaving for a month-long expedition.
“Don’t plan the wedding without me,” she called from the back seat. “And remember, if you do, dragons are non-negotiable!”
The sudden silence after they drove away was deafening.
We stood in the driveway for a moment, both still in our wedding attire—Theo in his navy suit that made his eyes impossibly dark, me in the dark gray ensemble Sisi had declared “criminally handsome.”
“So,” Theo said finally, loosening his tie with movements that were somehow both casual and incredibly sexy.
“So,” I agreed, unable to look away from his hands.
“We’re alone.”
“We are.”
“For the entire night.”
We looked at each other for another beat, and then we were both moving, practically racing back to the house like teenagers darting behind the bleachers during a football game.
Theo fumbled with the doorknob while I pressed against his back, breathing in his cologne mixed with traces of wedding cake frosting and Mrs. H’s questionable battle cries.
“I can’t get the damn thing to—”
“Here, let me—”
I reached around him, shoving my body against his so he could feel the already throbbing erection inside my dress pants.
The door finally opened, and we stumbled inside, immediately tangling up in each other like we’d been separated for months.
Theo’s jacket hit the floor near the entryway, followed by my tie, and then his hands were in my hair and my mouth was on his neck.
“God, I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” Theo breathed against my ear. “Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself during that reception?”
“You mean while Debbie was conducting dragon research interviews and Mrs. H was giving cultural education seminars to security guards?”
“Especially then. Something about wedding chaos makes you fucking sexy,” he said.
“Just wedding chaos?” I feigned hurt feelings.
“Well, regular chaos, too. And when you’re being responsible. And when you’re laughing at Debbie’s jokes. And pretty much always, actually.”
I kissed him then, deep and thorough, pouring all my love and pent-up passion into the press of my lips against his.
“I love you,” I said against his mouth. “God, Theo, I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Postie.”
“Postie?”
He chuckled and ducked his head in the most adorably embarrassed way. “That’s how you’re listed in my phone. It’s the British—”
“Oh, I know what it is. How are you so fucking cute?”
He ducked into my shoulder again, a giggle tickling my skin.
Then we were moving again, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing and soft laughter as we made our way down the hallway.
We’d barely made it to the bedroom when Theo suddenly stopped, his hands still tangled in my hair, his breathing ragged.
“Jer,” he said, and something in his voice made me pull back to look at him.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . .” He took a shaky breath. “Today, watching Shane and Mateo, seeing how happy they were . . . and holding your hand with Debbie right there . . . I just . . . I can’t get over how right it all felt.”
I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I want that . . . with you. I want to stand up in front of all our friends and family and tell the world that you’re mine and I’m yours and we’re choosing each other forever.”
The words hit me like lightning. “Theo—”
“I know we’ve talked about it, kind of, around the edges, but I’m saying it now.
I can’t stop myself. It’s gotta come out.
” He gulped hard and then looked into my eyes as if searching for my soul.
“I want to marry you, Jeremiah. I want Debbie to be our flower girl slash dragon princess. I want Mrs. H’s bagpipes and all the chaos our friends can create. I want it all . . . with you.”
I gaped at him, this brilliant, beautiful man who’d somehow decided I was worth something—no, worth forever—and felt my throat go tight and legs wobble.
“Is that a proposal?” I managed.
He thought a moment, his eyes squinting in that loveable way he did when he thought deeply about something.
“Why don’t we call it a pre-proposal. The actual proposal is going to involve significantly more planning and probably some input from our resident dragon expert.
” His smile was soft and nervous and wholly Theo.
“But I needed you to know. After today, after watching what we could have . . .”
I kissed him then, cutting off his rambling with lips and tongue and all the yes I couldn’t quite put into words yet.
“I want that, too,” I said when we broke apart, both breathing hard. “All of it. The chaos and the dragons and the bagpipes and forty years of this.”
“Forty years?”
“I’m rounding. You know I’m bad at math. At least forty. Maybe fifty if you’re lucky.”
He laughed, and the sound filled something in my chest I hadn’t even realized was empty.
“I love you so damn much,” he said again, and this time it sounded like a promise, like a vow, like the beginning of everything.
Tomorrow, we’d pick up a sugar-crashed five-year-old and listen to detailed reports about sleepover adventures. We’d return to the routine of work and school and the everyday chaos of being a family.
But this night was ours.
And as Theo’s bedroom door closed behind us with a soft click, I realized that this was what happiness felt like—not the dramatic, overwhelming kind on the big screen, but the quiet, steady kind that came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged.