Miller
Epilogue
Iemerged from the bathroom with a towel slung low around my waist and steam billowing around me. Emma was nowhere to be found. Listening for any sounds in the apartment, I threw on a pair of briefs and jeans, knowing she would have already left if I hadn’t heard her moving around in the kitchen.
Since it was after eleven on a rainy Saturday morning and we still hadn’t had breakfast, there was only one place she could have gone—the bakery down the street.
My mouth watered, knowing she’d bring back a chocolate croissant and blueberry scone along with super sweet coffee. I took advantage of her temporary absence to open the bottom drawer of my dresser, checking that the black velvet box remained undisturbed.
Minerva watched me, the disgust evident on her smushed kitty face as she bathed her paws from her cat tree in the corner. I couldn’t blame her for the expression—I felt the same sense of wrongness every time I dared to open the drawer. I grimaced at the box as it lay there, mocking me.
I hated seeing the damn thing resting peacefully at the bottom of my sock drawer.
No. Hate wasn’t the right word. I deeply despised that box, wrinkling my brows as I slammed my palm against the side of the drawer hard enough to rattle the pictures on top and make Minerva pause her meticulous grooming ritual.
How could every one of my proposals inexplicably fail, turning into utter disasters of epic proportions?
First, there was Paris. The most romantic city in the world. Yeah, right.
I put so much thought into planning each detail. Dinner at a cafe overlooking a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Then, a walk along the River Seine, hand in hand, before I dropped to one knee and professed my eternal love and devotion to her. She’d cry, and I’d pretend my eyes weren’t wet as she said yes. Our night would end with my ring on her finger and me wringing multiple orgasms from her beautiful body.
Who could have predicted our first meal would cause food poisoning, leaving us with nothing but a view of the porcelain throne in our hotel room for three days? After we recovered, we visited the sights and indulged in tourist experiences, but the ruined mood persisted.
No matter.
Paris was a trial run—just a little test to see if I’d get cold feet. My overwhelming irritation at the ruined proposal proved how right it was for us to get married.
New York at Christmas was a better choice, anyway. There was nothing more romantic, right? Seeing the giant Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, shopping at the original Macy’s before buying hot chocolate and visiting the Central Park Zoo. The box in my pocket felt like a lead weight as we explored the city, begging me to drop to one knee and make confessions of love while we waited in line for a hotdog.
Who could have predicted I’d slip on a patch of ice and fracture my ankle? There were no more strolls along Herald Square after that. The only saving grace was a hotly worded conversation with the airline and a ridiculous amount of money spent to upgrade a seat on our return flight so I’d have enough legroom to accommodate the cast.
Perhaps I’d taken a page out of Emma’s book, overthinking the proposal instead of doing something simple and sweet.
Charleston in springtimewas beautiful, and the perfect place for a proposal, right? The crepe myrtle trees were in bloom, and the White Point Garden in Battery Park provided the perfect backdrop. I had been preparing my speech for months, and Emma’s yellow sundress had me eagerly anticipating our afternoon walk. The chance to sink to one knee and hope for a yes had finally arrived.
The universe proved to be a fickle bitch.
A broken tie rod ruined the afternoon, and an ‘I told you so’ conversation from Mom about delaying maintenance on my truck had a nagging feeling creeping into my subconscious.
Three times thwarted.
So, I decided to postpone the proposal. It was the only rational explanation, but the ring always stayed with me after that. Surely, the time would come soon, and I could carry the ring with me, just to be prepared.
Nope.
A family brunch? Mark and Jenna announced she was pregnant with their second child.
A Valentine’s Day dinner? The smoke alarm went off, and the staff evacuated the restaurant.
A weekend winery trip her parents gave us for Christmas? Ha—the joke was on me.
Of course, thinking I could propose to my girlfriend had been unbelievably arrogant. At the vineyard, the culprit had been none other than that legendary actor from the Ghostbusters franchise. Apparently, he frequented the vineyard, and Emma spent the entire weekend covertly trying to find the star and get a picture.
My lovely girlfriend had made up for the semi-stalking behavior with a spectacular blow job in the shower. Still, I remained woefully distracted, thinking something was wrong with proposing. After so many failed attempts, the ring went safely back into the drawer, only to be removed when my self-deprivation reached an all-time low—or when I drank too much and felt sorry for myself.
We loved each other, confessing the words at every opportunity. She told me over coffee, on the phone, whispering them while we made love—while we fucked. I told her before we went to sleep, on random Fridays when I arrived at her office with flowers, and when I’d open her fridge to find a new flavor of creamer she thought I’d like.
I’d moved into her apartment in everything except my name on the lease, and Mom had been introducing Emma as her daughter from the first time we admitted to being a couple. Proposing wasn’t just the next logical step—it was a culmination of everything I wanted.
When the front door opened, I quickly grabbed and pocketed the ring before I could convince myself it was a bad idea. The drawer closed with a thump before I rose and tugged on a shirt, heading to find my girl. The perfect time would come—I had to believe that, or I’d go crazy thinking of a thousand different what-ifs.
Holding tightly to that idea and hoping it would boost my mood, I left the bedroom, walking down the hall and toward the kitchen. My bare feet helped silence the steps, and instead of immediately calling out or sliding behind her to wrap my arms around her waist, I opted to lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed—just watching.
Standing there, I let my eyes rove her body, drinking my fill of the love of my life. She wore gray sweatpants with the waistband rolled twice and a dark blue hoodie. Her hair was almost tamed in a high ponytail, but several curls had already escaped from the tie, falling around her face. The pastries were laid out on the table, and she was using the new milk frother her parents gave her, attempting to make a design on the top of my coffee cup.
Chuckling silently, I watched as she stomped her foot and huffed before using a spoon to stir in whatever design hadn’t turned out like she intended. Her perfectionism was adorable to watch, and since she preferred black coffee, I had no issue with the overabundance of milk in mine as she practiced. Each failure had pushed her to try harder each morning, balancing the frother so close to the cup it wasn’t unusual for her to have foam on the tip of her nose.
As I watched, it took me back to Valentine’s Day, when she presented me with coffee in bed, complete with a lopsided foam heart. There was barely time to take a sip and place it on the bedside table before I grabbed her, pulled her onto the bed, and fucked her until she was a murmuring mess.
Perhaps that’s when I should have asked.
In the years we’d been together, I’d come to appreciate so many things—much more than I had before.
The euphoric light in her eyes when I was inside her.
The soothing weight of her body pressed against me at night.
Mornings, waking up, only to inhale her curls.
Shattering between her legs.
Above everything else, looking back at our relationship, I’d become painfully aware that I should treasure each moment with Emma, ensuring she felt the same incomprehensible love as I did, and that it only grew each day.
“Emma?”
She turned, smiling and motioning to the oversized cup on the counter. “I’m almost there. This time, your coffee is going to be perfect.”
“It’s already perfect because you made it.”
“Oh, stop. You know I didn’t make it. The bakery did, but the design is all me.”
I leaned against the counter beside her, watching as she poured the milk with her tongue between her teeth.
“Damn it! Stupid leaves never want to turn out right,” she screeched, tossing the metal container in the sink and crossing her arms.
This. Now.
I loved her—needed her.
I didn’t want to spend another moment without a ring on her finger.
Bracing one hand on the counter’s edge, I went down on one knee and pulled the ring from my pocket.
“Will you marry me?”
Emma lost the grip on the spoon she’d been holding, and it clattered to the floor, covering me with droplets of hot milk. The sound echoed in the kitchen, and then silence filled the space. My pulse roared in my ears, and I swallowed, mouth dry as cotton.
The carefully prepared speech died on my tongue as I watched her eyes widen, and her face morphed from frustration to complete and total adoration.
She dropped to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face and her hand pressed over her mouth. Her lips quivered before a glorious, wide smile overtook her features.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Miller.”
I slipped the ring on her finger before pulling her tightly against me and wrapping my arms around her waist. Her shoulders shook as I rubbed my hands along her back, breathing in the sweet scent of peaches and something uniquely Emma.
“I love you. So much. Thank you, sweet girl. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought possible, and I’ll spend the rest of my days making sure you are just as happy as I am right now.”
Not bad for a half-cocked proposal on a random Saturday morning.
I caught her face in my hands, stroking my thumbs over the tear tracks before pressing a warm kiss against her lips. Then I pulled back enough to see the matching warmth in her emerald eyes. Her arms tightened around my shoulders, and she sighed, licking my lower lip gently. My tongue met hers in an intoxicating caress, kissing her properly, deeply as her hands traveled from my shoulders to the back of my neck.
Emma broke the kiss first, but she stayed close enough for our chests to touch, holding my gaze and smiling.
“I love you too, Miller. This time with you has made me happier than I ever thought possible. And it seems you’re not the only one with a surprise today. I have some news as well,” she said, pulling away and sniffing.
My brow crinkled as I searched her face, wondering what her news could be. Perhaps a new development at the academy? Doubtful. After standing up to Hopkirk and securing a tenured position completely on her own, her after-hours requirements were down to a minimum, and I willingly went with her to the few she chose to attend.
I used my thumbs to caress her cheeks as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and grasped one of my hands before slowly lowering it to her stomach.
She tilted her head, looking up at me through her lashes as I struggled to piece together her message. My eyes widened, and I tightened the hand around her shoulders, not believing I could be this lucky. All the visions I had of us through the years came into vivid clarity as we knelt on her hard kitchen floor, holding one another.
“Are you? You are? Are we? Emma?” I asked, letting go before pulling her bottom lip out from between her teeth with my thumb.
“I am. Oh, Miller. Is this okay? Are we okay? Did you suspect? Is that why you proposed? Not that our relationship wasn’t heading there anyway, but you should not be forced to take this step if you’re not ready for it.”
“Oh, love. I’ve been desperate to propose since we took that trip to Paris—since before that, actually. We’ve never done anything by the book, so why should this be any different? We’re going to be parents?” I said, needing to hear her confirm the words.
A baby. I was going to be a father.
My throat felt as if it was closing, and I couldn’t stop blinking as she nodded, and my eyes left her face to focus on our hands lightly touching her belly.
“When did you find out?”
“Just confirmed yesterday. The first appointment won’t be for another several weeks,” she said, pressing her forehead to mine and closing her eyes.
Fiancée. My fiancée is pregnant.
“Emma. Everything—absolutely everything in my life is better because of you. For the longest time, I was terrified, thinking what I felt was only one-sided. I’m overwhelmed by how much I love you, and I fear one day you’ll realize how much better you could do and wonder why you’ve chosen to stay with me.”
The words were whispered, coming from my deep-seated insecurity that she’d come to realize I was nothing more than a washed-up idiot. Foolish notions. I knew that deep down, but in times like this, when things seemed too good to be true, I wanted to grab and hold on to her with both hands.
“Oh, Miller,” she said, caressing my face and then tightening her hold on the hand resting on her stomach. “Never doubt my love for you, silly man. I know it took me a hot minute to figure it out, but I promise, there is no one else I’d rather share my life with, and no one I could see as a better husband and father.”
The tightness in my throat intensified, and I smiled, man enough to know my eyes were more than a little glassy. I kissed her, then kissed her again, never wanting to stop kissing this incredible woman who loved me and felt so right in my arms. I loved every inch of her divine body, and as my hands ran across her skin, my need for her grew to an inferno, lighting every nerve ending inside me.
“Take me back to bed, fiancée,” she whispered.
I stood, extending my hand to help her up, before pulling her close and lifting her into my arms. Leaning in, I brushed my lips against her pulse point, feeling the warmth of her skin, before heading down the hallway that led to our bedroom.
“As you wish.”