28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
28
Afew days later, we find ourselves at the same bar where we met—the local spot for the Montreal Blizzard. The chances of us running into anyone are slim since the season is over. I was surprised that Wells suggested we come here, of all places.
“What are you getting to drink? What was it you had here last time? Was it a Shirley Temple or a Cosmopolitan?”
“Haha...I think that prick Gagnon ordered Elliot and me Cosmos. God bless that son of a bitch, though; I would have never met the love of my life without him.”
“Aww, thank you, babe...I’m going to run to the restroom. Be right back.”
I weave through the laughter and the clinking of glasses, striding back from the bathroom when I collide with what feels like a wall of firm cotton and warm skin. Startled, I bounce back slightly, my hand flying up to steady myself against the obstruction.
It’s only when my fingers clutch fabric and my eyes dart up that I find Wells. Shoulders broad, a suddenly sheepish smile flickering on his lips as he steadies me by the arms.
This is like some déjà vu—just like the way we met. But now, here he is, suddenly in my path as if conjured by the very thought of him.
“What are you—" My eyebrows pinch together in a silent question, not needing to finish my sentence because I could swear I just left his ass at the table, scarfing down mozzarella sticks.
He chuckles, a low rumble I feel down to my toes as his eyes descend on my body like the first night. “I remember you mentioning that no one should’ve let you leave your house in heels, though I still beg to differ.”
“I highly doubt someone would like to hear about my obsession with skincare products and love for Jimmy Choos.”
“From what I’ve gathered, your love for Jimmy Choos has shifted to someone else.”
“Mhm.” He means him. And he’s not wrong.
“If you wanna keep me company, I know a place we can go.”
I stare back at him, remembering that line and all its dark promises. “Just ice cream, huh? I remember that story differently.”
“I remember it on the daily.” He erases some of the space between us. “And I enjoyed the outcome.”
My cheeks blaze with a blush. “Did you? I never did buy you that other drink?”
“I can think of several other ways you can make it up to me.”
One of my brows raises. “Can you now?”
His gaze has the tenacity of gravity, pulling me into a moment I know all too well. The curve of his lips is laden with unspoken stories and memories that leave me breathless.
"I'm sure you can, too," he muses, the heat in his eyes telegraphing all the ways he’s thinking of taking me without a single word spoken aloud. “How about I take you out for that ice cream so I can watch you tease me again with that tongue.”
The air crackles with heavy and sweet tension. With the proximity of our bodies, every nerve ending in my skin is aware of him, aware of the potential of his touch and what he can do with it.
“How about you just take me home so I can show you—”
“I was thinking about something better, Snowflake. Something more… permanent.”
I tip my head to one side. “Permanent?”
He steps closer, and though there’s barely any distance left to close, it feels like miles. The air shifts around us again, charged with a gravity that pulls at something deep within my chest.
“Yes,” Wells affirms with a nod, his voice carrying a tone of finality, of decision. “I like the sound of that. Permanent.”
My pulse races and a riotous beat drowns out the bar's ambient noise. I search his face, looking for the familiar playfulness, but instead, I find a certainty that sparks a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
"Think about it, Rory. No more chasing fleeting moments. No more goodbyes at the door." His thumb grazes my cheek lightly, a silent underscore to his words. “You in my bed every single fucking night.”
The idea fans out before me like cards on a table, each one a different shade of life shared—a life with him.
Permanent.
It’s a vision I’ve entertained in secret daydreams, but now it’s out in the open, bold and unashamed.
“And what are you suggesting?” I manage, my voice a balancing act between anxiety and a leap of faith.
With a tender intensity in his green eyes, Wells shifts, dipping his hand into his pocket. "I’m talking about something that starts with a question," he says, with a gravity that tethers me to the spot.
Oh crap.
Time lulls into a heavy, waiting pause.
Two months and two weeks.
My breath catches because, for the first time, I understand the depth of a word I only thought I wanted to dance around.
Marriage.
And all at once, I know—I’m ready to hear that question.
Wells' hand emerges from his pocket, clasping a small black box that instantly commands my attention. He sinks to one knee. This simple act marks the beginning of a new trajectory for my life. The weight of it is not lost on me.
I can feel every eye lock on us as Wells looks up at me, and I’m frozen to my spot with underlying ease.
"Rory," he begins, his voice clear and sure, each syllable laced with tenderness. “I love you. I always love you. I want to make you the happiest woman alive. Will you—”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t let me finish my question.”
“You know I’m going to say yes.”
“To go to get ice cream later? Yes, baby, I know you will. But let me get this question out so I know, for sure, that we’re on the same page together.”
I shift my weight impatiently because this is Well’s form of torture when it comes to me. He loves this shit.
“Aurora Sellers—”
“You didn’t have that before in your first question,” I scold with narrowed eyes. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
“Says the woman who wore an ungodly tight dress just to make my dick stand to attention all night. Now, where were we?”
I glower at him, but he never wipes off that arrogant smirk. “Ah, yes, Aurora Sellers, the love of my life, will you marry me?”
“Oh, is that what you were going to ask me? I didn’t understand the whole knee and ring part.”
His brows clench because now the tables have turned, and I’m going to give him shit. “Ha ha.”
“I think I lost my answer somewhere between getting ice cream and—”
“Answer the damn question, Snowflake,” he grounds out. “Or I’ll just force the ring on your finger and tell your daddy you practically mauled me in a public place just to get it on.”
“You asked my dad?”
I’m stunned.
I mentioned that I wanted Dad to come to terms with us—as much as he could—before we took any significant steps, but that’s huge.
“I did,” he deadpans.
“And he said yes?”
“He said you needed to say yes.”
“I already did.”
“Say it again.”
“I don’t like repeating myself,” I sigh, looking down at my empty fingers that will soon hold Judson Wells’s ring. They’ll never look the same again. “Besides—”
“I swear to God, woman, you’ve had your fun. And if I’m going to sit here on my knees for another minute, I will definitely make a scene.”
A playful defiance sparkles in my eyes, offset by the affectionate exasperation in his voice. His feigned impatience is a dance we both know well, but the gravity behind the act is new and exhilarating.
“Fine,” I tease, the warmth of a thousand unspoken promises tumbling into a single word. “Yes. Yes, Judson Wells, I’ll marry you. And no, you don’t need to make a scene...unless you count the one, you're already making by making me the happiest woman in the world.”
I reach out, trembling slightly as he opens the black box to reveal the ring. It glints even in the low light as if it’s winking at me, just like him when he’s on the ice.
Wells slips the ring onto my finger and stands, taking me into his arms before his lips collide needily with mine. In all his fashion, his tongue slides into my mouth, and gone is the innocence and teasing.
This is a hungry and silent promise of forever.
Damn, who would’ve known that I’d get proposed to at this same bar where I stopped him from going at Charles Gagnon?
“We’ve got quite the story, don’t we?” Wells whispers, his breath warm against my ear as his lips graze my temple. “Let’s get you home. I want to celebrate.”
“How about we up the ante and celebrate in the car?” I solicit as I press my lips to the outline of his jaw. “I don’t want to wait.”
He laughs, a sound that wraps around me and comforts me. One I’m never going to get sick of. “You’re becoming a bad influence on me, Snowflake.”
“Just don’t moan too loud when I’m rubbing you through your pants,” I tease. “You might make the driver uncomfortable.”
“Oh, please. You know, that’s why they have a divider. I’m sure the driver won’t hear a thing. You’ll be rocking the whole thing when you sit in my lap, taking me nice and deep.”
God.
And it sounds fitting because that’s precisely where he’s meant to be.
Because I’ll love Judson Wells forever and always.