Chapter 18
Harrison
Here we are, on a breathtaking stretch of beach overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The sun is dipping into the sea. The breeze is scented with sea salt and gardenia.
It would be the perfect way to propose.
If I had a ring.
“I’m sorry I’m not very good company,” Pix says.
I wrap an arm around her, squeezing tight, determined to build her up. “You were deceived by people you should’ve been able to trust.”
She pokes me in the ribs. “You’re not off the hook, mister.”
Shit. Does she know I lost her ring?
She look up at me, a soft smile across her lips. “You and Gabe kept some notes from me.”
The notes Pierce had tucked in her suitcase. I let out a long breath, then kiss the top of her head. “You’re right.”
“Whose idea was it?” she presses in that coy, sultry voice that drives me to the brink of insanity.
“You’ll have to torture it out of me,” I murmur. “With your tongue.”
“Maybe I will,” she says, leaning into me. “If you tell me what the text I sent you said.”
“The text?” I stretch out the words because the very first text she ever sent me only reminds me how I should be on one knee about now.
Or, at least tell her how I feel.
We come to the end of the marina, and I say the words I should’ve said all along. I take her face in my hands. “I love you, Pix.”
“I love you, Lumberjack.”
We kiss, and I know this is the only woman I’ll ever kiss again.
When we finally break away, my stubborn little Pix doesn’t let go. “What did the text say?”
“The text?” I stretch out the words because the very first text she ever sent me only reminds me how I should be on one knee about now.
“Tell me,” she begs, batting those big, gorgeous eyes up at me.
Am I doing this?
No, I can’t propose now. It would be like saying, Marry me. And here’s an IOU for the ring.
Instead, I pull out my phone, and play it off. “Jesus, you’re laying it on thick. You’re worse than the kids.”
I scroll to the text in question, and hand it to her. “Read it for yourself.”
Her eyes narrow as she reads the text she sent me during our first date.
Though “date” feels generous considering Pix was several tequilas in, wild, adorable, and somehow drunk-texting the guy giving her a boost so she could dance on a table.
Which was me.
The luckiest damn guy alive.
A laugh explodes from her. “I did not say that.”
About me and my wood? I point to the screen. “Oh, I have written proof,” I say. Her laughter fills my heart. I tap the phone again. “But it gets better.”
I tap the phone.
And she keeps reading.
She stares at the words, blinking through tears.
Pix predicted everything. Well, everything except me losing the ring.
“It’s like I’m clairvoyant,” she taunts.
“You certainly are.” My hand wraps hers, my thumb dusts her finger. Silicone or not, right here, right now, she’s mine. “Mrs. Evans.”
We kiss and kiss. Until our magical nearly a proposal moment is plowed apart by three little humans tackling us.
They’re all laughing, a big ball of giggling joy.
“You brought the kids?” Pix hugs them so hard.
“More of a stowaway situation,” I explain, kissing her until the kids pry us apart and claim her for themselves.
Which means I’m officially outnumbered.
Cockblocked by the best of them.
But seeing how over the moon she is right now, there’s no rush.
I’ll bide my time.
Because I plan on stealing every second I can get with her.
Starting tonight.
In my bed.
Ring or no ring.