Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“What? No. Never.” I jerked my head back only to see Beau grinning broadly. His tender gaze met mine. “Our anniversary was set years ago. I like the idea of sharing my birthday with my love.”
“I like messing with you.” To prove the point, he lifted a hand to ruffle my hair. Since it was bedhead anyway, I didn’t give him grief. “It’s better to be awake. I like our lives too much to miss a second of the day.”
“Me too. And there’s been some updates and schedule changes for today.”
Beau immediately pushed back against the headboard to sit up. I followed, positioning myself to face him better.
“Like how?” he said. The furrowed brow now spoke of possible irritation. It wasn’t a completely mad look, but it was loading. My hand rested on Beau’s cheek, keeping his attention on me.
“Carter’s coming in today,” I started, this being the simplest of the two changes.
“Why?”
“He wanted to meet us. I told him about the anniversary, and he said he’d be scarce. He’s going to take the downstairs bedroom and leave early tomorrow morning.”
Beau’s brows lifted about a millimeter and a half. We’d see how fast they dropped after the next schedule change.
“Then after lunch we’ve been invited to a beach volleyball tournament.”
His brows slammed down like they did when Scott challenged Beau to any sort of competition that ended in a win.
“Babe, no. This can’t be an I-win moment. It’ll be more relaxed. Just fun. They’re law students, not super athletes driven to win.”
He was silent for several long seconds. “I don’t believe that. You’re more competitive than me, making my wins sweeter. I’m calling it. We’re on separate teams.”
“No,” I said and shook my head to drive home my answer. “Only casual play. I have a short time to gain lots of ground with these people. They can push me to headhunters or firms that I should have been courting for years.”
“We’re still pier fishing?” Beau questioned.
“Yes and hitting up the street food vendors,” I added.
“For sure,” he said, giving me a subtle hint of encouragement with the way his lip quirked in the corner.
“And we’re still wearing the clothes I picked out?” I said, trying to get his agreement on this well-battled idea I’d had about a month ago.
“Matching shirts? I feel like that’s not my personality,” he hedged again.
“I believe it is your personality, and you’re just not understanding it yet,” I countered, fully aware that since conception of the idea that he’d scoff at wearing matching anything. “I got an anniversary present for you too,” I said, extending my arm to reach the oversized ring box hidden in the folds of the bedspread. I was excited for the next few minutes. I’d planned this for more years than I could say. Now a favorite memory of the way I passed my time, waiting for my guy to return. “Here.”
Beau’s brow lifted critically. “What’s in there?”
“Take it and see,” I encouraged.
“It looks like a ring,” he said, still skeptical. Of what? Who knew.
“It’s not a ring,” I said and lifted one of his heavy hands and placed the box on his palm. “Open it.”
I couldn’t tell if this new facial expression was one of relief or why not. Beau clasped the box and manipulated it until the opening faced him. He gave me a disbelieving quizzical stare then looked down at the box. With purposeful movements, he flipped the lid open. His eyes narrowed again. “Is this a spool of thread?” he asked, confused.
In his puzzlement, I rose to a sitting position and took the ring and pre-readied thread from underneath my pillow. My anxiety caused my heart to race, and my voice to crack as I spoke. “I’m not sure I was ever given the option to love you. It was from our first meeting that I began planning our long lives together.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I added the loop at the end of my piece of thread onto Beau’s ring finger. “We’ve been through hard times. The complete destruction of ourselves and our families. Through it all, we stayed committed if only by a thread.” I grinned as I changed my prepared proposal spontaneously. “A text message thread.”
I let the heavy ring slide down the string to land on the tip of his finger.
“Will you marry me?” The tears that had stayed just under the surface spilled from my eyes. Not a flood, only a slip here or there.
“Baby, you know we can’t do that,” Beau whispered, his eyes riveted on the ring stuck right above the knuckle.
“I refuse to be excluded from anything straight people can have. We’ll have a commitment ceremony, and I’ll take care of…”
Beau’s brawny frame shifted, toppling me over as he extended his arm for a small sack on his nightstand. I hadn’t noticed it before. With flourish, he settled into a full sitting position, back against the headboard, a pillow crammed behind him. A small gift bag was presented to me.