Chapter Thirty-Three
Archer
“Is it too soon to propose?”
Remi handled my question remarkably well. With a thoughtful expression on her face, she set down her mint–chocolate chip ice cream and swiveled to face me. The place was almost empty, considering most of our dates happened later in the evening, when her work was done and Gavin was almost in bed.
“Well, it’s our second official date,” she said, her eyes glinting with humor.
“That’s not a no.”
She motioned for some of my ice cream by opening her mouth. I raised the spoon, loaded with chocolate chip–cookie dough topped with brownie pieces, and watched raptly as she closed her lips around it. Remi hummed, licking at the corner of her mouth.
“Tease,” I whispered, tugging her closer for a sugary kiss.
“Maybe a little too soon.”
It didn’t feel like rejection because we were so fucking happy. Beyond the once-a-week dates, we’d seen each other every day for the last two weeks. Sometimes Analise came to their house with me—she and Pops had discovered a mutual love for Clue—and sometimes Remi and Gavin came over to mine. She hadn’t spent the night again, butwe’d gotten very good at quiet sex in her bedroom after the other occupants of her house were asleep. Or loud sex in my truck before I brought her back home and knew Analise wouldn’t hear.
After another bite of ice cream, an idea occurred to me. “Eight dates,” I told her.
Her brows furrowed. “What about them?”
“That sounds like a perfect amount of time, doesn’t it?”
“To propose,” she clarified. I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t sure if she should believe me.
“Marriage.” I motioned with my hand, making a circular motion over my ring finger. “You and me. Big ring.”
Her eyes widened. “Not that big, please.”
I chuckled, pulling her close for another kiss. The sweet old lady behind the counter smiled, then disappeared through a swinging door to give us some privacy. We’d enjoyed a decent amount of that since the pictures outside the courtroom went public. The buzz had faded quickly because there wasn’t enough of a story to make it juicy.
We met in an unconventional way and fell in love. The end.
Not for us, of course. For us, it was the beginning.
“Sorta big,” I whispered, then kissed her again. “I told you I’d be obnoxious.”
“Fine. Big ring, small wedding,” she said, brow arched in a challenge.
Even though my heart thundered in my chest at the ease with which we talked about it, I kept my face even. “I can handle that.”
As long as she was the one walking down the aisle in my direction, I could handle fucking anything.
It didn’t come up again. Not on date three, only a few days after date two—when I rented out a Michelin-star restaurant and watched her eat the most decadent meal either of us had ever experienced. Not on date four, when we went to a drive-in movie and cuddled under the stars in the bed of my truck.
We didn’t talk about it in between our dates either. Not when I picked up Gavin from the last day of school in a blue Porsche thatlooked exactly like his LEGO set and watched with satisfaction as his classmates high-fived him on his way to where I was waiting in the parking lot. Not when we took Analise to the courthouse to finalize the paperwork for her legal emancipation, which went off without a hitch.
We didn’t talk about it when Analise and I snuck into the shelter and filled out paperwork to adopt Bandit while Remi was in a meeting. She found us in the outdoor space, fitting him with his new red collar and a Buffalo Storm bandanna around his neck. She cried, of course, and even if it still didn’t come up, we were both thinking it.
When dates six and seven rolled around—a picnic dinner at midfield, where we talked about football and what the season would look like when training camp started in just a few days, and then when I cooked dinner at my place, after which she spent the night again—I woke with her in my arms and wondered how the fuck I was supposed to wait to make her mine.
Every single day, every single action, big or small, was another building block in the kind of life we wanted together.
Remi was sound asleep when I snuck into the kitchen to start the coffee. Bandit lifted his head from where he slept on the couch. I’d bought the dog five beds of various shapes and sizes, and the only place he’d sleep was in the corner of the couch where I preferred to stretch out when I watched film.
“What do you think, bud? Stick to the program or wing it?” I asked, leaning down to scratch behind his ears. He leaned into my touch and groaned happily. “Yeah, I think I should wing it too. She’ll forgive me.”