Page 123 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

Let me.

I bite my lip against my smile as I wriggle happily, nervously, in the now-smooth sheets.

I throw them off wildly and ease out of bed. I splash off my face, brush my bedhead waves. I slip on the purple dress that I wore to our first date, clumsy and clinging to the doorway as I step into the flower sneakers I wore, too.

My reflection greets me in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. Glittering eyes, flushed cheeks. Hope beats through me in tempo with my heart.

And then I make my way down the stairs, clutching the banister, not as fast as I want but as fast as I can manage. I throw open the door and stop in my tracks.

There’s Will, in that same pumpkin-orange shirt he wore on our first date, standing beneath the wisteria and rose trellis.

I grip the doorway, steeling myself to stay steady.

But it’s so damn hard. Will smiles at me, that soft, sweet smile only for me. Hector sits at his feet, tongue lolling as he pants. His tail thumps hard on the slate pavers as he looks at me, and I know how hard it is for him to obey the command Will’s given him to stay, to wait.

For me.

Slowly, I push off the doorway and draw the door shut behind me. I take one step toward Will, then another, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Hector whines, glancing between us.

“Stay,” Will tells him again, his eyes fixed on me.

“He can come,” I tell him gently. Hector whines up at Will again. I’m a softie for Hector, and all three of us know it.

“He can wait,” Will says, those stunning eyes fixed on me as I draw closer. “I had to wait thirty-four years for you, Juliet. He can wait thirty-four seconds.”

I laugh softly, but it’s tinged with the threat of tears thickening my throat.

Finally, I’m a step away from Will, under the canopy of blossoms, drenched in their lush, lovely fragrance.

I don’t tear my gaze away from Will as I glide my hand across Hector’s head, then feel his rough sandpaper tongue, warm and wet along my palm.

“Juliet,” Will says quietly. “Hi.”

My heart clutches. The same words he said on that first date, on our do-over when I walked across the café and he watched me, every step of the way.

I play my part, my smile wobbling as I try not to cry. “Hi, Will.”

“I’m not going to offer you a handshake,” he says, quoting himself.

My vision blurs with tears.

“Because, this time,” he says, “I’m exactly sure what I should offer you.” Slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, he sinks to one knee.

Tears spill down my cheeks. I lift my hands to my face, heart racing, my fingertips wet as more tears slip from my eyes.

“Viola Juliet Wilmot,” Will says quietly, “just over a year ago, I hatched a harebrained scheme with you based on the belief that the love you wanted was the last thing I would ever have. I’ve learned a lot since then: that you are the most generous heart and you have a beautiful gift for loving people in a way that makes them feel loved so damn well, that I am imperfect and so are you, but we fit perfectly, in a way I never knew was possible.

“I know we started off determined that romantic love would be the last thing we’d ever share, and as terrible as it is now, the thought of ever being in your presence and doing anything but loving you with everything I am, I will never regret how we began. Because if we hadn’t, I would have never been brave enough, never tried, never had the chance to learn that I could love you and that you could love me, and that would have been a tragedy.”

I step closer, my dress drifting over his bent knee, and I clasp his dear, handsome face. I’ve given up trying not to cry. I just stand over him, loving him, listening to him, letting my tears run free. Hector’s doggy tail wags in the air as he sniffs at Will’s shoulder, then nuzzles my hip, his happy dog pants the only sound in the silence that holds between us like a bated breath.

The wind dances through the air, ruffling Will’s sun-kissed copper hair, swaying my dress as I stare down at him. I don’t rush this moment; I don’t speak a word or fill his quiet. I stroke his cheek and wait.

Will swallows thickly as tears fill his eyes, too, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, jagged with emotion. “I don’t often have the right words, let alone the perfect ones that you deserve. But I do have this—a heart for loving that’s all yours, for always, if you’ll have me. If you’ll…” He sighs heavily, his hand clasping mine, pressed hard to his cheek. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a carved wood box. Carefully, he eases it open, revealing a sunshine-gold band, a dazzling, starry diamond. “Juliet, will you marry me?”

I nod, smiling so wide, my tearstained cheeks ache. “Nothing would make me happier. Yes, Will.” I laugh through tears, bending toward him as he slips it on my finger. I watch him tug at a clasp that widens the band, making it slip easily over my often swollen knuckle. Then he folds the clasp back until it clicks and the ring rests snug at the base of my finger. I stare down at my beautiful ring, beautiful to not just my eyes but my heart, then at Will, laughing, crying, doubled over with joy. “I get to marry you!”

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