Page 17 of Everywhere You Look

“What. Is Going. On?” I repeat, punctuating my words to try to hide my nerves.

“Babe,” Dean says, the creepy smile on his face seeming very similar to the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas. “I have a wonderfully crazy idea.”

Lori plugs her ears, singing an out of tune chorus of “La La Las” that sounds like I’m being punched in my ear holes.

“Don’t we have attorney-client privilege?” Dean says, raising his voice over the singing.

“Oh, yeah. I guess you do. Sorry, I don’t usually have a lot of scheming going on in my office. I forgot that attorney-client privilege extends to more than just murderers and stuff. Go on, then.”

I close my eyes and count to five, forcing myself to take a deep breath before I askagain.

“Will one of you please tell me what the wonderfully crazy idea is?”

Neither Lori nor Dean speaks, and I know I shouldn’t let my temper get out of control, but these two are really pushing my fucking buttons right now.

When I snap my eyes open to tell them just that, I find Dean on his knees on the floor in front of me.

No, not his knees.

Dean is on one knee in front of me, my hands still gripped in his warm, calloused palms.

“Luke, will you marry me?”

8

OL’ BROWN EYES

Dean

I wish I could say this is the first time I proposed to someone, but that would be a lie. I’ve done this once before when I was nothing more than a young chicken with a legacy to uphold and a white plastic stick mocking me from the ledge of the sink. At twenty-one, getting down on one knee on Samantha’s bathroom floor while she sat on the edge of the bathtub and cried felt like the right thing to do. Two pink lines showed up on that stick, and my priorities shifted.

Samantha needed me, and my dads raised me to be the kind of man who shows up when I’m needed. She called me crazy for proposing—which, in hindsight, was the best thing she’d ever done forme—but even back then, I wasn’t devastated by her no.

Kneeling here in front of Luke on the floor of Lori’s office–this is me being that man again. I’m showing up when I’m needed, and while the circumstances aren’t all that different from my last proposal, it feels different.

I loved Samantha, but when she left and never looked back, it wasn’t losingherthat crushed me.

If Luke says no—if he thinks I’m insane for the whole idea, decides that I’m more trouble than I’m worth and leaves, I might not survive the devastation.

But the thing is, I know that I’m not insane. I know this is the right thing to do. Sure, I may have never stood a chance of turning my friendship with Luke into something more, but it’s okay. Luke might not ever be my boyfriend, but he could be my husband, even if it’s just for show. And that doesn’t sound half bad at all.

If only he would stop staring at me like I’ve just dropped to the floor and suggested we fuck off to Texas and take up bull-riding as a fun little hobby on the weekends.

“I’m sorry…what?”

I feel a low growl rumble through my chest because that is not exactly the kind of response adude wants to hear when he’s proposing marriage, and I’m getting kind of sick of not being met with an enthusiastic yes every time I ask someone this question.

I’d be a great husband. I’m a fucking catch, dammit.

But I sprung this on Luke, so I guess I can forgive his utter lack of eagerness. My words likely haven’t registered in that beautiful brain yet. Ol’ brown eyes up there just needs to hear the question again.

“Luke, will you marry me? I know I don’t have a ring and a law office isn’t exactly a sunset picnic on the beach but, I love you, man. I love you and I love your kids, and it would be an honor if you’d let me be a permanent part of your family. Cannon-McKenna Clan forever, babe.”

A beat passes. Then another. I shift uncomfortably. The hardwood floor of Lori’s office isn’t doing my thirty-six-year-old knee any favors.

“Dean,” Luke says through gritted teeth. “Can I speak to you out in the hall?”

Well, shit. I guess this is why you shouldn’t propose to someone in public. Especially if the someone you’re proposing to is your friend who is in a lawyer’s office on the brink of losing custody of his kids.

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