Page 124 of A Pizza My Heart

Her impish smile grows. “Because you’re easy to tease, Foster.” Her mouth connects with my ear and she whispers, “Oh, how the turntables.”

She pushes off me in a flash, flinging herself to the other side of the truck, firmly planting herself behind the wheel.

“You little…little…”

“Little what? Genius?Sexygenius?”

“Bunghole!” I explode.

She giggles, turning the engine over and swinging around, back toward the house.

“You are killing me. Drew is going to kill you. Don’t you want to see your godson?”

Her smile fades and she groans. “Ugh, fine, you’re right. I wanted to look nice though. It’s my first time meeting Beth as my dad’s girlfriend.”

“Is it though? They’ve been seeing each other for over a year now.”

“Yeah, but he justfinallyadmitted it last week. This will be our first…you know…thing.”

“Wren, she’s worked with you for years. She’s seen you in every circumstance possible. Don’t make it weird.”

She sulks. “You’re so bossy when you’re right.”

Another U-turn and we’re finally on our way to Drew’s.

We pull into the apartment complex and Wren throws the truck into park, staring up at the building with big eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“The baby?” She nods. “He’s a baby—of course he’s going to like you. How could he not?”

“I don’t know. What if no babies ever like me?”

“Where the hell is this coming from? Are you pregnant or some shit?”

She balks. “Jesus, Foster! Just put itallout there. No, I’m not knocked up.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “But, you know, I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.”

“About?” I push.

“The future, us…what it’s going to look like for us. You’re getting super old.” I roll my eyes because we’re the same age. If I’m old, she’s old too. “We should probably talk about babies and marriage and stuff at some point.”

If I thought I couldn’t love her more, this moment proves me wrong.

She looks so…vulnerable asking for a future with me without really asking.

Wren Daniels is really, truly, head over heels in love with me.

And the feeling’s fucking mutual.

“Are you asking me to marry you, Wren?”

Her mouth drops open. “What? No! I—” She pauses then purses her lips. “You know what, screw it. Yes, I’m proposing.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” She climbs up on the bench seat, kneeling on one knee, her skirt flirting with showing me one of my favorite parts of her. “Foster Marlett, will you do me the honor of making me your wife? I promise to love you until I’m at least thirty, always let you order chicken strips, always give you free haircuts, and let you name our next dog anything but Dwight.”

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