Page 93 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
Her smile?Yeah.That’s the one that gets me.Every time.
I walk into the room with two mugs, one filled with black coffee for me, one with her favorite cinnamon creamer and the tiniest hint of whipped cream.I hand hers over, and she looks at me like I just handed her a puppy and told her it bakes cookies.
“You’re dangerously good at domestic bliss,” she murmurs.
“You say it too proudly, but you.”I point at her.“You’ve corrupted me.”
Win shakes her head.“You always had a cozy heart.You were just in denial.”
I grin.“Tell that to every brooding playlist I’ve ever made.”
She sets her mug on the side table, curls both hands around mine, and tugs me down beside her.Our knees knock.Her foot tucks under my thigh.She’s glowing.
Fuck, I love her.
We’re quiet for a minute.Sinatra plays softly.Snow falls outside, soft and lazy, like even the sky knows there’s nowhere else we need to be.
“You’re really happy here?”I ask.
She tilts her head, studying me.“You mean on the couch?”
“I mean here.With me.In this house.In this life.”
Her smile turns into a thin line, and she’s not breathing while she’s thinking.Once she knows what to say, she sighs, saying, “I didn’t know I could feel this way about anyone.I didn’t know I’d get this kind of love.”She shrugs her shoulder.“I guess yes, I’m happy.Very in love, if you must know, Mr.Thorn.”
She doesn’t know I’ve been carrying a velvet box in my hoodie pocket for the past four hours.
I wanted to wait.
To do it after brunch.Maybe in front of the fireplace when we finally finish decorating.But there’s something about the way she’s looking at me right now—like I’m her whole damn world—that makes me think:No, this is it.This is the moment.
“Okay,” I say.“Don’t move.”
She freezes.“Why?”
“Because I’m about to do something terrifying, and I don’t want to fall on my ass while I do it.”
“Soren—”
I shift to my knee on the carpet.Pull out the box.Pop it open.
She gasps.One hand covers her mouth.The other is still holding my wrist like maybe she’ll wake up if she lets go.
“Winnifred Wolfcraft,” I say, heart hammering so hard it might vibrate out of my chest.“You are the love of my life.You make the world funny and bright and bearable.You believe in vision boards and ficuses and cookie symbolism, and somehow, against every odd I stacked against myself, you chose me.”
Her eyes shimmer.
“I want to wake up with you every morning and remind you that you’re enough.I want to build a life where the glitter doesn’t matter, and the mess means we’re doing it right.I want us.In every version of the future, I can imagine.”
I pause.
“Also, I want to make sure no one else ever gets to see you in those reindeer slippers.”
That makes her laugh through her tears.“Oh my God.”
“So?”I ask.“Will you marry me?”
She doesn’t speak.
