Page 221 of The Sweetest Obsession

But as he leans back, he curls his hand over mine, laying it against his arm and reminding me just how frozen my fingers are, too.

“You forgot your gloves,” he says.

I beam back a cheeky smile.

“I could think of a few ways you could warm my hands up.”

“I could,” he says—and is there something strange in his voice as he pulls back from me? Then he lets me go, his arm slipping from my grasp. “Or you could try putting them in your pockets.”

Huh?

I blink, puzzled, a sting of hurt going through me.

It’s not like Grant to reject me like this, pulling away so I can’t even touch him, but there’s something odd in his eyes.

Something intense, deep and searching and not cold at all, making a lie of his actions.

I don’t understand.

But I need a second to compose myself so I don’t react with instant hurt. Shrugging, I turn away from him to look out at the water, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my lovely new coat.

Then I go completely stiff.

Motionless except for the frantic beat of my heart.

The right pocket.

My fingers brush something—a boxy shape, velvety, a seam under my fingertips, and—I’m not stupid, Iinstantlyknow what it is—but I don’t dare believe it.

Not until I yank the box out with a gasp, holding it up in my palm.

Soft blue velvet, dark as the night sky.

And when I open it, my blood rushing and crying out with joy, I see the unthinkable.

A ring!

It glitters like the first delicate snow drifting out of the sky, diamond-clear, a gorgeously cut stone set in the center and framed by two smaller clear-polished peridots the same shade as my eyes, all on a delicately wrought band of twined silver ropes.

Oh, God.

Oh my God, I’m going to cry.

I’m going to scream.

I’m going to barf.

I’m going to—I’m definitelylaughing, a little manically, clutching at the box with one hand and pressing the other over my mouth, staring down at the ring and then up at Grant as I try not to hyperventilate.

His smug smile calms me, the gentle way his eyes glitter with teasing warmth.

“Grant?” I whisper in the faintest voice.

“Never met a woman who can find more ways to be so contrary,” he says. “Gets herself a brand-new coat and she doesn’t even do the obvious thing and stuff her hands in her pockets on a cold night.” His grin widens as he snorts. He steps closer, his warmth reaching out to me in a cloud. “But I guess that gave me a chance to find a prettier place to propose than the front porch.”

Propose?

Even if I knew it was coming, my brain can’t handle it.

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