gazes met. Normally when she greeted him, he looked at her with either warm amusement or blatant heat. Right now she saw neither. In fact, he suddenly looked very…unamused. Very serious.
“You okay?” she asked.
Something flashed in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher other than to know it didn’t reassure her. Neither did the fact that he released her and backed up a step.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Uh-oh. Normally those words wouldn’t have worried her, but there was something in his eyes, in his demeanor that edged real worry down her spine.
Reaching out, she rested her hand on his arm. “What’s wrong, Adam?”
He raked a hand through his dusty hair. “I’ve been thinking about…us. And the thing is, Mallory…I’m not happy anymore.”
Everything inside her seemed to stall. Her breath, her heart, her blood. An odd, numb sensation eased through her limbs and she had to lock her knees to keep them from shaking.
Not happy anymore? How was this possible? When had this happened? She wanted to ask him, but the words simply wouldn’t come. Instead she just stared at him, his words echoing through her mind. When she was finally able to speak, all that came out was a whispered, “Not happy?”
He shook his head. “No. And I need to do something about it. That’s why I brought you that.” He jerked his head toward the far corner of the half-finished basement. Mallory turned and a puzzled frown pulled at her brows.
“A suitcase?” she murmured. His way of telling her to take a hike? Or maybe she’d misunderstood? A sliver of sunshine worked its way through the dark cloud his words had brought. Maybe the suitcase was filled with clothes- his way of telling her that he wanted to nail down a date for their trip to Europe? She latched on to that since the alternative rendered her incapable of breathing.
He walked to the corner, then wheeled the suitcase back, resting it next to her. “Open it,” he said, crouching next to the piece of luggage, tugging gently on her hand.
Lowering herself next to him, she reached out with shaking hands and slowly unzipped the bag. Then drawing a bracing breath and offering up a quick prayer to whichever saint protected women in love, she opened the lid.
And stared.
At an entire suitcase filled with-
“Hershey’s Kisses?” She stared in amazement at the little silver foil-wrapped drops. “There must be hundreds of them in here.”
“Ten thousand,” he said.
“Yes.” Clasping her hands, he stood, drawing her to her feet. “And asking for ten thousand kisses from you in return. If you give me one every day, it will take you 27.39726 years to pay me back. At that point, I figure I’ll fill up the suitcase with another ten thousand and we can start all over again.”
Speechless, she slowly shifted her gaze from him down to the Chocolate-Kiss-stuffed suitcase, then back up to him. Her throat tightened and tears pushed behind her eyes, and she wasn’t sure which she was going to do first- laugh or cry. Before she could figure it out, he gently took her face between his calloused palms.
“I love you, Mallory. And I’m not happy anymore just being your boyfriend. I want more. I want you. For the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
She flung her arms around him and peppered his face, his jaw, with kisses, simultaneously laughing and crying. Then she leaned back and glared at him. “You scared me to death.”
“
“None. So let me try. Will you marry me?”
He hiked up his brows. “I asked you first.”
“That means I can’t ask you?”
“No, it means you’re supposed to answer before you ask me.”
“What if I say yes and you say no?”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. “Not much chance of that, sweetheart.”
“Okay, then yes. I’ll marry you.”
“Okay, then yes, I’ll marry you, too.” Laughing, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around until she was giggling and dizzy. “Looks like our timing finally worked out perfectly.”
“Very perfectly.”
Setting her back on her feet, he lowered his head and laid a searing, deep kiss on her that did nothing to make her less dizzy.
When the kiss ended, he said, “I already know what I want you to give me for a wedding gift.”
“Gift? What makes you think you’re going to get a gift?” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Good grief, we’ve been engaged for two minutes and already you want stuff.”
“I want a set of boudoir photos of my beautiful, sexy wife.”
“Ah. And you’ll be the photographer?”
“Hell, yes. Like I’d let anyone else take the pictures.”
“Seems fitting, especially since it was my trip to Picture This that reunited us.” She smiled into his eyes and said, “How about we go buy a carton of Rocky Road and celebrate our engagement?”
He grinned and, lifting her off her feet, he started up the stairs. “And there’s that same-wavelength thing again.”
Jacquie D’Alessandro
