Dr. Reed fired the next question, “Who is thepresident?”
“Herman Cain.” I snorted loudly and added,“Nine. Nine. Nine.”
Dr. Reed turned to Ben and asked, “Has shebeen drinking?”
Ben gave a slight shrug. “Not that I’m awareof.”
After asking a slew of questions, Dr. Reedrecommended a MRI to rule out internal bleeding and other seriousbrain injuries.
“An MRI is always a good idea, just to ruleout other possibilities,” said Dr. Reed. “It helps give you peaceof mind. And we don’t have to do the MRI right away; we canschedule an appointment tomorrow or next week. For now, I’d likeyou to go home and take it easy, OK?”
“OK.” I nodded obediently, thankful to leavethe ER. Perhaps this Valentine’s Day could still be salvaged afterall.
Ben plumped up the cushions and I slowlyeased myself onto the sofa. “Can you please get me a drink?” Iasked, milking my injury for all it’s worth. “And a bowl ofgelato?”
Ben padded to the kitchen, fetching me aglass of water and a tub of chocolate gelato.
“My neck hurts,” I simpered and shot Ben aninjured princess look. “Can you give me a neck rub?”
“Scooch over,” Ben commanded and flopped downon the sofa next to me. Spooning me from behind, he massaged myneck with long kneads and gentle strokes. “So, what would you liketo do tonight?”
“Watch a chick flick,” I said, stuffing myface with gelato.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Roman Holiday,” I cried joyfully.
“Ciao Bella!” Ben gave a throatylaugh. “That’s such an old movie.”
“It’s a classic!” I retorted. “Plus, AudreyHepburn is a star’s star!”
“Oh alright,” Ben relented. “Since you almostsmashed your head into smithereens tonight, I guess I’ll gird myloins and watch a chick flick.”
Ben popped the DVD into the player and we satback, immersing ourselves in the beautiful world of black andwhite. The chemistry between Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck wasmagnetic and by the time the credits rolled, I was sniffling. “Ifwish they had DVDs back in 1950’s; they could have shot analternate happy ending.”
“Hey. . .” Ben soothed, cupping my chin andcradling my face between his hands. “Don’t be sad. You can haveyour own happy ending . . . I haven’t given you your Valentine giftyet.”
I sat up straighter. “Gift?
“Well, first off, how do you feel?” Hiseyebrows furrowed with concern. “Does your head still hurt?”
“It still throbs a little, but I feelfine.”
“Good! Because I couldn’t wait to give youthis . . .” Ben reached inside his pocket, produced a ring andslipped it onto my finger.
Gazing at my princess cut engagement ring, mybreath caught in my throat. “It’s exquisite.”
“You’re exquisite,” he deadpanned.
“Liar!” I flashed a toothy grin. “My fronttooth is missing and I’ve got a bruise on my head the size of acantaloupe.”
He pinched my nose. “You’re stillexquisite.”
I delivered a solid punch to his arm. “Youknow I would have been happy and content with just the rubber stampon my wrist.”
“I know.” He touched my hair; the tendernessin his voice was overwhelming. “That’s why I love you so much.”
“So . . .” My voice pitched higher. “Wouldyou still like to see the surprise I had in store for you?”
Ben’s lips twisted into a quirk smile. “I’vealready seen you in your dominatrix Wonder Woman get-up.”
“No,” I protested. “Not that!” I extended myhand, holding up my wrist. “This!”
Ben took my little hand in his big hand,examining the symbols that decorated my left wrist. A mixture ofemotions played across his face. “You got it inked?”
“Yep. I sure did—in Hebrew.” I beamedbeatifically. “It’s a permanent tattoo! And you better not make melive to regret this.”
“I won’t!” His voice was confident and firm.After a slight pause, he asked, “Why in Hebrew?”
“Well if I’d gotten the words ‘NOT FORCIRCULATION’ tattooed across my wrist, I’m pretty sure I’d resemblea walking reference book.”
“Liv, you are my reference book.” Hecast me a meaningful look. “I’d be so lost without you.”
I shook my head, my eyes crinkling at thesides. “OK, you can quit being a cornball now.”
Standing up, Ben scooped me into his arms andwalked toward the bedroom, carrying me over the threshold as if itwere our honeymoon night. “This marriage is a done deal in mybooks.” He added, “And our story . . . our book will forever beshelved in the non-fiction aisle.”
A bubble of laughter escaped me. “You’re sucha dork!”
“Shhhhhhhh,” Ben shushed. “No talking in thelibrary of lurrrve.”
Then he silenced me with a kiss.
The End.
If you enjoyed Love In The Stacks, you mayalso enjoy Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel, byLisa Lim:
Praise for Confessions of a Call CenterGal:
“Confessions of a Call Center Gal is a fun mixof Bridget Jones’s Diary and The Office.” ~ Books Etc.
“Think Chelsea Handler, plus the politicallyincorrect show The Office, plus chick lit. Are you alreadylaughing? ~ Precision Reviews
“Confessions of a Call Center Gal is achick-lit approach to the call center.” ~ The Wall StreetJournal
“The chick lit version of ‘Office Space’ for a newgeneration. ~ Chick Lit Central
