A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t mean to … ah …” “Make me choke on my own spit?” I wipe my eyes, which are brimming with cough-induced tears. “Almost kill you with a marriage proposal.” Eli’s mouth kicks up on one side. I blink at him. “You really did say marriage.” “Ah, yeah. I did.” Eli blows out a breath, and he’s so close, I feel it brush my cheek like the softest caress. One of his hands is still warm and solid on my back, the other holding Doris, who has gone back to sleep, her nose tucked into the front pocket of Eli’s forest green flannel shirt. The tips of his ears are pink. “But you were joking, right?” I ask. There’s no way this man needs help finding a fiancée. No way he’d be asking me, a person he’s had minimal interactions with. Someone he’s not even dating. My brain is whirring along, sounding like the old laptop I recently threw out, which sounded like an airplane taking off every time I turned it on. “Yeah. But kind of no?” He gives his head the smallest shake, his smile sheepish. As I stare—because I’m totally staring right now—his cheeks turn the same pink as his ears. “It’s not—ugh. Not like a real marriage.” “A fake marriage, then?” If my voice sounds flat, it’s because that’s how I feel. Like his words are steamrolling me into a pancake. Are fake marriages even a thing outside of Hallmark movies and romance novels? “I mean, it would be real on paper. But not like a marriage marriage. With all the, you know, marriage parts.” “Marriage parts,” I repeat ...