He wanted to put a ring on Riley Thorn’s finger. Before her, he’d never even considered things like getting engaged or married or, you know, the future. They’d only known each other for four months. There was mozzarella in the cheese drawer older than their relationship. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back. They owned a home together. They worked together. They had a dog together. This wasn’t just another new relationship. This was the relationship. This was it. She was it.
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