“I don’t need a big speech,” he tells me, the wetness in his eyes spilling over. “Or rose petals or candles or a surprise trip away. I don’t need any of that stuff. I just need you.” He swallows hard, hand coming up to cup the side of my face as his forehead lands on mine. “Yes. The answer is yes. I’ll marry you, Asher Brooks. I’ll marry the shit out of you.”
