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It spins. I’m ninety percent sure they don’t usually do that.
“Hey, can you guys take me somewhere to get pregnant and try illegal narcotics? For funsies?”
She probably can. After a year of obsession, of catching myself staring at her from across the room and finding any excuse to be near her, of almost losing her today, I’m too fucking tired to hide
Not as her best friend’s father, not as her boss, but as a man who takes care of a woman who means the world to him.
“Much better now that I’m not cosplaying murder victim number four from the Saw movies.”
She’s smaller than me, softer, and holding her is like coming home after a lifetime away.
“No,” he says at last. “Actually, I’m going to marry you.” Everything, from the snow outside to my own heartbeat, seems to slow. “That’s not funny,” I whisper, frantic, because he can’t be serious. “You and I are not an option, Bram. Marrying me isn’t on the menu!” The man across from me smiles slightly, “We’ll see.”
Sophie Vogel—that’s my end game.
“Tell me,” I plead again, my voice rough with emotion and the unbelievable sensations her body is giving mine. “I love you.”
“You can’t take it back in the morning,” I tell her as she rests her head on the pillow beside mine. With a lazy hum, Sophie reaches from beneath the covers to take my hand. “You’d never let me get away with it,”
In the corner beside the crackling fire, there is a real, honest-to-God Christmas tree, strung with white lights and ribbons and ornaments. Made of what appears to be regular white copy paper, paper chains crisscross the ceiling, interspersed with handmade snowflakes and more strings of Christmas lights.
“In the spirit of full disclosure, I did use one of my sick days because the night before I ate an entire pot brownie without reading the label, and it turns out you’re only supposed to have a sixteenth at a time.”
The night I realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was going to marry her.
