“But the last time I begged someone I loved to come with me when they really didn’t want to go, I lost them.” Ambrose wrapped a strand of Fern’s red hair around his finger, his brow furrowed, his mouth turned down in a wistful frown. “You want me to come to school with you?” Fern asked. “Kind of.” “Kind of?” “I love you Fern. And I want you to marry me.” “You do?” Fern squealed. “I do. It doesn’t get better than Fern Taylor.” “It doesn’t?” Fern squeaked. “It doesn’t.” Ambrose couldn’t help laughing at her incredulous little face. “And if you’ll have me, I will spend the rest of my life trying
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