“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 to make you happy, and when you get tired of looking at me, I promise I’ll sing.” Fern laughed, a watery, hiccupping sound. “Yes or no?” Ambrose said seriously, reaching for her hand, the ultimate either/or question hanging in the air between them. “Yes.”
