“Because even though it doesn’t matter to me, or to you apparently, it’s a status symbol. A symbol many people will be checking on. The ring needs to be big because it’s important.”
“But won’t it look like we’re humble if we settle for something small? Kind of like we’d rather spend our money feeding the children in Africa than wearing a giant diamond on my finger?”
I squeeze her hand. “And that’s one of the reasons why you’re so amazing, Charlee, because your mind thinks with generosity rather than selfishness. Unfortunately, the people we’ll be showing the ring to don’t think that way. For them to network with me, with us, they need to know we’re on the same playing field, which means, big rings.” And if I’m truly honest, this is for me too. I want my wife, convenient or not, to have something incredible on her finger. And if anyone deserves this, it’s Charlee. For the fucker who left her in tears at the altar, for the way she’s color-coded and brightened my life, and for the fact that she said yes to me. She deserves this and more. But for now, an extravagant ring it is.
“Ugh, that’s stupid.” She leans back in her chair and stares at the rings. “But I know what you mean. Mr. Danvers was always polishing himself up before big events because he knew he had to put on a good show, even though he lived and breathed for casual Fridays where he could wear his jeans to work.”
“See? It’s not just me.”
“Fine.” She peers at the rings and gives them a good study, picking them up and carefully examining every aspect of them. Once she’s done, she says, “Do you have a favorite?” I nod. “Which one is it?”
“I’m not telling you. This is your decision, not mine.”
“What if I pick an ugly one that you hate?”
“I’ll be sure to never look at your finger.”
Pursing her lips, she gives them one more look before saying, “Okay, let’s point to our favorite on the count of three. And don’t you dare back down. You must point.”
“Okay.”
She looks me in the eyes and counts. “One. Two. Three. Point.”
We both go toward the middle ring, the one with the intricate details and just like that, her face lights up. “Oh my God, we’re already the cutest couple ever. Look at us pointing out the same thing. Hashtag soul mates.”
Chuckling and knowing this is going to be more fun with Charlee than any other person, I pick up the ring, scoot my chair out, and get down on one knee. “This right here, this will be our moment that we tell everyone. When they ask how I proposed, we’ll say I surprised you with a trip to Tiffany’s, where I escorted you to the back room. We’ll tell people we fought over how expensive the ring was, but then I cupped your cheek”—I do just that, reaching for her face . . . and her eyes start watering—“and then I said, ‘You’re worth it, Charlee. You’re worth every penny.’ Then, when their hearts are melting, we’ll add, I got down on one knee and I said, ‘Charlee, you bring so much light into my life and I can’t imagine a day going by without that light shining brightly on me, making me the happiest man on earth. Will you marry me?’”
On a wobbly smile, she says, “And then we’ll tell them how I clasped my hands to my chest”—she does just that—“and nodded yes, as tears streamed down my face.”
“And they’ll ask if we kissed.”
“And we’ll say, it was a watery kiss full of tears and joy.”
I slip the ring on her finger and then sit back in my chair, moving my hand behind her head so I can bring her closer. Carefully, I lower my head to hers, nervous as fuck, but knowing we have to get the first kiss out of the way if we’re going through with this plan. So, with enough courage, I bring my mouth to hers and wait a few breaths, leaving her the opportunity to close the rest of the space.
I hang out there, in the balance, waiting for her to understand the importance of this moment. Her eyes search mine as her breath catches. I hear the distinct sound of her swallowing. Tentatively, she places her hand on my thigh, her hand shaky. I’m right there with you, babe.
Unsteady, nervous, and as I wait for her to make the final move, a wave of apprehension courses through me, wondering if she’s going to push me away. Thankfully my nerves are soothed when she places her other hand behind my neck and reaches up, pressing her lips to mine.
Supple and soft, like she spends at least four hours a day moisturizing them, her lips carefully glide over mine. The kiss is sweet, short, nothing that would blow anyone’s socks off . . . besides mine. Because even though it lasts only a few seconds, it’s within those few seconds that I get my first taste of her. It’s where I get to feel her imprint on my thigh, her lips delicately touching mine, her heartbeat connecting with mine. It’s where I feel myself tip over the edge into falling for this girl.
I’ve had many first kisses. Aggressive, passionate, consuming, but nothing like this. Nothing this sweet, this . . . understanding. Nothing that has ever made me want to drop all my defenses and expose my true self to a woman. And that’s scary.
Terrifying actually.
Because if a kiss this simple can turn my world upside down, what’s going to happen when I feel her tongue against mine, when she kisses me longer, when I get to feel her delectable body pressed against mine?
Was Roark right? Am I screwed?
When she pulls away, she smiles at me and says, “You have really nice lips.”
“So do you,” I say, feeling like I’m in a hazy state.
“Who knew boss man bridegroom was going to be a good kisser?”
Who knew Charlee Bag of Dicks was going to sweep me off my goddamn feet with one simple kiss?
Chapter Eighteen
CHARLEE
Yowzer, ladies.
I mean . . . YOWZER.
Six hours later and I’m still thinking about that kiss. What the . . . what? How do I even describe it without sounding like a lunatic? It was . . . God, it was demanding from the way he held the back of my head, but then it was so sensual . . . how he moved his lips across mine. And of course, it was way too short. Like . . . I could have spent at least a half hour more attached to his mouth.
Unfortunately, we had to get back to work. Yeah, work. Try focusing on expense sheets when you have a ring blinding you and the memory of your boss’s full lips pressed against yours. Next to impossible. I swear I blacked out for at least five of the six hours I was working after we got back from Tiffany’s. And he was kind of silent himself, staying in his office until it was time to leave and pick up the dinner he ordered.
It was cute. He asked me what my grandma likes and I said her favorite meal is brunch. So, we got a bunch of brunch items from one of Rath’s suggested restaurants I’ve never been to. We picked up waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns and so much more, and of course, Danishes for his sweet tooth. Once we were back in the car headed to my apartment, he said he needed to start waking up at four to burn off all the calories he’s been taking in. My exact response was, “Oh, you poor multi-millionaire, did you get demoted from an eight-pack to a six-pack?”
He muttered something I couldn’t quite hear, but I’m guessing he’s missing that eight-pack.