We changed the main color of the site back to the dark teal his dad had chosen, but the rest is totally new, and keeps customers coming in so often that even Shane's now-rare scowl doesn't scare them off.
“Here we go,” Shane says as he comes out to the deck. He hands me a champagne flute.
“You made me Claire’s wine?” I asked, incredulous.
“Of course.”
“You opened a bottle of champagne just for me?”
He waved his own flute. “I’m drinking it straight up. But this stuff actually isn’t bad. It’s like dessert in a glass.”
Watching my gorgeous, rough man learn to appreciate the finer things in life has been quite the ride, but I know that he secretly is enjoying it. We clink glasses, sipping quietly as we look up at the moon.
“I’m so glad you’re all moved in,” he says gently. “Are you happy here for now, sweetie?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.”
We stand in silence for a while, simply enjoying the moment. Then Shane sets our glasses on the railing and turns to me.
“Claire, you know I’m not a terribly romantic guy.”
He looks surprised when I laugh. “Champagne in the moonlight, with your dark eyes all sparkly?”
“My eyes aren’t sparkly,” he protests gruffly, making me laugh even more.
“I think you’re the right kind of romantic.” My fingers trail along his slight scruff of beard. “You’re everything I want.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple moving for a second. Then he nods quite seriously.
Taking my hand, he rummages in his pocket, then bends down on one knee.
“Claire, my beautiful sweetie, you are the love of my life. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. Will you please be my wife?”
Tears are already slipping down my cheeks as I nod emphatically.
Shane opens a little black box, as I gasp. “Wow.”
“Do you like it?” His eyes are tight. I’ve never seen him truly nervous before.
“It’s incredible. Did you make this?”
He seesaws his hand back and forth. “I sketched it, then worked with a goldsmith. I’ve never used rose gold or done casting before, so I didn’t want to risk it.”
He slips the beautiful ring on my finger. It’s a leaf design that matches the pre-engagement bracelet he made me, surrounding a large round diamond that must have been at least two carats.
“Shane, I love it but…”
He stands, placing a finger on my lips. “Before you say the diamond is too big, it’s an antique. I know that you love recycled things, and secondhand clothes. So this diamond is taken from a necklace I found at an auction years ago.”
“Then it’s even more than perfect,” I smile.
This is so much better than a huge party and a big speech. Much more romantic. Nobody to see us but the moon and the trees.
His kiss is warm and slow, as he cuddles me into his arms. Then he pulls back. “Wait. You didn’t answer the question out loud. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I sputter with laughter. “Yes, I would love to marry you.”
“Good. Checkmark.”
My head falls back as I laugh, as his fingers slip up the back of my neck to caress my hair.
“See? Once you have a notebook with a to-do list in your pocket, you really do get the satisfaction of checking things off. This is why everyone needs one.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” he pretends to grumble, but his eyes are smiling.
He turns me toward the trees at the end of the backyard, so that we can watch the moon climb higher until it’s time for bed in our cute little house. As a real-engaged couple.
EPILOGUE TWO
~ Shane ~
~ Seven Years Later ~
One of the great things about the new website for the shop is that I can easily change the hours every season. I can even inform regulars with our new mailing list.
This month, the shop is closing at four on Saturdays so that I can have a solid two hours to work on my own sculptures before going to meet Claire at the weekly Saturday early evening hangout.
We’d moved once Claire was expecting our son, and the neighbors instantly swooped in and invited us to join their circle. For these hangouts, six families all rotate hosting, and every Saturday from four until eight-ish is a drop in party.
As I walk straight around to the backyard of the Johnson’s house, I see at least four families here today.
When we were brand new parents, the advice, help, and hand-me-downs from this group were invaluable. As a man who had never really had friends, I suddenly had a circle of men to talk to.
It was weird at first. Extremely weird. But as I really got to know everyone, it became comforting.
I wave to the other parents who are relaxing on chaise lounges, enjoying the sun.
Claire is right in her element as always, sitting cross legged in a circle of kids on the patio in the shade. Our five year old son Aiden is so much like her. Thoughtful, sometimes feisty, and always paying attention to details.
As Claire points at something he’s coloring, she has to reach awkwardly around the baby slung across her chest.
Her eyes meet mine, then she stands for a kiss. Nobody seems to care that we kiss right in front of the kids, much more than the other parents.
Scooping an arm under Lara’s wriggling little body, Claire ducks out of the sling so that I can strap it on.
Never in a million years did I picture myself as a dad, wearing a five month old baby girl in a bright blue sling across my chest.
But that’s who I am now. A baby-carrying dad. A devoted husband, still completely crazy about his loving wife. And now a metal sculptor with an upcoming show at the fancy-schmancy Palmerston Gallery.
Looking down into my beautiful baby girl’s eyes, she smiles up at me with her sweet half giggle. Then her tiny left fist sneaks out of the sling as she bops me straight in the chest, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
“Look out,” Claire grins. “She’s already getting scrappy.”
“Dear Jesus, don’t use that word around our children,” I mutter. “Have you been talking to my mom?”
“Yes, actually. When I told her that they added a new room for your sculpture exhibition, she said that means she’s allowed to invite more of her friends.”
“Nana’s friends are funny,” Aiden says, looking up at us.
I snort as I ruffle his hair, then high five him. “Wine makes everything funny,” I mutter loud enough for just Claire to hear.
Lara likely hears as well, but she’ll have to wait until she’s able to talk to understand that her grandma is nuts.
“Still, could you be a darling and have the gallery send her another dozen paper invitations?” Claire asks. “They love the formality, and you know all of her friends love to shop.”
“Yes, dear,” I said, rolling my eyes dramatically.
The invitations really were something special. Claire designed each one with heavy, fancy paper that featured a cutout for a tiny scrap of metal as a flourish.
Taking Lara out of the way, I leave Claire talking to the kids about the way crayons feel in their hands while they’re coloring, and what they would change about them.
Naturally, my cute little stationery nerd finds a focus group at a playgroup.
Shifting my weight from foot to foot so that Lara rocks gently against me, I reach my left hand back to find my pocket empty. My phone is still charging in the car.
No matter. Reaching into my right pocket, I pull out my mini workman’s notebook in the dark steel finish, with a tiny pen attached by a chain. Jotting down a note to myself to call the gallery later, I catch Claire’s eye as I slip it back into my pocket.
My wife is even more gorgeous when she looks smug as hell.
Walking back toward her, she laughs right in my face. “I told you! That notebook belongs in everyone’s pocket.”
&
nbsp; Ignoring the giggles of the kids, I wrap an arm around her, pulling her into my side to whisper in her ear, “You belong in my pocket.”
“I don’t even know what that means, but I like it,” she smiles up at me.
Then she holds out her hand for Lara to punch a few more times before returning to Aiden and his friends. I sit on a bench, close to the other parents. Alone, but never lonely again.
I know that a few more of the dads will arrive with beer any minute, and either fire up the grill or order pizza.
I know that Aiden might get tired early, and none of the parents will judge us for being the first to leave.
I know that my mother is going to be the belle of the ball at my art opening, and probably cause some sort of drama while showing off to her friends.
And I know that Claire is going to come up with an entirely new line of crayons, by listening intently to everything the kids are telling her.
My arm snuggles under Lara, gently rocking her as her eyelids grow heavy. Closing my eyes, I realize that I’ve never been this comfortable in a group of people before. I’ve never felt like I belonged to a group of people before. And now that I do, I’m free to take a little dad nap whenever the heck I want.
*** *** ***
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About the Author: Romance author Haley Travis lives in a charming (old and rundown) little house with an old fashioned (overgrown and crazy) garden and just the right amount of books (six giant overstuffed shelves, the floor is starting to creak). She enjoys writing quirky, sexy modern romance, and loves creating interesting female characters who are at a turning point in their lives.
HT Scrappily HEA A15 Page 16