WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition

by Scott, D. D.

  He kissed her other eye and rested his cheek against hers. “It feels just right.”

  “David,” she said on a sigh as he nipped at her ear. “I’m going to have sex with you tonight.”

  His chuckle against her neck sent shivers down her spine. “Celia, I’m going to make love to you tonight. There’s a difference, you know.”

  “Ummm,” she purred. “I think you might need to show me.”

  “I am. Shut up and pay attention.”

  Nine

  One Year Later

  “What do you and David have planned for tonight?” Beth asked as she and Celia roamed the shoe display at Bloomingdale’s. She nudged Celia with her elbow. “This is the big anniversary.”

  “He won’t tell me, but I know the Rangers aren’t playing at the Garden, so I’m reasonably sure I’m safe from having to spend the evening at a hockey game.” She picked up a bright red pump. “Can I pull this off?”

  Beth patted her growing belly. “More than I can. You, at least, can see your shoes.”

  Celia smiled. “In a month, you will, too.” She looked down at Beth’s swollen ankles. “And you’re not missing much. Come on.” Celia threaded her arm through Beth’s. “Let’s get mama off her feet. I’m sure Gary’s got something planned for your last Valentine’s before the baby.”

  “If he knows what’s good for him, it better be a foot massage and a carton of ice cream.”

  “You romantic, you.”

  “You just wait until you get knocked up. Then we’ll see who’s romantic.”

  Celia sighed. “I want to get married first.”

  “Do you think…?” Beth left the question hanging.

  Celia had spent all day — all week — trying not to obsess over Valentine’s. She hated that the day held so much history and pressure. “I’m not going there. You’re the only one who knows I was a little disappointed after Christmas, especially since he’s been hounding me for months to move in with him. Even though I explained I won’t live with a man until I’m married, a part of me worries he’s one of those guys who never wants to get married.”

  “I don’t get that sense about him, Celia. His parents are happily married, your parents had a great marriage. He’d have broken if off with you if that was the case.”

  The thought of David breaking up with her was more than she could bear. He loved her; they’d both declared their love for one another only a month after their whirlwind meeting and courtship. “I guess so.”

  “Look,” Beth said. They ducked their heads as the brisk February wind slapped them in the face as they exited the store. “You said yourself David thinks Valentine’s is a made up holiday, so just try to relax and enjoy your anniversary.”

  “Right,” she said. “Relax and enjoy. Which is exactly why I got us a couples massage.”

  “Oooh, very nice,” Beth cooed.

  They hopped into a cab to share. As the cab weaved through traffic and Celia watched people travel along the streets, she realized she was making too big a deal out of their anniversary. So what if it was on Valentine’s, so what that the man she loved hadn’t proposed. A year ago, she would have given her right eye for a man who loved her. It was time to understand what anniversaries and Valentine’s Day were for — taking stock of and appreciating what she and David had together.

  When the cab stopped along her street, she reached into her purse for cash. “You know what. You’re right. I’m going to get us some pizza, maybe rent a movie, and just enjoy the night with my honey.”

  Beth gave her arm a squeeze. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

  “You and the baby go have fun with Daddy,” Celia said as she got out of the cab. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  • • •

  David was waiting when she opened the door to her apartment, carrying a box of pizza and a six pack of beer. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought we weren’t meeting until later.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he said. He looked just the way she liked, with his tie pulled loose and his hair a little bit mussed from the wind.

  He never came to her apartment for fear he’d run into Tara. “You certainly did.” She kissed him and turned her back to set the pizza on the kitchen counter. She slipped off her coat and laid it over the chair next to his.

  “I talked to your brother today,” David said as he walked over to the couch.

  Celia handed him a beer. “Oh? Did you ask him about your tooth?”

  “Wrong brother.”

  She nearly choked on her first swallow. “Jeff?” She sat down next to him on the couch. “Why’d you call Jeff?”

  “Well, when I decided to ask the woman I love to spend the rest of her life with me, I figured I’d better run it by the man who owns deadly weapons and knows how to use them.”

  “What?”

  David slid onto one knee. “Put your beer down, Celia, I’m about to propose.”

  “David…”

  He slid a large package wrapped in shiny silver paper out from under her couch and placed it on her lap.

  “This looks too big to be a ring.”

  “Open it.”

  She untied the ribbon, ripped the paper, and lifted the lid. She laughed at the present waiting under the neatly folded tissue. “You got me a Rangers’ jersey?”

  “No. I got you a custom made Rangers’ jersey.” He pulled it out, flipped it over, and held it up to his chest. “See, it has your name on it.”

  “It has your name on it.” She pointed to Willingham stitched across the back.

  He flipped it over, cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Hummm. You’re right. I guess you’d better marry me so this doesn’t go to waste.”

  He pulled a small, square, robin’s-egg-blue box from out of his pocket. When he flipped the lid, she nearly slid off the couch, her throat tightening into a fist. “Oh, David.”

  “What do you say, Celia? Will you spend the rest of your life with me? Be my wife, have my children, make me the luckiest man in the world?”

  “Can I wear the ring without the jersey?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll wear the ring without anything as often as possible.”

  She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, the ring box sandwiched between them, nestled against their hearts. “Oh, David. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, but you still haven’t answered the question.”

  “Yes,” she shouted and shook him by the shoulders. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  He pulled the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. “It fits,” she said.

  “We fit.”

  “How did you know my size?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve got incredible luck where you’re concerned.”

  ABOUT CHRISTY HAYES

  Christy Hayes writes romance and women’s fiction from her little basement office in the South. She cooks up all kinds of trouble for her flawed characters when she’s not driving her kids a sporting event or walking her pesky rescue mutts through the neighborhood. Christy donates a portion of her proceeds to the charities listed on her website.