by L. A. Witt
“With?”
Reuben pressed his lips together. His gaze was intently fixed on the numbers above the door.
Okay. I’d wait until we got to our room.
A moment later, we did, and I shut the door, the quiet click making him jump. His back was to me, and though he shrugged out of his jacket, he didn’t otherwise move or make a sound.
Cautiously, I stepped closer. “Hey.” I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the base of his neck. “Talk to me.”
Reuben exhaled, leaning back against me. After a moment, he turned around in my embrace, met my eyes for a second, then dropped his gaze. I thought he might clam up on me, but then he set his shoulders back and took a deep breath as he reclaimed eye contact. “I was quiet during dinner because I was nervous. Because I am nervous.”
“About?”
He brought his hand up between us. “About whether or not you’ll take this.”
The soft lights caught the band he was holding between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t gold or even silver. In fact, I couldn’t identify the dark, somewhat matte metal. It was smooth with a few telltale imperfections that made my heart go wild—it was handmade. Reuben was… he was offering me a ring. One he’d made. Because… oh my God.
I looked in his eyes. “Reuben…”
“I’m not good at big public gestures,” he whispered. “I’m not even doing so great at a small private one. But I…” Swallowing hard, he pressed the ring into my palm and closed my fingers around it. “I love you, Marcus. And I want to be your husband if you’ll have me.”
I stared at him as I ran my thumb along the edge of the band, disbelief keeping me from speaking until I saw the worry beginning to crease his brow. Was he really that afraid I’d say no? Yes, of course he was. Because that was how he worked, and he’d probably spent weeks if not months psyching himself up to do this.
I smiled and reached into my pocket. As I held up a band not unlike the one he was holding—though it was gold and one I’d bought—I said, “This answer your question?”
It was his turn for awestruck silence. He stared at the ring just like I’d stared at the other one. When he met my eyes, he broke into a relieved smile, and I didn’t think he’d ever looked sweeter than he did right then.
And then we both laughed. I wrapped my arms around him, and he leaned into my hug as we chuckled.
“This so doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Both of us on the same page without even realizing it.”
“Story of our lives.” I kissed his cheek. “I’ve had this for a couple of weeks—I just couldn’t figure out when to ask. I didn’t think you wanted some big public spectacle, and I guess I got tongue-tied every time I tried to work up the nerve when we were alone.”
Reuben pulled back and smiled. “You know me too well.” He looked down at the ring in his hand, and blushed again. “I honestly thought I could pull off something in public. Just… seemed like…”
“That’s not you, though.”
“Maybe not.” He looked at me through his lashes. “But you deserve it, you know?”
My heart somersaulted. “What?”
“I’m proud of being with you,” he said. “I want people to know we’re together, and I want the whole world to know that I want to marry you.” He swallowed hard and finally met my gaze for real. “We broke up before because I couldn’t handle the secrecy. Now, it’s not just that I don’t want to keep it a secret, I want everyone to know. Being with you, now I get why people do proposals in the middle of basketball or football games with thousands of people watching.”
“Reuben.” I touched his cheek. “I don’t need that kind of gesture from you. Just… I mean, the fact that you made that ring—” I raised my eyebrows to ask, right? He nodded, and I went on, “That means more to me than any public proposal.”
“Really?”
“Of course. And I know you. You’re not someone who wants the spotlight on you, least of all when you’re as nervous as you obviously were.” I took his hands between mine and kissed the backs of his fingers. “I don’t need a big public spectacle. All I want is you.”
Reuben studied me uncertainly. “What about a wedding?”
“I don’t care.” I shook my head. “We can do something quiet in your dad’s living room, or we can rent out the goddamned Space Needle and have fireworks. As long as we’re married at the end of it, I just don’t care about the details.”
“Good,” he said with an obviously relieved laugh. “Because I have no idea what I want either. Something quiet sounds good, though.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
We exchanged smiles, then looked down at the rings we were both still holding.
“Whatever we do,” he whispered, “we should do it sooner than later.”
“Agreed. I think we’ve waited long enough.”
Reuben nodded. Then we traded rings and slid them on. The band I’d bought for him was slightly loose, but fit for the most part. The one he’d made for me? Fit perfectly. Somehow I wasn’t surprised.
We stared down at our rings for a moment before meeting each other’s gazes again. Wrapping his arms around my neck, Reuben looked in my eyes, and I loved how relaxed and happy he was right then.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said softly. “How about we just spend tonight enjoying being engaged, and worry about all the details later?”
“Sounds perfect.” I grinned, cradled his face, and kissed him.
Yeah, the details could wait. Just enjoying each other and being engaged sounded like the best possible way to spend the rest of the evening.
And that was exactly how we spent it.
THE END
About the Author
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
Website: www.gallagherwitt.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @GallagherWitt