by Нора Робертс
She rounded the table in a flash. “Oh, it’s wonderful. The wood’s like chocolate silk and heavy cream. And the doors? Those are dogwoods. It’s just, oh...” She opened the doors, danced in place. “It’s just absolutely fabulous. Every detail. It’s charming and fun and beautiful.”
“It suits you.”
She spun around. “Is it mine? Oh my God, Simon—”
Before she could rush him, he held up a hand. “It depends. I’m thinking a trade. I’ll give it to you, but since it’s going to stay here, that means you stay, too.”
She opened her mouth, shut it again. Picked up the wine she’d set on the table, sipped. “I can have the cabinet if I live here, with you?”
“I’m the one who lives here, so yeah, with me. This house is bigger than yours. You’ve got the woods, but I’ve got the woods and the beach. The dogs have more room. And I need my shop.”
“Hmmm.”
“You can keep doing your classes here, or you can move them back. Keep the house for the business. Or sell it. Or rent it out. But if you want that, you stay.”
“That’s some interesting bartering.”
“You started it.” He slid his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “I figure we got through some of the worst anybody gets through. And here we are. I don’t see the point in wasting time. So, you want the cabinet, you live here. We should probably get married.”
She choked, managed to swallow the wine. “We should probably?”
“I’m not coming up with some fancy proposal.”
“How about something between we-should-probably and fancy?”
“Do you want to get married?”
Now she laughed. “I guess that’s between. Well, I want the cabinet. I want you. So... yeah, I guess I want to get married.”
“It’s a good deal,” he said as he stepped to her.
“It’s a very good deal.” She laid her hands on his cheeks. “Simon.”
He pressed his lips to her right palm, then the left. “I love you.”
“I know.” She slid into his arms. “It’s the best feeling in the world, knowing. And every time I look at that cabinet, put a glass in, take a bottle out, I’ll know it. It’s an incredible gift.”
“It’s a trade.”
“Of course.” She laid her lips on his, lingered.
She was free, she thought, and she was loved. And she was home.
“Let’s go tell the boys,” she murmured.
“Right. I’m sure they’ll want champagne and cigars.” Still he took her hand to walk out. “Let’s make it fast. I’m starving.”
He made her laugh, and that, she thought, was another very good deal.
FB2 document info
Document ID: f545da05-bd49-4f03-898a-5ffc4854b8ec
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23 August 2011
Created using: FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
frenky_m
Document history:
1.0 — создание файла
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