Page 80 of Fake You

Jesus Christ. She’d gotten me good and proper, and if I didn’t love her so much, I’d have been ready to wring her neck for putting me through that worry.

“What the fuck? You scared me half to death, thinking you were saying no.”

“Well, I had to do something to get you back for making me think you were going to kill us while ‘flying’ this thing. I never did tell you why I used to be obsessed with snow angels, did I?” My brain almost couldn’t keep up with the rapid change of subject.

“Umm…no.” I’d asked her the first night we’d gone to dinner together, but we’d been on not so friendly terms, and she’d shut me down, hard. Things had changed a lot between us since then, in just about every way possible, but thinking about that ‘date’ still made me smile.

“I’d heard somewhere that snow angels—well all angels really, but snow angels particularly—were magic and could make special wishes come true. I used to lie out in the snow for hours and hours making angel after angel, all with the same wish.”

“What did you wish for?”

“I wished that my mom would love me enough to come back to me. And when she never did, I decided that love didn’t exist. Then when I was old enough to understand that she wasn’t coming back because she was dead, I was also old enough to know that love did exist, but it ruined people, just like it ruined my dad. So then I decided that I’d never love or be loved. I never told my dad that was the association, and he died not knowing.” Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

A golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself firmly in my throat.

“Look in the seat pocket in front of you.”

She reached in and pulled out the small black cushioned box I’d stashed there earlier.

“Open it.”

She did, slowly, as though it might be booby-trapped, or something.

“Drew. It’s too much. Beautiful, but too much.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

“It’s not too much. Nothing is too much for you. Put it on.”

She did as she was told, but couldn’t get the cushion cut diamond ring onto her marriage finger. It was way too small. Fuck. How the hell had I gotten that wrong? I’d used a ring she often wore on her right hand to assist the jeweler with sizing.

“Bahahaha, just kidding!” She slipped the ring onto her finger, laughing her crazy little head off. “It fits perfectly. Thank you.”

“Ugh. Are you trying to wipe me out? That’s twice in one proposal that you nearly had me.”

“Nearly being the operative word. I guess that makes us even. Actually scratch that. Do you want a play a game?” I had a feeling I knew what was coming, but I played along anyway.

“What game?”

“Two truths, one lie. I’ll go first. One, I love you. Two, I’m pregnant. Three, You made me believe in angels again.”

“You always were way better at faking than me, but obviously this time the second one is a lie.” I grinned at her. Fuck, I loved her so much.

“True, I always was, and I’m still faking now, because it’s three truths and no lie.”

What the fuck? “Wait, what? You’re serious. You’re pregnant?” My mouth was hanging open, and I didn’t even care.

She smiled—the real smile, the one that showed her dimple— then nodded, and took advantage of my uncharacteristic silence. I was literally too stunned to speak. “Serious as I’ve ever been. Four weeks. I just confirmed it this morning. Now hurry up and land this chopper, so that I can show you how much I appreciate the effort you went to for the proposal. This is not a negotiation.”

“Hold on tight, Angel, you don’t need to tell me twice.”