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“Well, I would love to ask you to marry me, but I thought you'd say it was too soon!”
“It is!”
“Now, I’m confused!” Milo grips my shoulders, head close to mine.
“I know it’s too soon—but I don’t care.”
“I don’t have a ring.”
I realize I don’t care about that, either. He can make me one. We can buy one. His present of a necklace came with the offer of being my home and my safe place, my anchor forever. That’s one of the best proposals I’ve ever heard!
“I want your ring—when you have one. I’d rather have the question without the ring than the ring without the question,” I say, squeezing his hands.
“Libby? Libby, would you marry me?” Milo drops to one knee, still holding both of my hands, looking up at me with a smile splitting his wide, handsome muzzle into a grin of pure sweetness.
“I would love to! Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”
Milo rockets up, nearly taking out two stools and part of the counter. He swings me around as we kiss. Both of us are leaking tears through our happy laughter.
“I have to call Doc! We have to call your mom and dad!” I pat his shoulder so he’ll put me down.
“Oh, they’re going to be so thrilled! Let’s call my parents first.”
“Okay, but tell them they can’t come over until later.” I hug his arm and reach for the bread. “I’m not missing dinner—or dessert.”
“MOM? DAD? YOU’RE ON speaker.”
“Hi, son. What’s the matter? Is it the mower?” My dad assumes there must be a problem with appliances.
“There’s four inches of snow on the ground. Why would I be mowing?”
“Christos! Milo? Is the moussaka rubbery? I told you not to leave it in the oven for too long!” My mother assumes there must be a problem with food.
“Nothing is wrong. Libby’s over dinner. She wanted to say hi.”
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” Libby’s voice is so sweet and shy. It’s all I can do not to hang up and kiss her.
“Aww. Hello, Milo’s little queen.” My dad is obviously equally enchanted.
“Actually, I’m his Valentine.” Libby winks at me. She’s setting this up beautifully.
I couldn’t have dreamed up a better partner.
“Hello, dear. So nice of you to call.” My mother’s grin is audible.
“We have some news. Um. Libby isn’t just my Valentine. She’s also going to be my wife.”
There’s silence. Then there is deafening, explosive excitement. I catch a string of sounds that roughly translates as “WearecomingoverChristoswhereisthechampagneIloveyou-
we’llbethereintenminutes.”
Then there’s a click.
“Oh! Oh, no. Oh, I’ll call them back and tell them not to come,” I exclaim when I realize what just happened.
Libby leans against me. “You know what? Let them come over and stay for dinner. I don’t have to squeeze every second of a stolen weekend or a single night out of you.” She tugs firmly on my ear and brings my lips to hers. “You’re mine for life.”
I kiss her, my tail getting in on the action and wrapping around her leg like a protective vine. Even the boys want in, meowing and racing around our ankles.
