Page 670 of End Game

“No, like really. You've had the full experience.”

“I live with you.”

“I leave wet towels on furniture.”

“Yes.”

“I own fourteen pairs of boots.”

“Seventeen.”

I blink. “Why do you know that?”

“Because they live everywhere except your closet.”

“Okay. See? This is what I'm talking about.”

Micah smiles.

It is soft enough that my chest hurts again.

“I know who I'm marrying.”

The stupid part of my brain—the part that has always assumed love comes with an expiration date people just don't tell you about—tries to say something.

It doesn't get very far.

Because Micah is sitting beside me on the kitchen floor holding the hand with the ring on it like he already answered that question months ago.

Years ago, maybe.

I look at the portfolio that followed me to the floor.

At the old drawing on top.

He was drawing me before either of us knew.

Fuck me.

“Did you really think I might say no?”

His expression changes just enough that I know the answer.

“You did.”

“I considered the possibility.”

“Micah.”

“It would have been irresponsible not to.”

“You made a twenty-page illustrated argument.”

“Twenty was restrained.”

I stare at him.

He looks away.