Page 93

She picks up his pottery mug of black coffee, no sugar, brewed in the same old bronze kettle, and brings it to his lips. “Do the drinks here still taste like ass?”

He raises a thick eyebrow, wondering where the topic came from, then nods after a second or two. “Yeah, it does.”

She gives him a warm beam, putting the mug back down after he drank. “Guess the coffee I brought you that day was bad because of the recipe, and not because of my brewing skills, then.”

“Maybe both.”

“But more of the recipe’s fault than mine, right?”

“Who knows, sugartits?” He boops her nose. “This morning, you just broke my coffee machine making an espresso. What kind of barista does that?”

How domestic, starting their days together.

After a moment of even more cuddling, with Every spooning her from behind on the little wooden chair, she angles her head, and they lock eyes. She feels him looking at her with those brilliant puppy eyes of his, and gently strokes his sharp jawline in return.

“Hey.” Lily yelps suddenly when he raises her up from his lap and puts her on the table.

They get a few curious stares, but none of these matter at the moment.

Then he pushes the chair away and gets down on both knees.

Huh, weird. Her boots’ laces aren’t untied or anything.

Actually, for the activity he’s going to do next, he’s supposed to go down on only one knee. Not that he knows it, of course, so two knees that is.

Confronted by her man’s peculiar habits, Lily does the first thing that comes to her mind and pats his gelled hair—now more blonde than black thanks to the bright overhead lighting they are sitting right under. He smiles right up at her, those two orbs of round puppy eyes back at her face.

He shakes his head, as if he is an actual pup.

Cute.

Out of his pocket comes the locket ring Lily had nearly gone ballistic at a couple of days ago, the very same sweet little keepsake from his papa, containing Every’s very own locks of hair.

Lily-girl watches as he holds his family’s old heirloom up to her. The antique ring shimmers golden in the lights as he pinches it between his forefinger and thumb, imitating the princes and heroes from the countless animations that made up his childhood, the smooth glass locket of it clear and bright.

Where’s the thirty-carat diamond?

Turns out, Every also has a knack for not being like other boys.

“My man,” she starts, conflicting emotions growing in her mind. “What are you doing down there on the floor? Come up here, will ya? The ground’s never been cleaned.”

“I’m here to propose, sugartits. The floor may be a little dirty, but that is such a small thing in exchange for getting to officially be with the love of my life.”

Every, Every, always such a romantic.

A little unhinged, maybe, but romantic nonetheless.

Lily’s heart pounds pitter-patter at the sudden confession. Her brain malfunctions entirely at the sight of her man—hot with a capital H, so hot he could easily burn down the whole world and leave nothing but soot and ashes if he ever feels like it—down on his knees for her.

Proposing.

He reaches for Lily’s dainty little hand, small and pale in his much larger one, which envelopes it completely. The antique ninety-nine K gold with its little locket slides smoothly around Lily’s finger, fitting perfectly on her small hand.

Beautiful.

“I had it adjusted to your size. It complements your countenance well,” the young man comments, reciting a line his papa instructed him to use in one of their numerous phone call sessions for planning the proposal. Or else it would have been a simple ‘looks good’.

“Everything does, my man.”