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“I don’t — ”
“Theaccidentreconstructionexpertwasoneofthe best in the country.”
Brock stared at Van, hope dawning but not taking over. “The curse — ”
“The worst you thought just isn’t true. Are you too much of a coward to risk the rest?”
Silence quivered between them.
“Should you ask her what she thinks and what risk she’s willing to take?”
“Yes, I should.” Brock’s voice was barely audible, but it gained strength as he said, “I already know what she’ll say. She’ll say she wants us to be together. She’s that kind of wonderful woman. And for me, if it’s this bad without her, maybe it would be better with her right now, even if she leaves later.”
Did the man have to mouth Van’s own words back to him? With that aura of wonder and revelation?
“You know, I never thought of that,” Brock breathed.
Yeah, well, neither had Van.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Proposing Panic
B
ROCK WASTED NO TIMEin acting on his epiphany. A day to agonize over which engagement ring to buy, that’s all.
Would she like it? No diamonds, rubies or emeralds. He thought she wouldn’t want them.
He chose a simple gold band, twisted to form link upon link, each in the shape of the eternity symbol. Not your ordinary, everyday engagement ring, but Cyn wasn’t an ordinary, everyday woman. She wasmagnificenceincarnate.Hedidn’tknowwhether he’d have her forever, but he’d rejoice in every second he did have.
Ifshecouldforgivehimforhurtingher.Ifshewould have him now.
The ring was giving off the heat of Mount Vesuvius in his pocket when he called her. Glory be, she agreed to see him.
Walden on the front desk glowered at Brock while buzzing him in.
As he knocked on her door, he braced himself. When she opened the door, he couldn’t tell whether she welcomed him or wanted to slap him.
“Come in, Brock,” she said quietly.
“Will you come with me for a walk and a picnic in the park?” He tried to smile. His lips barely quirked, and a knot under his cheekbone quivered. “I hoped you would. The basket is downstairs with Walden at the front desk.”
She said nothing, and he flinched. In another moment, however, she turned to the closet and selected a light jacket. His hand trembled when he closed her door behind them, pressed the button for the elevator and held the heavy door leading outside from the lobby.
As they walked to the park, he still could read nothing in her face. Nor in her voice because she didn’t speak.
He spread a small blanket at the base of a bench. Cyn settled onto the bench, so he did too while he set out a sliced baguette and a small wheel of brie soaked in brandied cranberries to pique their appetites.
He fumbled with his cell phone until La Cenerentola, the operatic tale of Cinderella and happy-ever-after, quietly filled the air. He poured wine into silver goblets and handed one to Cyn.
He opened his mouth to make a toast, “To us.” Not a single sound got past his throat. He started to panic. If he couldn’t propose a toast, how could he propose marriage?
He tried again. He managed a wordless croak. This couldnotbehappening.Thiswasthemostimportant moment of his life. It was vaporizing into the gentle autumn breeze.
Just as he thought the ground would open up and swallow him, Cyn placed her hand over his. “Are you trying to say something, my dear man?”
My dear man? That sounded good. Didn’t it? His throat worked, but all he could do in addition was nod.
