Her words resonated with me, and I did what I always do, make a decision on the fly, but this time I knew I wouldn’t regret it later. Getting up, I knelt in front of Robin and took her hand. “You mean it? You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?”
“Of course,” she said, a blush coming to her face. “Wes, are you?”
“Damn right,” I replied, clearing my throat and looking into her eyes. “Robin Collins, will you marry me?”
Robin barely let the words get out of my mouth before she leapt into my arms, knocking me on my ass and wrapping me up in a hug. Her muffled replies of ‘yes’ came in between the kisses, like I needed the confirmation. When she finally let me get up off the ground and dust off my jeans, she was crying, blushing, and smiling all at the same time. “So . . . about my apartment,” she said before we both broke down into giggles and fits of laughter. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was a one-bedroom hole.”
“Better than my place,” I said honestly. “Robin, with my work, my apartment was nothing but a post office box in town. When I wasn’t overseas or on vacation, I was here. So it looks like we have some other things to do before we start up our company.”
“Yep.” Robin took my hand and we headed toward the back door. “You’re going to take me shopping for engagement rings, and then we’re going to need to look for an apartment.”
Winston met us at the back door, his face as passive as ever, but I could see he had overheard, and there were tears in his eyes. “Congratulations, Wesley,” he said, holding the door open for us.
“What about for me?” Robin asked, a smile on her face. “Don’t I get a ‘congratulations’ as well?”
“No, Miss Robin,” Winston said before, for the first time in my life, I saw the man break out in a grin. “For you, I’d rather say . . . good luck.”
Chapter 11
Robin
The lab was dusty and grimy, and there was a definite odor of feijoada in the place from the Brazilian food plant next door. Still, it had exactly what Wes and I needed to do our work—lots of open space and a good power supply. The building had been a laundromat and was wired for both 110 and 220 volts, and enough amps that I think I could electrocute Godzilla with no problems. Best of all, it was cheap. Whether it was Wes’s former employers pulling a few strings or just pure luck, we got the foreclosed building for less than the price of a small condominium.
“This place is really too big,” I told Wes as we carried in the first load of our office supplies. “I mean, all we really need is about five hundred square feet.”
“At the price, I couldn’t turn it down,” Wes replied, a folding table under one arm and his laptop in the other. “Besides, I was thinking we could save money by setting up our workout stuff here. I can get everything we need for about four hundred bucks delivered. I know someone who knows someone, if you understand the meaning.”
I laughed and set down the first box of things on the one remaining counter from the laundromat. “Your connections are both scary and helpful. I keep thinking I’m going to have men in black suits and little flashy things showing up the day after we finish our prototype.”
“Nah, no flashy things . . . that I know of,” Wes said with a laugh, setting his laptop down and starting on setting up the table. “By the way, when’s the Internet guy scheduled to come by and get us up and running?”
“Tomorrow,” I said, turning and heading back out for another armload. “For today, we’re just going to have to get by on the apartment’s guest connection and my mobile data plan.”
“Eh, wasn’t planning on doing much online work today anyway. Here, let’s get the main computer in next. You can get that going while I unload the other stuff.”
It seemed a bit low-tech to have a big, boxy tower computer in our supposedly high-tech company, but Wes was insistent; something about him being able to make it more secure in housing our data files.
It took us most of the morning and early afternoon to get the office set up, and by the end, both of us were tired and hungry. I looked over at Wes, who had a streak of dirt smeared across his t-shirt, which he bought specifically as a joke. Hello Kitty had a huge brown streak of dirt coming out of her butt, and I wondered if he had done that on purpose. “Well, I wouldn’t mind some pizza. Why not delivery?”
Thirty minutes later, we were chowing down on double meat, double cheese, Italian crust pizza, courtesy of a local shop that did a much better job than any national chain. I was finishing off my third slice when Wes smirked and came around the counter, pulling me into a deep kiss.
“What was that for?” I said, not objecting in the least.
“You had some tomato sauce on your chin,” Wes replied, cupping my butt as he pulled me tighter. “Hope you don’t mind.”