Full Package

We’re fast, and we’re frenzied, and soon we’re both over the edge.

After, I help her close the bakery for the night and we head for the door. “Wait.” I stop at the table. “I have a gift for you, too.”

I hand her the flowers. “You might be thinking, ‘He’s not very creative, since he gave me these before.’ But last time I gave you flowers, you said they’d make our place cheery. This time I got them for you because I want to live with you again. In a new place. Just for us. One you can make cheery with these flowers.” Her eyes seem to sparkle as she waits for me to say more. “Would you like to live with me again? As my girlfriend?”

She takes my hand. “I would love to.”





Epilogue





Five months later



* * *



The apartment hunt didn’t last long this time.

Nothing was cursed. No one was crazy. I didn’t have to sell a spleen or a kidney, either.

As it turns out, all I had to do was remove a piece of a chandelier from a guy’s forehead and then stitch it up without a trace.

Kevin hooked me up. Who knew that one day Aquaman would stumble into my ER with a three-inch shard of glass in his forehead, and a beautiful bond would form. I’d fix his face and send him on the path to safer sexcapades. He would wind up engaged and return the favor by connecting me with some of his real estate contacts. One of his real estate guys found a one-bedroom for us in Chelsea that costs an arm and a leg. But somehow we’re making it all work, doing our best every day.

Josie’s bakery is thriving. Her afternoon specials have lured in many new customers, and they’re loving her mini cinnamon buns, the chocolate peanut butter brownies, the candy sushi, and even the grapefruit macarons. Nothing with raisins, though. Thank the Lord.

But tonight, she’s not cooking.

I am.

Not gonna lie. Cooking has never been my forte. But learning has. I tracked down some recipes, watched a few videos, practiced a couple of times, and now I’m making her dinner.

I whip up the pasta primavera I’ve planned for the menu. It’s a simple dish, but it’s her favorite, and seeing as she treats me like a king in the kitchen, I want to treat her like a queen.

When she walks in the door to our home, she lifts her nose high and inhales. “Mmm,” she says in a sexy purr. “Smells good. Somebody’s getting lucky tonight.”

I leave the kitchen, wrap an arm around her waist, and kiss her. “Had I only known cooking dinner was the way to get in your pants, I’d have done it sooner.”

She laughs and drops another kiss on my lips. “Can you imagine? You’d be getting it three times a day instead of once or twice.”

Yeah, we’re regulars.

Every night. Sometimes every morning, too, even though we rarely get out of bed at the same time. But that doesn’t hinder the pursuit of orgasms, since synchronized wake-up calls aren’t necessary for sleepy morning sex, and that’s a habit we both enjoy.

After she sets down her purse and washes her hands, we eat the dinner I made. When we’re done, I clear my throat. “Josie, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Her eyes widen. “Yes?”

I clasp my hand over hers, then frown. “It’s about dessert. I have bad news.”

She goes along with my trumped-up concern. “You baked a cake and it fell? You used too much salt in the brownies? Wait. No. Don’t tell me you made something with raisins.”

I shudder. “Never. But I want to be truthful with you.” I inhale deeply, piling it on. “The crème br?lée on the menu? I didn’t make it with a crème br?lée torch. In fact, crème br?lée is really fucking hard to make. Confession—I bought it.”

She cracks up and runs her hand through my hair. “I forgive you, and I won’t even throat-punch you.”

I gesture to the kitchen. “Any chance I can trouble you to grab it, though? I just need to gather up the plates.”

“Of course.” She rises and heads to the kitchen, and with lightning speed, I race to the couch, grab a board from underneath it, and carry it ever-so-carefully with my steady hands to the table.

When I set it down, every tile I laid out earlier is still in place.

And when Josie emerges from the kitchen, I’m in place, too—down on one knee, with a jewelry box in my hand.

She gasps and points to the table, her mouth falling open. She gawks at the Scrabble board. The words on it don’t connect with each other like in a crossword puzzle. But they don’t have to. I’m not trying to win a double-word score. I want to win her heart forever, and that’s why four words, and four words only, are spelled out. I say them out loud. “Will you marry me?”

I flip open the box and present a sparkling diamond ring. “I love you madly, Josie Hammer. Will you be more than my roommate, more than my girlfriend? You’re already my best friend. Will you be my wife?”

“Yes,” she says, and throws her arms around me, kissing me as tears fall down her cheeks. “I can’t wait for you to be my husband.”