Lovelight Farms

Clinging to the damn evergreen pillow I drunkenly bought her two summers ago when I was alone in my apartment—a little bit tipsy and wondering what she was up to so damn far away from me.

“Yes,” I say. “I want to be your wife.” He rocks us back and forth. His voice is rough and low. “Best friend, too?” I hiccup a laugh into his neck. “Always that.”

“I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to trip over boxes on my way out of the bedroom. I want to dance with you in the kitchen, and I want—I want to keep holding your hand. Every day. I want to be your husband. Do you want to be my wife?” The word sends a thrill through me. Wife. But there’s another title that’s still my favorite. “B

“Do you know how long I’ve been carrying this ring around with me?” My heart ka-thumps all the way up to my throat. Tears unexpectedly press at the back of my eyes. “So, there is a ring.” He ignores me completely. “I asked my mom for this ring two years ago. The same day you told me you loved me. I’ve been keeping it with the casserole dishes becau

I clear my throat. As much as I can do so while upside down anyway. “Just so we’re clear, were you saying no to marrying me, or—” “Stop. Talking.”

I grab two fistfuls of his puffy jacket. The one I bought for him as a joke, but he ended up loving it without an ounce of irony or sarcasm. He says it keeps him cozy.

“Luka.” “Please,” he sighs. “Please stop talking.”

He leverages himself off the couch and stares down at me with his hands on his hips. It is . . . distracting . . . when he gets bossy.

“All right.” His smile hitches higher. I want to bite the creases it leaves in his cheeks. “Okay.” “Okay,” I respond. A chuckle rumbles out of him. “All right.”