Dang these hormones. A wave of nausea hits me, and I launch past him. I fall to my knees as dinner makes its way up, and I’m crying yet again.
Parker proposed.
Chapter 4
Parker
Ianticipated that Bluebonnet wouldn’t say yes right away. But the projectile vomiting is unexpected. Not sure if morning sickness—poorly named in this case—or revulsion is to blame. But we can sort that out later.
Kneeling beside her, I pull her ponytail over her shoulder and keep her hair away from her face. Then with one arm around her, I sit and wait until she’s empty. And that takes a minute or two.
She tucks her face into my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her.
“You okay?”
“I don’t think this baby likes fries.” Her breaths are uneven and stuttered.
I’ve never seen her cry this much, and staying calm while tears soak my shirt takes all the faking-it I can manage. Seeing her like this rips me apart. She’s rarely this emotional. Bubbly and logical would be how I’d describe Bluebonnet. And because of her whip-smart, science-loving brain, she doesn’t always pick up on what is obvious to other people. Like the fact that I’m crazy about her.
The proposal probably threw her for a loop.
“Now I smell worse.”
I smooth the hairs that have escaped her ponytail. “Want me to buy you another cheeseburger with pickles?”
“Yes.” She grips my shirt. “About what you said...”
The words hang in the air a second, and I take that as my cue to reiterate my promise and show her I’ve given it thought.
“I meant every word. All you have to do is say yes. We can live at either your place or mine. The cabins are nearly identical. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll see about a place to rent. I have a little savings. And I think by the time the baby arrives, I’d have enough for a down payment on a house. They keep putting in new neighborhoods at the edge of town.”
“You don’t want to give up on what could be. Not because of me.”
Oh, but I do. “Bluebonnet, if I didn’t want to marry you, I wouldn’t have asked.” Telling her I’ve been crushing on her for years would only sound creepy and not help my cause. I’m trying to sound like an adult, not a lovesick teen.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Think about it. Let’s go get you another burger.”
She nods and takes my hand. I help her to her feet, and instead of letting go, she squeezes my hand and steps closer. “I didn’t mean to get sick right then.”
“I know.”
“It’s like all the forces of the universe are plotting ways for me to embarrass myself.” When we get to the truck, she looks up at me. “Would it be like a fake marriage, like a temporary sort of thing, or a real one, the death-do-us-part kind?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, but I’m on board for the death-do-us-part kind.”
While I’m very aware that offering this may lead to years of having a good friend as a wife, and not an intimate partner, I’m willing to make that choice. I’ve spent years learning what makes her happy because seeing her smile is better than a warm slice of Ava’s apple pie. Shoot, it’s better than all pies. Ever. And now, I have the opportunity to put those make-Bluebonnet-happy skills to use and make her even happier.
If she decides to move on after a few years, I’ll be shattered, but I’ll kiss her on the forehead and wish her the best. Because her happiness is more important than my own.
“Okay.” She bounces her head, giving me hope she’s about to say yes. “I’ll think about it.”
At least it wasn’t a no.
After she’s downed two more cheeseburgers with extra pickles and we’ve made it back to her truck, she clasps my hand. “I’ll give you an answer in a few days. I need time to think rationally.”
A few days? What happened to needing to sleep on something? But instead of giving any hint that I’d rather have an answer sooner rather than later, I nod. “Will you be okay driving home?”
