Page 78 of Counting the Stars

“It’s not what you think.” I bark out a laugh. “Now get back to bed.”

Once she returns to our bedroom, I grab the gift box off the top of the fridge. Having a short girlfriend has its benefits. It’s been hidden up there for a week and she still hasn’t noticed.

“What is that?” Her eyes home in on the gift box. Michelle helped with the wrapping, so it looks extra fancy. It’s wrapped in sparkly purple paper and topped with a silver bow to match the colors of the other gift I have for her.

“Open it and find out.” I sit beside her on the edge of the bed.

Gabby begins tearing through the package like a kid on Christmas morning. Her eyes light up when she sees what’s inside the box.

“You got me an embosser?” Her voice lifts with excitement.

“Yup. Now you can personalize all your books.” I grab one of the many books from her nightstand and hand it to her. “Want to try it out?”

“Yes!” She opens the book to the title page and presses down on the handle. When she pulls it away, she runs a finger over the stamped design and reads the custom text. “From the Library of Gabriella Jones.”

Confused, she continues to examine the imprint while I pull a second box out of my pocket and get on one knee. I study her face as she puts it all together.

“Now I know this is not the first time I’ve asked you, and I realize you never took me seriously all those other times.” It dawns on me that I never prepared a formal speech, so Idecide to just say what’s on my heart. “My family was right about something. I’ve always been afraid to grow up, but that’s because I associated aging with becoming more like them. I think that’s why I’ve been so drawn to you. From day one, you’ve never asked me to change who I am.”

“That’s because I love who you are.” Her voice quivers as she wipes away a few stray tears from her beaming face.

“And I love who you are. I know you miss your family, and I wish I could’ve met your parents because they created such an amazing woman. What do you think about starting a little family of our own?”

I open the ring box. “Gabriella, will you make me the most ridiculously happy man on the face of this Earth and marry me?”

“Yes!” She throws her arms around me, nearly knocking us both to the ground. Her embosser and book fly off the bed, but I keep a grip on the ring box and my future wife.

Once we both get into an upright position, I place the ring on her trembling hand while she squeals with delight.

“For someone who didn’t want to get into a relationship, you seem pretty excited right now,” I tease.

“We’re really getting married.” She holds out her hand to admire her ring. I’m elated to know I picked the perfect one.

“Yes, we are.” My face hurts from smiling so hard.

“When?” She takes her focus off the ring to look at me.

“Whenever you feel like you’re ready.” I shrug, not really caring about the details. As long as we’re together, I don’t mind. “It can be in ten minutes or ten years.”

“Well, I can definitely say that ten minutes is out of the question. I’m not getting married with these bruises all over me.”

A lump forms in my throat at the realization of how I could have lost her just a few short weeks ago. On top of the maininjuries, Gabby sustained severe bruising when she was pushed up against the door. The dark black and blue coloring all over her back has since switched to purples and yellows, but it’s still going to be a while before all traces of the assault are gone.

“And ten years is way too long,” she continues, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Maybe a year?”

“A year sounds great.” I don’t know much about weddings, but I know planning can take time.

“On second thought.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “A year would put us in the winter. I’d rather get married in warmer weather.”

“Then we can wait until the following summer.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and place a kiss on her head.

“Perfect!” She clasps her hands, then gasps. “We can get married on the beach! Would your family be okay with that? I also don’t want anything too big.”

“Don’t worry about them,” I reassure her. “It’s not their day, it’s ours.” I already plan on telling them that they’re not allowed to attend the wedding if they plan on showing up with a camera crew and attitudes.

“We can invite Lucia, and—oh my gosh, I have to tell the girls!” She grabs her phone from her nightstand, but then catches the look on my face.

“Do they know already?” She raises a brow.

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