Page 11 of Flown in for Christmas

Dark chocolate eyes, molten with clear determination in this moment—and nerves—hold my gaze. I’ve never seen Mr. Davis this nervous before. The next words out of his mouth, however, nearly knock me over, “Joy Mara Bell, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

My eyes widen and I feel every muscle in my body tense. I’m so dang flabbergasted, all I can do is stare at him.Whatdid he just say? Marryhim?

How does he know my middle name?

“Say yes,” he whispers, nearly hissing the words under his breath.

What is going on? “Mr. Da—”

“Say.Yes,” he hisses again, his face heating. There’s desperation in the way he’s gazing up at me from his vulnerableposition—down on one knee in the middle of baggage claim with dozens of travelers stopped to watch a seemingly romantic proposal.

My throat struggles to work.

He’s serious.

No, correction: He isdeadserious.

Play along, he said. But I can’t form words right now, so all I do is nod vigorously. My body is shaking from the shock—of whatever this is—and the fact it feels like I’m about to cry. This is probably the last thing he wants to see, but I don’t think I can stop the floodgates on this one.

No one’s ever proposed to me before.

Is it lame if I get choked up at the mere premise of being proposed to? Maybe, but if this is aplay-it-outsituation, I would hope the lucky lady who ends up on the other end of this proposal sheds a few tears as well.

Mr. Davis beams as he gets to his feet. He wraps me in his strong embrace and plucks me off my feet. I instinctively throw my arms around his neck as he holds me against him.

Several people begin clapping and cheering around us.

The tears fall as I choke out a quiet sob, squeezing my boss around his neck.My boss. I must be delirious from the lack of sleep I’ve gotten over the last two days, because I swear, he holds me back just as tight. His arms shouldnotfeel this good. His embrace is like a warm, cozy blanket that I want to cocoon myself in and never come out of.

When he sets me back on my feet, I pull away with a sniffle. “Sorry,” I whisper, barely audible as I quickly wipe my wet cheeks and try to fix the crushed roses in the bouquet. I feel so…embarrassed. Who cries at a fake proposal?

The last ten hours of my life have been complete chaos. I came here to help my boss with an emergency, not get all gushy over his practice proposal.

Mr. Davis leans down, his arms still around my waist. “Don’t be.” He brushes the dampness from my cheeks with his thumb. “You’re doing great, Joy. I’ll explain everything when we’re alone.”

I don’t get a chance to register his words before he takes my left hand in his. My heart nearly stops as he removes the engagement ring from the box and slips it onto my ring finger.

This ring is too darn gorgeous and fits too darn good for me to be evenattemptingto think straight. I choke back another sob. I’m too emotional for this.

“Why—” I’m dazed, my mind a muddled mess as he leans down and kisses my forehead.

I can’t even remember what I was about to ask him.

“You’re my fiancée, remember that,” he says against my flushed skin. “And call me Nick,” he adds while tucking me under his arm and turning us toward a group of people coming this way.

“Did she say yes?” An older man chuckles, earning a collective laugh from the group.

Before I know it, I’m promptly thrown into a whirlwind of introductions as Nick Davis’ fiancée.

Six.

Nick

I stay as closeto Joy’s side as my family will allow. She’s swallowed by the arms of every family member who tagged along to watch my proposal today.

Fakeproposal, mind you.

I realized about five seconds after Joy started crying how asinine this whole idea of mine is. Rich was right. I should’ve prepared her for what she was walking into.

---