Page 26 of Found Forever

“Now I know why Mieka is so bloody happy all the time and why she turned down moving to Toronto to sell real estate to snobby, rich people.” She chuckled through what was clearly a tight throat. Then she glanced around where they were. “She’s living in paradise with her dream job, dream guy and cheeky goats. She’s living the dream.” Envy seeped into her tone.

“Why can’t you live the dream?”

Her chuckle turned a little bitter. “You make it sound so easy. But my life, my job, they’re in Toronto. I’m applying for residency. My brother is sponsoring me. I don’t have any family here.”

Frowning, he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his pants. He had service.

He shot off a quick text.

She watched him, but he held his phone at an angle he knew she wouldn’t be able to see who he was texting or what.

“Anyway, maybe I can find a job as a dance teacher in Toronto.” She pushed her bottom lip out further and blew out a breath. “I can’t go back to real estate. I just can’t. My brother will be sad, but he’ll understand.”

He nodded, but kept his thoughts to himself.

His phone vibrated a minute later with a response from who he texted and he grinned. He already knew what the response would be, but he wanted confirmation first.

“I’m pretty sure Mieka would hire you,” he said, opening up the containers of cheeses, crackers, meats, olives, and cut up fruit.

“I’m sure she would, too. She said as much. But it’s not that simple. There’s the whole getting sponsored thing. I don’t really know how it works to get permanent residency here in the states. I’d have to look into it.”

“I just asked her if she’d hire you and she texted back with ‘FUCK YES. I WOULD HIRE HER YESTERDAY.’ In all caps.” He showed her his phone.

Her brows wrinkled when she read the text. Then she popped an olive into her mouth. “Okaaay …”

“And as for the residency thing …” Heat wormed its way into his cheeks, and his belly prickled with unease. But that only lasted for half a second before an overwhelming sense of calm took over. “We could always get married.”

Her blue-hazel eyes went wider than saucers. “Are you mental?”

Now it was his turn for his brows to bunch. “No. They do a psych evaluation before you’re allowed to join any kind of special ops military organization. I passed with flying colors.”

She scoffed. “Not what I mean, and you know it. You’ve got to be mad proposing to someone you’ve only known for …” She did some quick mental math. “Eight days.”

“Yes, but in those eight days, we’ve accomplished a lot. Gotten to know each other. You know all about my upbringing. That I’m from Missouri, have one brother—who you’ve met—and a younger sister. My parents are still together. Mom is a retired kindergarten teacher. Dad was a principal and is now retired. Now my sister and her husband are the exact same, kindergarten teacher and principal in St. Louis.” He ran his right index finger down the front of his right shin. The one he’d turned into a fish skeleton tattoo. “You know how I got this scar.”

The worry in her eyes slowly faded.

He pointed to all the other scars on his arms and hands. “You know how I got each and every one of these.” Then he reached for her left hand and spun it around gently so it was face up, tracing his finger over the white scar that ran diagonally across her palm. “And I know how you got this scar, and many of the other ones, too.”

Her lips pressed tightly together.

With his free hand, hetucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, then cupped the shell of her ear. “I know that you hated your ears growing up because the top part sticks out just a little. Someone said you had pixie ears, so for three years you taped them to the side of your head every night hoping they’d change.” Then he leaned forward and kissed the ear he was touching, then moved over and kissed the other. “I happen to think your ears are perfect.”

Pink crept into her cheeks, muting the freckles a little.

“We know each other, Joanna. We’ve connected on nearly every level. I’ve never felt more comfortable with someone—besides maybe my brother—in my entire life. Hell,” he threw his head back and shook is, “I’ve nevertalkedthis much with anyone in my entire life. You. Make. Me. Want. To. Talk.”

A small smile tickled the corner of her mouth.

He didn’t let go of her hand, but rather laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. “I’m not saying it needs to happen tomorrow.” Her eyes went a little buggy. “But I want you to know that the offer is on the table. If it means getting you your dream life and your dream job faster, then I’ll help anyway I can.”

“Including marrying me?”

“Including marrying you.”

“Then, what? After I get my permanent residency, we get divorced?”

He frowned. “Well, I’d hope not. I quite like you and hope that maybe you like me back, and we could actually give the whole marriage thing an honest attempt. But if you want a divorce after your permanent residency status is approved, then okay.”

---