Page 16 of Easton

I snort. “Oh yeah. And it’s still his baby.”

Another silent beat passes, and then Easton asks, “Does he still do his annual birthday pilgrimage?”

I blow out a breath. “He did for a while, but when I turned twenty-one, I told him it wasn’t necessary for him to fly in and make such a big production anymore.” I shrug. “He just does a birthday call nowadays.”

Easton nods. “That makes sense.”

“It does,” I agree. “It’s much less stressful.”

He shoots me a sad look but stays quiet. I sense he’s contemplating what he’s going to say next.

Clearing his throat like before, he finally states, “You have a really big birthday coming up.”

Oh, here we go…

“I do,” I reply, keeping my voice calm and steady. “Four more days.”

Like he doesn’t know that.

“And you’re not married,” he continues softly.

I shake my head. “No, I definitely am not.”

His eyes meet mine, and I swear that blue intensity is stronger than ever as he says, “But you could be.”

Holy crap!

I swallow hard as I choke out, “What are you saying, Easton?”

“I think you know, Claire.”

I blow out a breath, then tell him quietly, “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking,” he counters. “I’m offering. After all, I made a promise, right?” His eyes hold mine, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. “And, Claire,” he goes on, “I always stick by my promises.”

Oh my God, I think he’s serious.

Damn, I want him to be serious.

The good I could do with that money—help my mom, Madison, other people.

Hell, I need help myself.

But I still can’t ask this of him.

I reiterate that and add, “Easton, we were just kids back then when you made that promise.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I meant it then, and I mean it now. So, what do you say, Claire Weller? Will you marry me?”

I’m not kidding around or joking. I am dead serious when I ask Claire to marry me. I made a promise to my friend, and I intend to keep it.

That is, if she wants me to.

But seeing as her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly agape—I think she’s in shock—I clarify, “Um, you wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Like, this would be a marriage of convenience, so to speak.” I blow out a breath and continue, “I mean, I think we’d have to live together for it to look real, but you could have your own bedroom and bathroom and stuff. I’d certainly not expect anything from you, Claire. Like in a physical sense. We’d still be just friends.”

She snaps out of her state of shock or whatever it was, but what’s wild is I swear I detect a flash of disappointment in her eyes.

Is it disappointment that we’d remain just friends?

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