Page 135 of Mr. Charming

On my way.

Hurry.

I take one last sip of my tea, dump it in the trash, and leave the coffee shop.

When I get to The Nest, I type in the security code, not even bothering to tear down the handwritten sign. Let those girls think they have a chance. What’s wrong with a little hope?

I climb the stairs, wondering what this will be like with a baby carrier. Probably not ideal.

I open the condo door and don’t see Tweetie in the main room. “For someone who says they missed me and wanted me to hurry, where are you?”

“In here. Sorry.” Tweetie steps out of the doorway of his bedroom, and he’s wearing that mischievous smirk I love.

My stomach drops as I wonder if he found the test. But I stashed it way in the back of the cabinet under the sink. There’s no way he found it.

“What’s going on?” I narrow my eyes.

“What? I can’t be excited to see my girlfriend?” He breaks the distance and hugs me, tucking his face in my neck and inhaling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He kisses the hollow of my neck and tugs me by my hand into the bedroom. “So I got you a gift,” he says, and I see a wrapped box on the bed.

“Oh, how nice.” I pick it up and sit on the bed. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Yes.” His blue eyes are wide and expectant.

My head tilts. “You’re acting weird. Is this some prank or something?”

“No. It’s just something I’m excited to give you.”

I study him for a few seconds, then tear off the paper. “A journal.”

He grabs a similar one from the dresser. “It’s a matching one to mine. Brand-new ones to start our brand-new life together.” He hands me his, putting it on top of the one he got me. “I got you some fancy pens too.”

I smile. “I love them.” I go to hand his journal back, but he straightens and takes a step back from me.

“Flip through it, make sure you like mine before you rip open the cellophane on yours.”

“I’m sure I’m going to love it,” I say.

“Make sure.” He nods toward his, so I do what he says.

I thumb through it, but I notice writing on the first page, so I stop and open it fully.

It has today’s date on the page.

* * *

Today, I asked her to marry me…

* * *

I lift my eyes off the journal and find Tweetie on bended knee, a ring box in his hands.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

He draws back, hurt flashing across his face. “What?”

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