Page 114 of Final Exit

“Ask me,” he said.

She stared at him a long moment, and then whispered, “Do you love me?”

“More than life itself. Now it’s your turn. I’ve waited an eternity to hear the words from you. Do you love me?”

Tears glistened on her lashes.

He kissed them away.

“Sweetheart, do you love me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut as if in pain. “I can’t love you. I’m not made for white picket fences and baking cookies.”

“I never asked you to bake me cookies, although I wouldn’t mind. But I can buy those just as easily, or make them myself. As for picket fences, I’m more partial to iron, with a great security system. And maybe a Doberman.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Bailey, I love you. To hell with vacations together. I want a real future with you, something far more permanent. But if you’re not sure yet about me, we can slow it down. Enjoy each other. Do the vacation thing. And then you’ll see that wecanbe a couple, that if there’s a question of someone not being good enough for someone, it’s me who’s not good enough for you.”

He framed her face in his hands. “But I’m too selfish to let that matter. Because I can’t imagine my life without you. All I ask is that you try hard to look past my faults, and accept the imperfect man that I am. Give me a chance. Giveusa chance.”

She sniffled. “I’ve never had a job except with EXIT. I don’t even know what to do for a living now.”

“I’ll get a job. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Maybe you can let me think I’m taking care of you now and then, just to boost my ego.” He smiled. “I’ll let you stay at my house until you get a job and get back on your feet. We can keep a tab. You can pay me back later.”

She rolled her eyes again. “I have plenty of money. Probably more than you. I’m a good investor.”

“You haven’t seen the size of my 401K.” He winked.

“I may want to go back to college.”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

She moved her hands to the top of his shoulders. “I suppose I could maybe stay at your place while I’m in school. Wait, you don’t live in the suburbs, do you?”

The look of horror on her face had him laughing again and he put his arms around her waist, ignoring how the gearshift dug into his abdomen.

“My house isn’t in the mountains,” he said. “But maybe you can get used to the beach. At least, until we figure something else out.”

“Don’t expect me to clean it. I don’t do housework.”

He shrugged. “I know how to run a vacuum.” He pressed a kiss against her cheek.

“I don’t cook either.”

“You make a mean bowl of soup.”

She seemed to consider that a moment, then nodded. “True.”

“I don’t judge prospective mates based on their cooking and cleaning abilities,” he teased. The way she stiffened had him immediately regretting his word choice. “Not that I’m asking you to marry me. I’m just asking you to—”

“Move in together?”

He studied her face, looking for signs of flight or fear. “Yes?” he said, hoping he was giving the right answer.

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