Page 87 of Merciless Oath

I try to control the desperate, unhinged urge to bend her over right here on top of the pancakes, but I refrain.

“What are you thinking about there, my love?” she asks innocently, batting her eyelashes at me.

“Sausage or bacon?” I ask. She nods at me, completely unconvinced.

After we’ve filled up on too much greasy breakfast food, I suggest a walk, and Lenny readily agrees. The light morning showers have died down, and the sun is back out, making it feel more like spring.

We stroll down the streets, hand in hand, admiring the colorful vintage homes. When we get to the adorable blue one on Maple Lane, I stop and check out theFor Salesign stuck in the front lawn.

“Look, Lenny,” I point it out. “This one’s for sale!”

“It’s dreamy,” she breathes, checking out the ornate wooden details and perfectly eclectic landscaping. “But it’s probably a bajillion dollars.”

“I don’t know,” I say, flicking the wooden sign. “Says they’re having an open house today. Should we check it out?”

“Enzo, don’t tempt me.”

“Come on.” I pull her down the brick path, my heart already soaring.She loves it.

When we get to the front door, I make a big show of ringing the doorbell as Valentina peers into the windows.

“It’s empty,” she muses, leaning back into me. “They must have moved out already. Maybe we missed the open house?”

“Oh, rats,” I say, acting disappointed. “We probably did.”

“Oh well.” She sighs. “If it was meant to be…”

“It was,” I whisper, pulling the keys from her jacket pocket.

“How do you keep doing that?” She laughs, shaking her head, but not fully understanding.

I slide the key into the door, and she panics for a second until the lock clicks and the door floats open.

“No,” she breathes, whipping her head around to stare at me, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Welcome home, Lenny.”

“Enzo, you asshole!”

“Not how I want to be thanked, but from you, I’ll take it.” I laugh.

She races through the house, checking out the floor plan, marveling at the historical accuracy, and opening every closet. When we step into the backyard, she bursts into tears, and I have to pull her up into my arms.

“It’s perfect,” she sniffles against my chest. “The chicken coop, the rose garden, Enzo… it’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” I say softly.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to propose right now too,” she jokes. “My heart won’t be able to take it.”

My hand instinctively floats to the little round velvet box in my pocket, and she catches my movement. I burst into laughter and pull it out, sinking to one knee.

“Lenny, I don’t think I need to recite a poem for you to understand what I’m doing here,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “And you know I don’t get poetry anyway.”

She laughs through her tears, nodding along and sinking to her knees to join me. We probably look insane, down on our knees in the wet grass.

“But I get you,” I continue, searching her eyes for her answer. “And I think that’s all that matters. Can we do this? Finally?”

“Yes,” she breathes, falling into me and crushing her lips to mine. “Yes, yes, yes.”

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