Page 102 of Red Flag, Green Light

Oh. Okay. We’re jumping right in. Of course. Why waste time? My heart doesn’t need a moment to keep itself from bursting at all. “I think that moving into your home makes the most sense.”

“We’ll need to convert my guest room into your office. And find a place for Gingerbread’s mansion.” Her body shakes, and I watch a hard swallow move her throat. “Imight…have to downsize my book collection…”

My heart skips a beat. She’d…get rid of books for me? To make space for me?

I love her. I love this woman. I would die for her. I would fall on my sword for her sake. She can say whatever she wants about my brother as a joke. I think she’s just cured half my insecurities.

Lifting my hand, I grip my clothes over my palpitating heart, which might just be contemplating rupture. “I can build you a library,” I say.

“Putting another building on my property would raise taxes. We’d have to get permits. It’d be a whole thing.”

“I’ll take care of it, and we can cover it.”

Harsh hazel eyes flick to me, scan, narrow. “Rolling ladder?”

“Naturally.”

“Excellent. This union is sounding better and better by the minute, which is—of course—horrifying.” She reaches for her necklace and locks her fingers around it, pulling to choke herself as she fiddles with the metal heart. “We’ve not talked about anything relationally important. We need physicals.”

“Physicals?”

“Like medical evaluations. We’re both virgins, but that doesn’t mean genetic diseases are off the table. We both need to know what we might be dealing with. That’s common sense, isn’t it?”

Is…it?

“We should also take a pre-wedding couple’s counseling class to sort out the most common issues ahead of time. Money habits. Expectations. Parenting styles.Children.” She pales in the moonlight. “Is two months enough time to prepare for that?”

I have information about pre-marriage counseling pulled up on my phone in moments. “We’d have to get started fairly expeditiously, and see if we can’t have more than one session a week. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m pretty sure I went to school with the person we would go to. I have loads of blackmail on Braden.”

“Don’t blackmail our counselor.”

“I won’t, unless it’s completely necessary.”

Her lip juts in her scowl. “That shouldn’t make me more attracted to you.”

I settle myself down beside her in the blankets and stare at the starry sky with her. “Yet, here we are.”

Her hand finds mine, and every muscle in my body eases. “Yeah,” she says, tangling our fingers. “Here we are.”

When I glance at her profile, I am wholly convinced she’s the most beautiful woman in the entire world. And I am strikingly unworthy. “Ceres?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to do this. If you can’t text your mother an explanation about your anxiety and how you’re still working through people-pleasing compulsions in a way she understands, then I’m not sure it’s time for you to rekindle a relationship with her.”

She faces me, scowl forgotten, eyes helpless. “So you don’t actually want to marry me?”

“I desperately want to marry you. But I need you to want to marry me, too.”

“What if I’m a naggy wife?”

“You’re not.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“I won’t.”

“How can you know that?”

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