Page 42 of Enamored
“Little Italy in the north end isn’t too far from here. Want some amazing pasta and then a cannoli fromMike’s Pastryaround the corner?”
“Sounds great. Bring me to your favorite spot. I want to treat my girl to dinner tonight.”
She claps her hands and starts the car, pulling out into the business traffic in downtown Boston. I have no idea how she can navigate through the throng of vehicles. I have no problem driving and can off-road with the best of them, but put me here and tell me I have to drive in it all the time, and I might want to chop my head off. Horns blare from every which direction, and I have no idea who they are honking at.
It doesn’t even seem to faze her as she looks in her side mirror and cuts over into the turn lane with ease.
“Do you always drive through the city?”
“Not usually. I take the T more often because it’s easier, but for today, I didn’t want to be late or have to arrive wicked early.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion at her. “Wicked?”
She smirks, and a light pink blush creeps up her neck. “There are a few things I’ve picked up from living around here, andwickedis one of them.”
The restaurant is a few blocks from the parking garage she pulls into. As soon as I round the corner, I take her hand in mine. She wraps her other hand around my upper arm and leans her head against me for the briefest of moments. We really look like a happy little family. I tap the box again in my pocket and smile.
Soon.
Dinner is everything she said it would be and more. She insisted I order a drink even though she couldn’t have anything, and I’m thankful for the liquid courage. As the night wears on, the damned box is burning a hole in my pocket. I want this to be perfect—it has to be perfect. I want her to remember everything about this moment. I want to get home and ask her to marry me in a place where she can be loud, cry, or act like her goofy, adorable self.
I pay the bill, and we walk to the pastry around the corner, right where she said it was. The line is long and around the corner, but we wait patiently. It moves a lot faster than I would have expected, the workers experienced enough to keep it moving at a good clip. People keep walking out with huge smiles and the same white box.
As soon as we enter the doors, my senses are assaulted with sugary sweets and noise from all the people in the confined space. There are what appear to be hundreds of treats behind the glass containers, and I want to sample a little of everything.
We finally reach the front, and she orders a box of six cannolis, a dozen Italian cookies, and some macaroons. The guy behind the counter hands her a bright white box with a blue logo and a blue and white striped string tied in a bow. I have no idea where she’s going to pack them away. There are no spots to sit, so we walk back to her car to get to her apartment to eat our tasty treats.
I carry the pastry box up the stairs and hold her hand the entire way home, afraid she will disappear on me if I don’t. I put it down on the counter, and she pulls out plates for us. She comes back, unties the string, and pops the top on the box.
“Enjoy,” she announces as she takes a fresh cannoli.
Let me tell you, these treats are nothing like what I get at home. Not that I eat many cannolis, but these are still the best ones I’ve ever eaten. Her small moans of approval indicate just how much she likes her treat.
“So, I have something I want to talk to you about,” she says.
I put my dessert down and wipe my hands and mouth on a napkin. “Okay,” I state.
She looks worried. That doesn’t bode well for me, and I try to keep my emotions in check as she gathers the courage to say whatever she’s thinking. Time ticks by so slowly. I reach my hand across the table, enveloping her small one in mine, giving her a reassuring squeeze.
“What would you say about me moving out to Wyoming?” I stare at her in disbelief.Did I hear her right? She wants to move for me?“Someone recently told me a story about not letting chances slip by, and I really think this is sort of a sign. You came back into my life, and we are having this baby for a reason.”
My mouth flops like a fish as I compose my thoughts. Right now, I want to squeeze her as hard as I can, spin her around, and never let her go. I need to be rational about this. I don’t want her rushing into anything and then regretting her decision. I mean, I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I figured I’d be moving for her.
“Say something,” she whispers as she plays with the hem of her shirt and tucks some hair behind her ear.
I still don’t know what to say. I’m dumbfounded she would alter her life so much to be with me—of all people. “Baby, are you sure?” I finally ask. The look on her face is one of pure dread. I hold her cheeks between my hands and rub my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Nothing would make me happier than if you would move out to Wyoming so we can make this work between us. I want to be a part of your life and our child’s.”
“Really?” she asks, her face lighting up.
How can she really ask that? Does she not understand I’d move Heaven and Earth for her?
“Lana, I’ve wanted you with me since I was dumb enough to push you away. I want to make sure you’re positive about this. I don’t want you to think you’re the only one who is giving up something to make this work. I’m happy to move out to Boston and find a job here, so you don’t have to give up your career, family, and friends. I don’t want you to hate me in the future if you do this.”
“I want to do this, Tristan. There are other jobs. Things have a way of working out. Maybe Eloise will let me stay on and work remotely. If not, maybe I will try to start my own firm and work with some of the businesses in the area.”
I pull her lips to mine, showing her exactly how much this means to me. The kiss starts off sweet at first but quickly morphs into a steamy, passion-filled one. I taste the pastry on her lips and tongue—so sweet. She’s perfect. Everything about Lana Robinson is perfect. Everything is right with the world.
I pull away, pull the ring box from my pocket, and slide down to one knee. I open the box, and she gasps at my mother’s vintage ring staring back at her. She covers her mouth with her fingers and blinks away tears.
