Page 108 of One More Made Up Love Song
“What would you have done if I’d gone to bed and just left your food for you?”
He wrinkles his forehead like that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “The night I sing your song in front of a hundred thousand people, I felt pretty confident you wouldn’t justgo to bed.”
“So much confidence,” I say, sliding my hands up to his face. He’s still sitting, and I’m standing in the circle of his arms, bracketed by his legs on either side of me, so for once, I’m a little taller than he is. “When?” I ask.
He shrugs. “After the tour, so…next fall, maybe? When the weather is cool at the farm.”
“Because you want to get married at the farm?” I ask.
“I want tobethe farm. You know how much I love that place.”
I do know, because in the last month, he’s convinced me to make the drive with him two more times. He’s different there. More at peace. More connected to his music. I haven’t minded the extra time at home. It’s been nice to spend time with Carina, and we’ve had some great planning conversations about the foundation.
I lean down to kiss him again just because I can. “You should eat your food,” I whisper against his lips.
“I have one more thing to show you first,” he says. “I don’thave a ring for you yet, because I know you, and I know you’ll want to pick it out. But I wanted to do something to honor the commitment I feel to you, so…” He puts his hands on my hips and shifts me forward, then tugs his t-shirt over his head.
It takes me a minute to find the new tattoo. When I find it, I gasp. The skin is still a little red, so he must have gotten it today—maybe yesterday. I lift a hand to the ivy vine that starts at his heart and trace it up and over the top of his shoulder to where it ends in between his shoulder blades.
“Freddie, it’s beautiful,” I say. The artwork reallyisexquisite. Perfectly shaded with just enough detail.
“It’s yours,” he says. He puts a hand over his heart. “Thisis yours.”
All those years ago, when I randomly ran into Freddie Ridgefield in the women’s bathroom of his record label, I would have laughed at the suggestion that one day, I might find myself in Freddie Ridgefield’s kitchen, kissing him after accepting his perfectly delivered marriage proposal.
But here we are.
There are probably all kinds of reasons to consider this a risk.
But that’s just love, isn’t it?
As I stand in Freddie’s arms and feel the certainty of his kiss, the confidence of his embrace as he holds me, I know with perfect clarity.
For him, this risk will always be worth it.
