Page 90 of Love at Teamsgiving
Just like that, I’m no longer nervous or clammy. Everything is suddenly right in the world, especially since he’s holding a clear box filled with cannoli.
On our first go-around, Mrs. Cruz wanted a traditional Mexican wedding cake with five tiers to represent her five sons. How that worked for Mikey and me, I still can’t figure out. Mama wanted Russian Tea cake and refused to believe me when I explained they were cookies, also known as Mexican wedding cookies. Then she changed tack and insisted on a tiramisu-inspired cake.
At that point, I didn’t care about the cake and argued in favor of cannoli. Mikey added to the bittersweet fire by asking why we couldn’t just have chocolate cake with vanilla frosting.
My response?This is our wedding, not a child’s birthday party.Let’s just say cake tensions were high. He looked kind of crushed, like I’d thrown his slice on the floor and stepped in it.
But right now, a box of cannoli in hand, hair long, and eyes sparkling, I regret every single hurtful thing I said that came between our love for each other. Also, there’s no denying that, as ever, we’re in sync, even though he doesn’t know what I have planned.
Trying to keep a poker face, I say, “I accept cash and credit cards. Not cannoli.”
“I figured you’d be hungry after a long day.”
Smiling, I take the box from him, set it on the counter of my stylist station, and gesture for him to sit down. “Never mind payment. This one is on the house.”
“So you’re finally going to cut my hair?”
“You have an appointment, don’t you?”
“What changed your mind?”
I shuffle through the drawers until my fingers land on the little box and I slide the ring on ... it’s a round halo-cut diamond set in white gold that’s both timeless and elegant.
Adjusting the chair, I run my fingers through Mikey’s hair, relishing how thick and soft it is. The ring sparkles. He groans a little as if my touch relieves built-up tension.
“You let it grow long. Do you want me to do your usual? Leave it a little longer in the front. Shorter on the sides. Stylish but effortlessly so. Clean up the edges with a nice taper?”
His gaze meets mine in the mirror. “I haven’t let anyone touch my hair since you last cut it.”
My jaw drops. “I thought you were just going for that classic hockey flow.”
“No, Junie. It’s always you.” His lips quirk and he takes my hand in his, drawing me to him until I land in his lap with a playful yelp.
Smiling, I say, “I think these chairs are only good for up to three hundred fifty pounds.”
“I’m more than willing to test things out.”
He kisses my wrist, then my knuckles. The sparkles from the ring dance in his eyes. His lips quirk in acknowledgment.
Swallowing, I say, “I wasn’t sure how long it would take you to notice that I’m wearing the engagement ring.”
“When it comes to you, I notice everything, including the way you looked at me on the altar.”
Just then, the song “That’s Amore” by Dean Martin, with its silly lyrics, comes on.
Mikey’s lip lifts. “Pop said they finally got the sound system hooked up and not a moment too soon.”
We’d been broadcasting our playlists with a portable speaker. I was going to put on this same song as soon as I’d finished the haircut.
“This was my move,” I say, explaining my plans for an engagement redo.
He rubs his nose against mine, shaking his head. “We work better together as a team, Junie.”
“Did you know I was going to?—?”
“Profess your love?”
I crack a smile before giggling, cradled in Mikey’s arms. “Yeah, something like that.”
