Page 112 of One Touch

Beckett reached behind him and pulled out his phone to take a selfie of us wrapped in each other’s arms on the front porch of our Painted Lady.

Beneath the photo showing my wild grin and tearstained face, Beckett typed out a caption and shared it with the world:

Brutish BuilderWherever we go and whatever we do, I know that I will always be home again as long as I am with you. #shesaidyes #homeagainwithher

* * *

“Mmm, that feels good.” I sank deeper into the bath as Beckett pressed his thumbs into the arch of my foot and I melted into the hot water.

“You feel good.” His mouth lowered, and he pressed a kiss to the tender skin on the inside of my foot.

I giggled at his touch, but heat spread through me.

His mouth made a slow path up my ankle, and his hands massaged higher on my calves.

“You feelreallygood, Kate Miller.” Beckett grinned.

I fluttered my lashes at him. “I’m not Kate Miller yet.”

“I don’t care what your last name is,” he said. “As long as I can call you mine.”

The engagement ring on my left hand glittered as I sat up and wound my arms around his neck.

“Everyone seemed happy about the news.”

I tossed my head back and laughed. “Happy? Leecried.”

Affection for my older brothers flowed through me. When we had gathered for a family dinner and had told them the news of Beckett’s proposal, they were all thrilled for us.

Lark and Annie immediately had a thousand questions and wanted to see the ring. Beckett had chosen the perfect emerald-cut, soft-blue diamond, with each side holding three oval white diamonds that looked like they bloomed from the center. It was a gorgeous art deco-inspired ring. The blue diamond itself was one of the rarest—a diamond made from stardust itself.

You are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars.

Beckett’s words still made me feel as though I could cry. Apart we were whole, but together we were perfect.

Penny also demanded that she be a junior bridesmaid and not a flower girl, because shewasn’t a baby. She had nearly fallen out of her chair when I told her I would much prefer her to be one of my bridesmaids and not relegated to the title ofjuniorbridesmaid.

Everyone at our family dinner was overjoyed.

Even Bartleby took a break from his typical passive-aggressive assaults on Beckett. With only a few low bawks, he circled the yard once, staring Beckett down, but after Beckett flipped him the middle finger, Bartleby ignored him the rest of the night.

When my phone dinged with an incoming message, excited nerves tickled my belly, and I immediately sat up from the tub.

“Uh-uh.” Beckett shook his head. “We said no working after hours.”

“I know.” I sighed. “But I can’t get that email from the producer out of my head. What do you think he wanted?”

I chewed my bottom lip as the thousand possibilities ran through my head.

Beckett shrugged—calm and collected as always. “Could be another sponsorship proposal,” he offered.

I nodded, considering that was a likely possibility. Our sponsorships had been lucrative, but this was the first time a television producer had been the one to personally reach out. Something about the message felt ...bigger.

“Please,” I pleaded to Beckett and gave him my best doe-eyed look.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Fine. But I’m only agreeing to shut you up.” He leaned in closer. “And then I get to have my way with you.”

He sat up and pulled me closer, my legs resting on top of his as we sat in the hot bath.

---