When we pry away from each other, my heart feels swollen in my chest with love for him. “I love you too,” he husks out against my moving lips. “I love you, Malcolm,” I whisper as I touch my tongue to his. “Yes,” I breathe a second before he kisses me, slow and languorous. “Marry me, Rachel.” He leans across the table, his hand on the back of my head as he pulls me in to meet his lips. “Do you want me to ask again?”Ī devil’s twinkle appears in his eyes, and I bite my lip and nod. He laughs softly and lifts my fingers to his lips.

“I’m playing your proposal again in my head,” I admit, laughing.

Words like: Are we doing this? Yes, we’re doing this! I smile at him as the silence stretches between us. “What are you thinking?” he asks softly as he takes my hand once again over the table and traces his thumb along the back of mine, dipping it into the hollow of my palm. He discarded his sable jacket and tie a little while ago and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and I’m in a pencil skirt and button-down top, my hair tied in a haphazard bun at my nape to keep it out of the wind. We’re both still dressed for the workday, but Malcolm rocks his office attire, while I look a little bit secretarial. Thoroughly and unashamedly, he watches me with happily dancing, liquid green eyes as he sets the bottle back in the silver bucket that stands near our table, and as he does, I inhale the cool breeze. His one and only ever fiancée.Īnd Malcolm looks so very pleased with himself right now, his lips curled, his dark hair a little tousled by the wind, watching me through dark-as-night lashes as he leans across the table to refill my wineglass. Well, today Malcolm Saint turned my average weekly workday into the day that I became his fiancée. This man has the power to turn anything ordinary into extraordinary. My brain keeps seizing and going back to only minutes ago, when I heard him say that he loves me. We can’t stop touching, reaching across the table to touch and kiss each other. He sits across the table and neither of us is paying attention to the exquisite food the chefs brought out to us. Tiny electric candles flicker down the path where my man led me out into this very terrace. The city skyline twinkles with night lights, and a set of standing heaters blazes around us, protecting us from the cool wind. I’m having dinner with the Hottest Man on this Earth at the top of one of Chicago’s premier skyscrapers. The excitement buzzing in my veins is so off the charts I cannot sit still. I said yes times four, because one didn’t seem like enough for my boyfriend.

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