“The timing of our engagement? What’s there to talk about? I asked, you said yes. It’s done. My ring is on your finger.” He tugged my hand into his. “And that’s where it’s going to stay forever.”
“But we didn’t really talk about why you asked me now instead of later.”
His fingers tightened around me. “I thought we moved past this last night?”
“You kind of avoided the question and distracted me.”
“There was a chance you were going to leave. I didn’t want that to happen. Getting married solves this problem. I admitted then that asking you to marry me was influenced by my desire to keep you here. You still said yes. End of story.”
His tone was harsh and I hesitated to push forward, but I kept my sister’s advice in mind. “You can’t just make decisions like this for both of us without talking things through with me first, Gabe.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
I narrowed my eyes at his placating tone. “No, I don’t think you do. Don’t try to feed me some macho bullshit about how you’ll talk to me about this later, not until you actually stop and think about this. We both know there will be a next time, an instance when we’re faced with an important decision and you’ll want to decide what’s best. I need to know that we’ll make those decisions together. Do you get how huge this is to me?”
“I get it,” he murmured. “I’m not just telling you what you want to hear so you’ll be quiet. I saw a problem and I looked for a solution. It’s how my brain works. I needed to keep you by my side, couldn’t risk you going to California without me. It killed me to know you had that option and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it because I can’t go with you, sweetheart. Not until my contract is done.”
The last little bit of his speech jumped out at me. “What if I defer my acceptance to both schools? Buy us some time while you finish out your contract here and see what happens before I have to make a final decision.”
“There isn’t anything to see,” he growled. “You said yes last night, sweetheart. You want to marry me, same as I want to marry you.”
My head was spinning. “Someday, yeah. But this is going so fast.”
“Four months we wasted, both of us devouring every written word we could find from the other while we couldn’t be together. One hundred and twenty-nine days is not too fast. Not when we fit together perfectly as a couple.”
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“I get that,” he replied, turning in his chair so he could pull me onto his lap. “I really do. But what I haven’t heard you say is you don’t want to be my wife.”
Of course he hadn’t heard me say that, because there wasn’t any way I could force those words past my lips. Not when it’s what I wanted more than anything in the world, but I needed to know he wanted it the same way I did—a fear he’d vanquished the second he’d told me the exact number of days we’d known each other, because I’d counted each of those days too. Now, there wasn’t anything else holding me back.
Chapter 13
Gabe
I sat in my car in the employee parking lot running over the events of the last several days. After our big talk, Charlotte seemed more at ease and accepting of our decision to get married. Her solution to defer for two years was perfect, but something about it was bothering me.
She’d completed her last final and we’d begun moving her into my apartment. Okay...I started moving her in while she was taking her exam. She was a little irritated at my “high-handedness.” But, it didn’t take me long to convince her around to my way of thinking. Especially after the third orgasm.
No matter what she said though, I could see that there was disappointment under a false bravado. She was eager to finish school and become a teacher, like her parents. I knew she would be amazing, the teacher every kid remembered years later. I wanted my sweet, genuinely happy Charlotte back. But, I didn’t have a fucking clue how we could make it work.
I sighed and climbed from the car, grabbing my bag and heading for the main office to drop off final grades. While I was there, Dean Whitehall happened to step out of his office, and when he saw me, he called out and motioned me inside.
“Gabe,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Dean Whitehall.” I shook his hand before taking a seat in front of his desk.
“Call me Paul,” he offered as he walked around and sat down. He leaned his elbows on the desktop and his fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin.
“Miss Young was in my office yesterday,” he said casually. I nodded, aware that she’d been in to file for deferment.