I carried the French toast into the living room and sat on the floor, patting the space between my legs. Dani nestled between them, holding the plate, and I fed her the French toast, enjoying the fire and the sprinkling of snow falling outside the window.
“This reminds me of our first morning together,” she murmured. “Outside on the deck.”
I slipped the last bite of breakfast between her lips. “Yeah, it does. I thought inside might be a little warmer today, though.”
She hummed in agreement, sipping her coffee. I set aside the plate, took her cup from her hands, and wrapped her in my arms.
“I loved sharing that morning with you, Dani. Making you breakfast.”
She snuggled closer, peeking up at me over her shoulder. “Me too.”
“I have a favor I need to ask you.”
She turned slightly, her lovely eyes wide with curiosity. “Anything, Noah.”
I slipped my fingers under her chin and pressed a small box into her hand. “Would you let me make you French toast every week—for the rest of our lives?” I paused, swallowing. “Will you marry me, Dani?”
“Noah,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“You make me happy. I want—I need—to be where you are. I want to marry you and build a life together. Say yes, baby. Say yes to us, to this life. To being happy.”
She cupped my face, the tears in her eyes reflecting her happiness. “Yes.”
Six months later
I heard the truck pull up, and a grin broke out on my face. Dani had been gone most of the day, and I missed my wife. I could be with her twenty-four hours a day and never tire of her company, but I knew she needed a break from me on occasion, and today had been one of her pottery days.
We were married a month after I had asked her, right here in the restaurant, surrounded by my family and a few close friends, including Lynn and my old assistant Tom, who couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. They were planning their wedding now, and it was going to be a much larger production than we had chosen.
Our smaller celebration was the happiest day of my life—Dani’s as well, she told me. Her smile certainly said as much.
I looked up as she came in the door, her gaze immediately seeking me out and her beautiful smile lighting her face. She wasn’t the same woman who’d stumbled in here, shy and tense on that late-summer day, and changed my life. Her panic attacks were nonexistent now, her smile wide and her eyes happy. She personified contentment. She fit so well into the groove of my world and thrived, therefore expanding my life even more. My family adored her, and they now belonged as much to her as I did. She completed my world in ways I hadn’t expected, filling every dark corner with her light and love.
“Hey, Sprout.” I grinned, taking the box from her hands and dropping a heavy kiss onto her mouth. “You look very happy.”
“Hi.” She beamed up at me. “I am happy.”
“Did they turn out well?”
She nodded, excitement dancing in her eyes.
“Well, let’s have a look, then.”
Setting the box down, I opened the lid and pulled out a mug, holding it up to the light, the greens, browns, and golds glinting and bright. “Beautiful.”
Dani had made me a coffee mug, using her design on it, which she had named “Glimmer of Love.” A customer came in, saw it on the counter, fell in love with the pattern, and ordered three dozen for her shop in Toronto. That was only the start. Soon, she commissioned other pieces to match, and Dani was busy making them, as well as more mugs since the woman couldn’t keep them in stock. I was glad we had patented the design since Dani was in such demand. She had other pieces in our “Local Merchant” area I had set up in the corner of the store, as well as some of her watercolors. All of her work sold well, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. Mrs. Norton was thrilled as well. Her shop and kilns were busy with Dani’s work. She used the small studio I’d built her to paint and draw, but she still enjoyed going to the pottery studio to create her pieces and oversee the production of the larger orders since she couldn’t handle doing them all herself. She was very particular, using only certain artisans. Each piece was inspected by her very demanding eye, and she herself did all the underglazing design work. My wife had found her place, and she was brilliant.
I slipped the mug back into the box. “Perfect, baby. I like the new shape.”
“Mrs. Norton thought it would sell well. It feels good in your hand.”
I cupped her head, bringing her face close to mine. “You feel good in my hand.” I nuzzled her lips softly. “I missed you today.”