The Truth

I turn her chin back to me, not letting her run this time. “No. I don’t think that’s it.” She tilts her head, daring me to tell her why I think she didn’t pursue me earlier. “You talk about being invisible at work, and to me, in a way, you were. I had blinders on. But you didn’t. You saw me—my unwillingness to be in a relationship with anyone, my lack of commitment to anything other than work. And you refused to be second. From the get-go, you knew your value and wouldn’t let me not understand that.”

Her shoulders go back, and she sits a bit taller, and I know I’m right. Maybe that’s why she was able to get past my defenses so easily. She knew her worth and didn’t let me try and dismiss her once she made her move.

“So, when opportunity presented itself and you felt that I might finally pull my head out of my ass, you gave me that chance. And you made me fall in love with you. Desperately, fully, powerfully in love with you, Tiffany Young.”

Tiffany chuckles softly. “I learned long ago that you don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“No, I do not,” I promise her. “It’s the same with the pregnancy. You knew instantly that you wanted to be a mother. Your first thought, I bet, was that you’re going to be the best damn mother to our baby. But you didn’t trust that I would, even though I gave everything to Elle.” I give her a raised eyebrow for overlooking that fact, daring her to disagree with me. “But I’m already in love with our baby too. And there’s no halfway.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and her mouth drops open as I slip off the couch to the floor on one knee.

I take her hands in mine.

“Tiffany, I’m not surprised that you knew what we could be before I did, though I wish I’d figured it out sooner so we wouldn’t have wasted so much time. You are strong-willed and caring to a fault, and somehow, you make this old man feel more alive than ever.”

I pause as she laughs through her tears. “You’re not that old.”

I don’t argue with her. One day, she’ll understand the gift of her youth and how much I appreciate the light she brings into my life. I’m not old by some measures, but I’m old enough that in a way, I’d given up. I’d expected my days to play out in a repeat of the last—work, home, workout. But now? With her at my side, there’s a wonderful sense of possibility, of not knowing what tomorrow holds. For a micromanaging planner like me, it should sound like hell. But it doesn’t. It sounds like . . . the life I can have with Tiffany.

“I want you to know, this is not about our baby, though I am so damn happy about it. This is about you and me. I saw you up at that altar today and knew then that you are mine. And just as importantly, I’m yours. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

I expect an excited yes or maybe tears. But what I don’t expect is for Tiffany to wipe her tears away and level me with those intelligent eyes of hers. “Daniel, I want you to know that I did see you. I saw you thinking you didn’t deserve love. But you do. You deserve everything, and I intend to give it to you. To make you smile, to make your days fun, and to bring the world beyond work into your life.”

“You already do that,” I say with a smile. “And you deserve to be cared for the way you care for everyone else. I’ll be your soft place to fall.”

Tiffany answers with a smile of her own. “The truth is, I think I needed to be ready too. And I am. I’m ready for you and our baby . . . our family.”

Maybe I’m losing my damn mind, or maybe I am getting old, because I need her to spell it out simply for me. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she answers, nodding too just to make sure I understand her.

She leans forward, her arms going around my neck, and I kiss her fiercely. She kisses me back just as passionately, any weakness she might’ve felt gone in a rush of joy. She tastes like my future, feels like my life, and is already my everything.

I climb up from the floor, and she teases, “Get up here, old man.”

“I’m not that old . . . fiancée,” I reply, throwing her words back at her.

Her eyes pop open wide, and she covers her mouth with her hands, mumbling in shock, “Oh, my God, I’m going to actually be Mrs. Tiffany Stryker! I’ve practiced my signature roughly a thousand times. Hope that doesn’t freak you out.” Her smile dares me to say one bad word about it, but I would never.