Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

I threw my car in reverse and backed out of the driveway—nearly sideswiping the car that had skidded to park at my mailbox, blocking my way.

I slammed the gears into park and flung open the door. “What the actual fu—” My brow furrowed as I caught sight of the driver. “Fiona?”

She scurried around the front of the car. I’d never seen a woman look so damn good in a Reaper hoodie before.

“I’m sorry for leaving!” she yelled as she ran at me.

“What?”

She flung herself into my arms, and I caught her, rocking back on my heels to absorb the impact so we didn’t both go tumbling down on the concrete.

“I’m sorry,” she said into my neck, her voice muffled.

“You keep saying that.” I hugged her tight for one second, letting myself drink in the relief of having her in my arms again, but then I put her back on her feet. We had to get a couple things clear.

“I know.” She bit her lip as I stepped back, putting some space between us. Then she glanced at my car. “Where were you going?”

“To you,” I admitted. “To tell you that this whole thing is really fucking stupid because—”

“I love you,” she blurted.

Every muscle in my body locked, freezing me in place.

“I love you, Brogan. I can’t help it.” She shrugged. “And all I keep thinking is that the risk of everything going to shit—of us falling apart—is worth it, because I can’t imagine my life without you.” Her eyes got all glassy, or maybe that was just the afternoon light. “Do you still love me?”

“Baby, I never stopped.” The two feet between us were killing me, but we needed the space, needed these words. “I’m so sorry I said you were just the nanny—”

“It’s okay,” she cut me off. “I mean, it hurt like hell, but I get it.” She wrung her hands and shifted her weight. “I’m just hoping that the next time the press asks you about me, that you can call me something else.”

“Like my girlfriend?” I offered, though I was ready to fly her to Vegas and pull a Cannon just to get my fucking ring on her finger and lock her down.

“Like your fiancée,” she blurted, then slapped her hand over her mouth.

My eyes widened and I barely contained my grin, my lips quirking up at the corners.

“You know, if you still want to marry me. Which, I’m really hoping you do, because I’ll never forgive myself if we threw this away because we’re communicating like high schoolers, for crying out loud. I mean, maybe it would actually be a little more effective if we passed notes—”

“I don’t think high schoolers pass notes anymore,” I interrupted, fighting a smile. “I think they text. Or Snapchat. Or whatever.”

“Right…shit, I’m really screwing that up.” She shook her head. “Look, I took a new job, doing my actual job—child psychology, and most of it is remote, but I know that means you’d have to find a new nanny for Skye—”

“I don’t need you for Skye!” I shouted, then sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately to regroup. “Sorry. I meant to say that Skye needs you in whatever capacity you want to be there for her,” I clarified. “But I have no issue hiring another nanny. You’re doing exactly what you should be doing and I’m damn glad you’re not using us to hide behind anymore.”

“You are?” Two lines appeared between her eyebrows.

“Of course I am.” Against my better judgment, I crossed the small distance between us and cradled her face. “I never wanted to hold you back. I love you, Fiona. I want a partner, not an employee.”

“Then…I’m not too late? I didn’t fuck it all up by leaving this morning?” Her eyes searched mine, shining with hope, and I fell a little more in love with her.

“No, sweetheart.” I backed away, letting my hands fall from her face as I turned to my car. It took about a minute to open the passenger door, fetch the little velvet box out of the glovebox and shut everything again. Then I pivoted to face Fiona. “See? I told you I was on my way to you.” I held out the box.

She covered her mouth with her hands.

“There’s no pressure here, Fiona. None. I’ll get down on a knee, or I’ll put it away and we can circle back to it later. As much as I selfishly want you to marry me, I know you’re going to need some time to get past your commit—”

“I want it!” She rushed forward, throwing her arms around my neck. “No knees. No need to ask. I want it. I want you. I want us. Yes, yes, yes!”

Grinning, I slipped the ring free from its velvet bed and slid it onto Fiona’s finger. It fit like a dream, and winked in the sunlight like it had been made for her.