My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“Not at all, sir. I like her—love her—exactly as she is,” I assure him.

He smiles, and I can sense that some of that weight on his shoulders has lessened. Abigail told me that family is everything to her parents, so I can imagine Morgan’s joy at his children finding love the way he did.

“Hell, to be honest with you, I’m surprised Abi hasn’t dragged you off to a courthouse to get married already. Kimberly and I figured tonight was going to be Abi’s big reveal that it’s all really real now.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I think Kim’s hoping there’s a baby announcement with it too.”

I do pick up my glass of scotch at that and upend it in one swallow. I gasp at the burn that flows down my throat and up into my sinuses. “Uh, no. Not yet. We’d like to be married first and get to know each other better. I think.”

The idea of kids scares me. The idea of a mini-Abigail is both adorable and terrifying. But I’m under no pretense that if she said she was ready to start trying tonight, I’d have her underneath me in seconds. I’m a full-blown sucker for her.

“Good luck with that. I do appreciate the gesture of this,” he says, pointing from himself to me, “but all you need to do is make my little girl happy and we’ll be fine. Understood?”

There’s the threat I’ve been waiting on, cold and sharp and hard-edged.

“Understood.”

“Good, then let’s eat,” Morgan says. “Fair warning, the caterers heard they were cooking for a chef tonight and got both nervous and excited. I’m not sure if that means we’ll be eating extra well or if it’ll be inedible.”

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

As we walk down the hallway, I can hear female voices from a room somewhere ahead and wonder what interrogation Abigail’s been through while I was with her father.

“What restaurants have you been considering? Or have you thought of opening one of your own? I could help with that, you know,” Morgan offers kindly.

“Thank you, but no. If I ever open my own restaurant, it will be with my own funding. I want it to be mine. For now, I’m happy to let others take the financial risk and focus on the kitchen to allow my creativity to run free. I still have more to learn and excellent opportunities to do so here,” I tell Morgan.

“You passed that test with flying colors, son,” he says with a smile. “Much like my Abi. And I’ll admit I’m glad to hear you say ‘here’ because I would hate to see her leave the business she’s worked so hard to create.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. She is SweetPea and SweetPea is her. I know the roots she has here are important to her, and therefore, they are important to me.”

“Dad! Quit with the third-degree,” Abigail yells as she comes out to meet us.

But I don’t need her to save me from her dad. He and I are on the same team . . . Team Abigail, both willing to do anything for her.Dinner is delicious, as I predicted. Or at least I think it is. I’m so nervous, I barely taste a thing, but everyone else seems to enjoy it.

Finally, with dessert complete and after-dinner coffees sitting on fine china plates, I feel ready.

“Abigail?” I say when there’s a lull in the conversation.

She turns to me. Actually, everyone turns to me—Morgan and Kimberly, Ross and Violet, and Kaede and Courtney. Even baby Carly, who’s sitting in a high chair at the formal dining table.

“I never imagined I would meet someone like you, someone who would make me want to stop everything and find stillness and peace in their eyes—”

Ross chokes on a laugh, “Did he say that Abi’s peaceful? Has he even met her?” I hear Violet’s smack to his chest, and they quiet down for me to continue.

“Someone who makes anywhere feel like home. You make me smile, make me laugh, make me want to smack your ass—”

Morgan interrupts this time, clearing his throat. Oops. Seems Abigail has broken my brain-mouth filter too.

I cut my eyes to Morgan in apology, and Abigail snaps her fingers in front of my face to get my attention back. She’s beaming, already nodding her head when I haven’t even asked what I want to yet.

I could wait. This is fast, strangely, crazily so, but as the happy couples in my family always told me, when you know, you know. So why wait? There is nothing to be gained by delaying.

I scoot my chair back, dropping down to one knee right there at the fancy dinner table in the Andrewses’ dining room to take Abigail’s hands in mine.

“Mia rosa, would you do me the honor of being my wife and allow me the blessing of being your husband?”