Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

“Gosh, that’s romantic.” Still, it is romantic that he’d come with me. Because I know he would if I asked, and sometimes I do, although mostly I don’t. We’re happy either way.

He glances over at me. “We’re doing good though, right, princess? This is working for you? Because it sure as hell is working for me.”

I set my glass on the counter, walking to him and putting both hands on his face. “Absolutely it’s working for me. Every part of it.”

It’s true.

I still travel more tha

n either of us would probably like, but I limit it to the absolute necessities, preferring to set up my home base in…wait for it.

Louisiana.

In the house.

Noah’s worked his ass off turning the house from barely standing into a gorgeously renovated masterpiece. A perfect showcase for his new business in modern woodworking.

The caretaker cottage has been completely renovated as a guest suite, something my family and Amber take frequent advantage of. As does Finn, although why, I don’t know, since he has his own place.

As for my dream of converting the place to a sanctuary for musically inclined kids someday, I still want it. Someday. Maybe a retirement project.

Or who knows, maybe little musically inclined children of my own, of the non-burrito variety.

“What are you smiling about, princess?”

“Just picturing little Noahs running around the house. Imagining how grouchy they’ll be,” I say, before I can think better of it. I hold my breath, hoping he won’t freak out.

Instead he studies me. “That so? Because I have frequent visions of little Jennys running around. Thinking how noisy they’ll be.”

My stomach flips. “You think about that?”

His smile is warm. Intimate. “Every damn day. I know we’ve got things to do first. I want to get a few more job orders. And then there’s figuring out how to survive next year on the road for your world tour with two dogs. But when that’s over…” He taps my stomach lightly. “Knockin’ you up.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Preston Noah Maxwell Walcott, I’ll have you know I’m an old-fashioned good girl. Is there a ring in that plan somewhere?”

Noah freezes. My smile slips, and I feel just a little bit panicky that he looks panicky. “Hey,” I say quickly. “I was joking around. We don’t have to rush.”

He nods, pressing an absent kiss to my forehead with a thoughtful expression on his face.

By the time we’re done with dinner—three steaks, one for each of us and one for the dogs to split— I’ve mostly forgotten about the conversation. Sort of.

Later, much later, we’re curled up on the porch swing, my head on his shoulder, our fingers linked beneath the quilt my mom made us for Christmas.

The dogs are inside; the night is quiet. Perfect.

But not quite as perfect as when I feel something cool and firm slip onto the fourth finger of my left hand under the blanket.

I jolt a little in surprise, and he turns his head, pressing his lips to my temple. “Been carrying this around for a while,” he whispers softly. “Couldn’t quite figure out the right time or place before. But this felt like it.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my thumb running over the ring. I don’t have to look at it to know it’s perfect. “Yeah,” I whisper back. “This is it.”

“That a yes, princess?”

I nod. “That’s a yes.”

I feel his shoulder relax a little in relief, and my cheek finds his shoulder. We stay like that for nearly an hour, and then it hits me that there may be no more perfect moment in my life than a quiet night, the man I love, and a porch swing. It takes me a little while longer to realize what I’m feeling.

I’m feeling forever.