For Better or Worse
Page 106“Hey, 4C.” His voice was low, easy and casual, as though this wasn’t the most absurd thing to ever happen to either of them.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Wanted to know if you were okay.”
“You mean did I catch your mono? No, I told you I’m fine,” she said, more than a little confused and pissed off at his sudden appearance.
“But how are you fine? Did you catch the kissing disease from someone else?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “A JV basketball center with braces who played the clarinet in our high school band during the off season.” She tried to push past him. “Now that we’ve got that all cleared up, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”
But Josh blocked her path with one strong, muscled arm. “Names, 4C. I’m going to need a name, and address if you have it, so I can beat this motherfucker down.”
Heather gave him a quick once-over, wanting—needing—to make sure that he was okay.
He looked . . . great. A little tired, maybe, but mostly he was the pinnacle of health.
“I still have to take an afternoon nap,” he said, reading her thoughts. “And I wouldn’t say no to a sponge bath. But I’m fine. Fever gone, yada yada.”
She meant the statement to come out snippy and sharp, but instead it was softly uttered, like a wish.
Because she did mean it. This man had hurt her badly, but she still loved him. She was relieved that the only thing currently ailing him was a brush with an adolescent virus.
She glanced back up at him, noticing for the first time the bouquet he held in his hands. “What’s with the peonies?”
He glanced down, seeming to realize for the first time that he was carrying pink flowers, and shoving them against her chest. “For you.”
She barely caught them with one arm, since her other was still on her luggage. “Um, thank you?”
Wary as she was, she couldn’t resist admiring them. She did love her some pink peonies.
“4C, there’s something I need to say to you.”
Heather’s gaze snapped back from the flowers to Josh’s face, but all she saw in front of her was empty space.
Because Josh Tanner was on one knee.
And there was a ring.
Oh, the ring.
She stared down at him, and he smiled half-nervously, half-cockily.
“I love you,” he said. “I had this whole speech planned out, and Alexis and Brooke and my sister proofread it with a red pen and everything, but as I’m kneeling here awkwardly, I realize it’s all unnecessary. I love you. I love you more than is sane for any man to love any woman. All the way, to the ends of the earth. Damn, is that cheesy?” He shook his head slightly. “Maybe I should have brought the speech after all.”
“Josh.” She knelt down slightly, trying to tug him upward. “What are you doing? Get up.”
“Not until I get an answer.”
“I don’t even know what you’re asking!” But of course, she did. It was written all over his posture.
And his face.
Oh, and the ring.
Heather’s heart lifted and then fell and then did some sort of somersault.
“Josh—”
“I know it’s soon. I’m probably rushing it. But if battling that damn leukemia taught me anything, it’s that life is fucking short. And if recovering from cancer taught me anything, it’s that a life spent thinking just about tomorrow, even if tomorrow’s all there is, is a half life. I need you, Heather. I need you, I want you, I love you for always. For all the todays and all the tomorrows.”
She blinked. “You didn’t really forget that speech your sister wrote for you, did you? There was a little bit of it in there just then.”
He grinned. “I have an excellent memory. And a pretty decent-sized package. Honestly, woman, you have to marry me.”
The moment was insanity. He was insanity. Proposing in an airport, dressed in a—
“Wait, why are you wearing that?” she asked.
“Oh my God, she still hasn’t said yes,” someone whispered. Heather glanced up from Josh’s gaze to see a rapt semicircle of airport dwellers gathered nearby, gaping. A few women were looking at her accusingly, and Heather had to stifle a laugh. If they’d had to put up with Josh’s shtick like she had, they, too, might be given some pause.