sex.”
The corner of his lips kicked back up. “That threat never gets old.”
“Neither does my cat burglar nickname.”
They both enjoyed this suggestion from her therapist, to treat the past lightly whenever possible, giving it less power to hurt them. Although it worked for them both, it didn’t explain why Jack was acting like a weird sneak.
If Jack had thought this scavenger hunt through properly, he’d be wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, not a full suit. His sweat-a-thon had begun the second Clementine had pulled up to the house. If she didn’t get in this trash-heap of a car soon, he was liable to combust.
“Have I ever led you astray, love?”
She chewed her lip, still eyeing him with distrust. “There was that time I dropped off Blue for Imelda and you let me stand in the rain.”
He chuckled and dragged a hand through his hair. “You love bringing that up.”
And he loved her teasing. He couldn’t imagine a day where she didn’t make a crack about his jumpsuit collection or call him an idiot, mischief in her cinnamon eyes. The nights she lazily draped her leg over his while falling asleep were his favorite. The handcuffs and dirty packages she sent him at work were a close second, always with cheeky notes like: In case you’re in a frisky mood.
He was always in a Clementine mood.
And she wasn’t ready to relent. “Just saying, most gentlemen would offer shelter, basic human kindness, when the weather turned. Who knows what kind of indecent thing you’ve stored in the car.”
“Guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”
She tried to glare at him, but it looked more like a cute nose twitch.
When she finally stepped toward the driver door, his heart hitched. If this was too soon, if he set her therapy back, he’d be furious with himself. But Lucien and Yevgen’s trials were on the horizon. Clementine was the key witness. He wanted her to know, beyond a doubt, that he was here to stay.
The door groaned as she opened it, the Firebird one mile shy of pushing up daisies. She glanced through the busted window. “There appears to be a gift inside my gift.”
Jack rubbed the back of his damp neck. “No clue how that got in there.”
She shot him a playful look. “Likely story.”
She eased into the driver seat, ran her hand over the dusty dash and whistled, then mumbled something he couldn’t hear. Cursing him for another gift? If that was the case, she’d be livid over that box.
She lifted the parcel tentatively and gave it a shake. “Nothing growled, so that’s a good sign.”
“Maggots don’t growl,” he said.
“Rats galore,” she shot back and ripped the wrapping.
He held his breath. Last time he’d been this nervous, he’d been teaching Clementine to swim. He’d stood at the pool edge, three lifejackets at the ready, that stupid song about her name always in the back of his mind.
She tossed the paper and bow onto the passenger seat, then worked the lid off the box…and screamed.
Not the reaction he’d wanted.
He rushed over and fell to his knees. “Don’t freak out.”
“I’m freaking out.”
“Okay. You can freak out, but only because you’re unbelievably excited to be my wife and spend the rest of your life waking up next to me.”
Her answering whimper was less distressing than her scream. She lifted the chocolate diamond wedding ring from the box. It shook in her grasp. “How can you love me this much?”
“Because I do.” There was no describing the indescribable obsession of love. It was a rainbow on a sunny day, the tiny hairs on your neck that announced a premonition. Love was everything you needed and nothing you didn’t.
It was Clementine Abernathy, cat burglar, who’d stolen his heart.
“God, Jack—are you sure?”
He took his grandmother’s ring from her hand and held it at the tip of her finger. “I want you forever, Clementine. I want to grow old with you and love you and fight with you so we can make up and do it all over again. I want to sing to you always and do that thing you like with my tongue.” Her watery laugh spurred him on. “I want us, baby. I want you to be my wife.”
She sniffled, her fingers shaking in his grasp. She didn’t reply.
“Clementine? Are you unsure?”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
An emotion he wished she didn’t still feel with him. At a loss, he said, “I know the ring isn’t traditional, but it was my grandmother’s. It matches the necklace I gave you.” The one she’d worried about while bleeding on his floor. “My mother’s thrilled for you to wear it.”
“She approves of this…of me?”
If Clementine only knew. “She cried when I told her and is already listing venues.”
His mother had cried a lot since losing Dad, these particular tears both happy and sad. Maxwell wouldn’t be here for his son’s wedding, or the milestones afterward. A fact Jack still struggled with, and Clementine’s worries weren’t hers alone.
After his mother had regained her composure, Jack had said, “Do you think Dad would approve?”
Maxwell’s first instinct after the shooting had been to warn Jack away from Clementine. Advice he had happily ignored. His father had come around eventually, even calling Clementine “his girl” often. “How’s my girl today?” had become his standard greeting for her.
Jack had immediately regretted asking his mother about Maxwell’s approval, feeling like he’d betrayed Clementine.
But Sylvia David had taken Jack’s hand in hers and had given him a squeeze. “As a kid, you would cry during those UNICEF commercials. You’d come to me and ask if you could donate your toys and clothes and everything in the house. Then came the Humane Society commercials and more tears and you foraging for injured wildlife. You were born a compassionate soul, and Clementine needs compassion. Your father and I both saw how happy she makes you, and how much she challenges you, as any partner should. Your father recognized that as he got to know her. And the way she was there for all of us, and you, when he passed? You two are each other’s center of gravity.”
Her words had settled him back then. He wished she were here to settle Clementine now.
“My mother is beyond thrilled for us both,” he said. “So I’ll ask again, since I’m a slow learner and didn’t phrase my last attempt as a question. Clementine, will you marry me?”
Her wobbly smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Part of me still feels like I don’t deserve this—deserve you—but if I keep thinking like that, I’ll have to add a bunch of dollars to my low-self-esteem jar, and I’m tapped out.” Her hand steadied and her chin ticked up. “I’m also not letting you get away.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a hell yes.”
He slipped the ring on her finger and cupped her cheeks, drawing her lips to his, needing her in a way he’d never experienced. They kissed slow and deep, every taste of her making him lightheaded. Their kisses always spurred his pulse, but this was different, slower and harder all at once. It was his future. It was a promise, one he would honor until he died.
He pulled back and made enough space to hold out his hand to her. “My name is Maxwell Jack David the Third, fiancé to the most spectacular woman in the world. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Forget that last smile, this one—giddy and mischievous with a dash of awe—was his new favorite. She slipped her hand into his. “I’m Clementine Abernathy, reformed criminal and fiancée to the best Elvis tribute artist to ever live, even though he forfeited last year’s final competition and lost to Alistair this year.”
“Alistair is the worst,” he grumbled, always surprised by his new fondness for his old nemesis. They had wagered the signed gold record in a private bet for this year’s competition. Jack should have been livid he’d lost the title and that prize. Secretly, he liked knowing Alistair kept the treasure safe. “And you forgot to add that I’m the man who’ll spend his days buying you gifts that will piss you off.”
She sputtered a rebuttal, but he silenced his future wife with another kiss.