Mr. Smithfield - Louise Bay Page 0,103
“So I made you something.”
Her delicious pout widened into a smile as if just hearing the words was enough of a gift.
I pulled the tie fastening the blindfold and it fell to the ground. Her eyes grew large as she took in the two Adirondack chairs set out in the courtyard. “A classic American design made with the strength of English oak,” I said, watching her reaction as she stepped out into the courtyard.
“They’re beautiful,” she said, smoothing her hands over the wood. “You made these?”
She turned to me and I stalked toward her, wanting to hold her expression of pride and happiness in my memory forever.
“After the jewelry box, I thought maybe I’d do another project from scratch,” I said. “I thought that when we’re too old to travel, we can sit in these chairs and reminisce over the times we went to a thousand faraway places.”
“I love that idea.” She slid her palm over my cheek, and I circled my arms around her waist. “And the stool,” she said pointing to the matching one I’d also made. “That’s for Bethany,” she said, knowing exactly what I’d been thinking. “And you can make more for our other children.”
“When the time comes,” I said. There was no rush to add to our family, but we both hoped more children were in our future.
“I miss her when she’s not here,” she said.
“Me too,” I replied. “But it’s good that Penelope’s in her life.” Penelope had started a fine art course and found a place to live between the college and Smithfield. She had shown no signs of abandoning Bethany and they’d grown closer. I hoped she found whatever she was looking for in Bethany and in her art. If Penelope was happy, that was good for our daughter.
“She’s going to love it,” Autumn said. “You’re so talented.”
“I’m so lucky,” I said, squeezing her tight. “Oh, and another thing.” I nodded at the white envelopes on her chair.
“More anniversary gifts?” She picked up the envelopes and I took a seat, pulling her onto my lap. “I don’t need anything more. What could be better than these beautiful chairs?”
“What about somewhere to go that we can reminisce over while we sit in them?”
“Are you serious?” she said, ripping open the envelope. “India?” She glanced over the paperwork.
“Did you know that the Taj Mahal was built as a monument of love?”
She pressed her lips to my cheek. “I did know that.” She kissed me again—my jaw this time.
“I’m thinking I might propose,” I said, holding my breath for her reaction. She was still so young, and I didn’t want to put her under any pressure, but I knew that I’d be with her until my dying breath. I saw no reason why we weren’t as publicly committed as we were privately.
She pulled away, checking to see if I was serious. She trailed her fingers along my neck. “Will it involve karaoke?” she asked. “Because if it does, I’m definitely saying yes.”
“Karaoke? At the Taj Mahal?”
She pulled back to meet my eye, her expression deadly serious. “There’s never a bad place for karaoke.”
“And if I say there will be strictly no karaoke involved when I propose marriage to you, are you going to say no?”
She huffed out a breath and glanced at the ceiling, like she was really having to consider it. “It won’t be a definite no.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You’re ridiculous. You’re totally going to say yes.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll propose to you. On the plane on the way over. When the seatbelt signs go off, I’ll jump into the aisle and belt out ‘Defying Gravity’ at the top of my lungs and end on one knee, bearing a ring.”
“Okay, if you’re going to threaten me with stuff like that, I’m never travelling with you. Not ever. And the proposal is off.”
She looped her arms around my neck. “No deal. You’re totally going to propose. And so long as there’s karaoke at the wedding, I can cope with a song-free proposal.”
“You sure you’re ready?” I asked, serious again. I didn’t want her to feel rushed.
“It doesn’t matter how young or old I am. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you. If we get married now or in ten years, what difference does it make?”
She was right of course, because she was the wisest woman I knew. Autumn was someone who’d always seen the light in me and whose darkness didn’t scare me. She was my forever—horrific singing