“Oh my god,” Paige says. “I feel like a traitor for saying this, but it’s even better than my sister Bethany’s. And she had the reputation for making the meanest apple pie in Sweet Hope.”
“Just one bite…?” I tease.
She shakes her head. “I never understood why the Romans spat food out so they could keep eating, but maybe they had something like Jane’s apple pie back then.”
I laugh. And we destroy the pie together.
Afterwards, she smiles. “Thank you. This is lovely.”
“Made even lovelier by a beautiful companion.”
I reach over and hold her hand. Her pulse throbs under my thumb. And the skin-to-skin touch sends a zing down my spine. Then suddenly I realize: in the four years she’s been working for me, we’ve never let our bare skin touch on purpose.
Without letting go of her, I get up. This is it. The pivotal moment, the one that the paparazzi have been waiting for.
Even though I know it’s necessary, it somehow feels wrong to do this for show. I don’t know where the hesitation’s coming from. She already agreed to the farce. There’s nothing unethical about it.
Putting on an earnest and besotted expression, I get on one knee, the pose elegant and romantic, making sure my best side is toward the hidden photogs on the beach. I reach into my pocket and pull out a velvet box. “Paige, will you marry me?” I ask, opening the lid with one hand.
Her mouth parts. The ring inside glitters under the lantern lights around the patio. Impeccably cut diamonds sparkle, while the band shimmers like a promise of heavenly love.
It’s a Miyoko Hamada one-of-a-kind design. There is a huge princess-cut rock in the center and two smaller ones on each side. That part isn’t that interesting—tons of rings have the same basic layout. But the band is beautifully entwined in pale pink gold and platinum in a complex, fluid design. The detailing is unique and exquisite. If you look at it on edge one way it shows a string of hearts. The other way, it’s two linked hands.
I bought it years ago and almost ended up giving it to someone who was about as real as a magic trick. Seems fitting that it should go now to a woman who’s never lied to me.
Paige swallows, her hand tight around mine. “Ryder, you shouldn’t have.”
“Is that a no?” I joke.
“Of course, it’s a yes. You knew I’d say yes.” She takes the box, puts it on the table then turns to me. “Get me a simple solitaire and save this for the woman you really want to marry. It’s too special to waste on something like this.”
Paige isn’t being coy, but sincere. It’s unbelievable she doesn’t think she deserves something special. Whether I ever find a woman I want to spend the rest of my life or not, P
aige is due every consideration from me.
“It’s not a ‘waste.’ My fiancée deserves the very best.” I pull her hand closer, take the ring and put it on her finger. “So-called fashion critics are going to dissect the hardware. I don’t want you humiliated over something like this. When people look at this, they’ll know you’re loved.”
I lean closer until the tips of our noses are almost touching. Her sweet scent is all around me.
She looks down at the ring. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
My throat is tight, and my voice thickens. “Then thank me with a kiss.”
Before she can react, I press my lips against hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Paige
A barrier inside me cracks. A small tremor starts in my chest.
When I was growing up, there was a confectionary shop owned by a Japanese couple on the way to school. Everyone in Sweet Hope knew about the shop because Asians were unusual in town, and it had the most gorgeously decorated cupcakes and miniature cakes.
I often stared at the displays on the other side of the clear glass wall and admired them as my mouth watered, imagining all the ways they would taste and smell. But I never went inside to buy one. I never had the money to blow on such pricey treats, especially when I was saving for college. So looking was all I did for several years.
Then Simon bought one for me on my seventeenth birthday. Purple, pink and yellow frosting swirled into a gorgeous night sky full of stars and the crescent moon. It must’ve taken the baker hours to create it.
“For you,” he said, and he didn’t have to say it again. I gave him half the treat—insisted that he eat it or I wasn’t touching it either—then devoured the most moist, delicious half-cupcake I’d ever had in my life. And when it was gone, I sighed with longing, but I never had one again, just admired them from the other side of the glass.