Page 163 of Kai
“Yeah, we were celebrating you accepting my proposal.”
“You what?”
“Look, he assumed, I just didn’t correct him.”
Dead silence.
Complete silence.
Then—she screeches and I have to move the phone away from my ear or risk losing my auditory processing abilities.
“Kai, you did WHAT?!”
I grin.
“Relax, Firecracker.”
“Relax?! Kai Montego, you let a Catholic priest think we're engaged?”
“Technically, I let him think we're eventually engaged.”
“What does that even mean? OH MY GOD, KAI!”
“He seemed really happy.”
“You are unbelievable. What will people say when we don’t get married?”
I don’t answer her question.
“You know, you’re adorable when you're worked up.”
“I am not adorable!”
“Baby, right now you're talking a mile a minute and threatening spontaneous combustion. You're cute as hell.”
I hear her huff.
“You know, for a confirmed bachelor who should be horrified by engagement rumors, you're awfully calm about this.”
I smile.
Because that's the thing.
I'm not calm.
I'm happy.
Terrifyingly happy.
The thought of marrying Mary Donahue doesn't make me run.
It doesn't make me sweat.
It doesn't make me panic.
It feels right.
Like breathing.
