‘I love it,’ she whispered, looking up at him.

‘Try it on then,’ he urged.

She shook her head. ‘I’m superstitious about putting rings on that finger unless . . .’ She hesitated. Although she’d seen the love in his eyes, saw it every day, knew what this ring symbolised, she couldn’t quite bring herself to take it all for granted.

‘Here, let me.’ He took hold of her left hand and then, taking the ring from her, he slid it on to her finger. It was a little large but she thought it looked lovely. Before she could admire it for long he took it off again.

He was already kneeling but he put one leg behind him so that he was on only one knee. Laura stifled a giggle. It was all so hopelessly romantic and he looked so serious.

‘Laura, dear heart, love of my life, will you marry me?’

Sighing and smiling, she said, ‘Well, I just might.’

‘Just say yes, would you, woman!’

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice strong and clear.

‘Yes, Dermot, I will marry you?’ he said, holding her once more beringed hand tightly as if he was afraid she’d scamper off.

‘Yes, Dermot, I will marry you.’ But she’d hardly got out the last word before he had taken her in his arms and they were rolling on the rug together, kissing and laughing.

‘Now we can tell your parents when they come to stay.’ He reached across to the rucksack and produced a newspaper-covered bottle. ‘Let’s have a mug of champagne.’

‘I thought we were going to have tea!’

‘Bollocks to tea. We’ll have that afterwards. Now, we’re celebrating!’

Other books by this author

Read on for an exclusive short story by Katie Fforde . . .

Christmas Shopping

by

Katie Fforde

Christmas Shopping

Evie’s overloaded trolley slid slowly but unstoppably into the trolley next to her. She’d been wishing all the way round that she’d tested it for wonkiness before she set off and should have changed it the moment she realised it wouldn’t steer. Now it paid her back for her inefficiency by crashing into a trolley that seemed a dream – a perfect dinner for two: a packet of pheasant breasts, a bottle of champagne and some potted shrimps. Evie was very fond of potted shrimps. She looked up at the lucky shopper, who apparently didn’t need enough food to feed a small country, just because it was Christmas. Of course, because Evie was showing the strain of the festive season in every line, wrinkle and pore, he was extremely good-looking. He had greying black hair, strong eyebrows, and beneath them dark eyes that crinkled attractively at the corners. Evie was aware her hair needed cutting, she hadn’t bothered with make-up that morning and was wearing clothes she did housework in. She smiled, hoping to distract him from her looks.