“No. I just didn’t realize when you said yes that you meant someday.” His tone was lighthearted, but I felt a twinge of guilt in my chest. Jared immediately reacted. “I’m kidding, sweetheart,” he said, tucking my hair behind my ear. Instead of the ends of my hair wrapping around the bottom of my ear like it used to, it brushed against my shoulder.

I looked down, picking at my fingernails. “I know, but it’s true. You didn’t expect a long engagement.”

“Well, I assumed maybe a year with everything happening so fast. But when the year came and went and you never so much as mentioned it….”

“Oh. You think it’s not important to me,” I said, my face feeling hot.

“I didn’t say that,” he quickly backpedaled.

I looked up at him under my lashes. “But that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Well,” he hesitated, “you do tend to insinuate that there are other things you’d rather focus on. I understand, but I can’t help but be a little disappointed. It was my idea after all,” he grinned, kissing my forehead.

I slowly crawled into his lap. “I love you, Jared Ryel. There is nothing I want more than to be your wife. I promise to get right to work on that date, okay?”

Jared beamed. “Thank you.” His lips traveled to mine, but quickly pulled away. “You’d better keep this to yourself. I think mom has finally accepted that no amount of encouragement on her part is going to produce a wedding. It’s probably best to let her think you have other things on your mind.”

“Good plan,” I said, leaning him back against the blanket.

He smiled. “Speaking of Lillian…she invited us to dinner. Apparently, she has a surprise.”

“A surprise….” I trailed off. “Do you know what it is?”

Jared shook his head. “Not a clue.”

I looked at my watch. “We’d better get going if we’re going to wash up and make dinner.”

Jared stood up and brought me with him. We rolled the blanket and I fastened it to the back of Jared's motorcycle, and then we made a quick stop at the loft, trading the bike for the Escalade.

After a quick stop at Cynthia’s, Jared drove us to his mother’s. We had been to Lillian’s more than enough times for me to get past the night of the invasion, but no matter how many times we made a visit, an overwhelming sick feeling still came over me as we pulled into the drive.

“No need to be nervous,” Jared said.

“I’m not. I’m starting to wonder if it’s post-traumatic stress,” I said with a half-smile.

Jared didn’t share my humor over the subject. “It’s a possibility,” he said as he opened the passenger door.

We walked to the house, and Jared stopped abruptly.

“What?” I asked, scanning his face.