The shower.

It doesn’t escape me that Fitz is leading me to all the places we spent time together. And giving me presents to show he listened. And he cares.

In the shower, there’s another Christmas present. I tear it open to find another old book. Pride and Prejudice. Not a first edition, but inside he’s written a quote from the book along with the clue.

I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

I blink away tears. It’s from the final scene, when Mr. Darcy once again declares his intentions for Elizabeth Bennet.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, to be precise.

I read the next clue.

I have four legs, one head, and a foot. And twinkle lights overhead. I also rhyme with head. And I don’t mean that in a dirty way. But maybe I do.

I laugh and then take a deep breath, before walking down the hall to the room. The door is shut. I’m so nervous my palms are sweating. I can’t breathe properly. I gulp in some air before pushing the door open.

Fitz is there, alone, dressed in a grey button-up shirt and dark jeans.

His smile is hopeful and tentative. He’s holding a small, wrapped box.

I’m still clutching my bag with all of the papers, Northanger Abbey, the Spam, and the hatpin inside, Pride and Prejudice in the other hand.

“You came.”

“How did you know I’d get to the end?” I ask.

His smile is tentative. “I knew you wouldn’t give up.”

“Risky.”

“It’s how I roll.” And then we stare at each other for long seconds before he startles and holds out the box in his hand, wrapped in Santa-covered paper. “This is for you.”

I can’t take it though. My hands are full. I hold the items up a little and it’s like he’s just now realized I’m holding all of these things.

“Oh.” He puts the box down on the bed, then takes everything from me and puts it all on the dresser and his hands are shaking a little and he’s nervous.

He’s nervous about me.

The idea is so startling and thrilling, I laugh out loud.

“Are you laughing at me?” His playful tone belies the hurt words, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Yes. I am.”

My hands are finally free and he hands me the little box. “Here.”

I tear it open. It’s a small jewelry box.

My eyes fly to his, brows lifting.

“That’s not what you think it is. I mean, we’re a little young for what you’re thinking, but I won’t take it off the table for some time in the future.”

Heart thumping, palms clammy with nerves, I open the little box and laugh.

It’s the key.

I hold it up and meet Fitz’s eyes, which are gazing back at me, both hopeful and a little uncertain.

“I’m so sorry about everything,” he says. “But everyone knows the full truth now. And I want to take you home to meet my parents before they leave for Florida. I already told them all about you and they want to meet you too.”