“Paxton. I want you to keep the Paxton.”

Her gaze lowered to her wedding ring, which had imprinted itself on her finger and her heart. How kind of him to let her keep his name. “Oh. For Helen’s sake.”

Clay huffed out a breath and scrunched up his face. “Why am I having such a hard time communicating lately? Not just for Helen’s sake. For mine.”

And why was she having such a hard time comprehending lately?

His gorgeous dark gaze strengthened. “I don’t want you only to keep my name. I want you to keep me.”

“Keep you?”

“As your husband.”

Leah inhaled sharply and pushed back from the shelf. “Clay, no. That’s a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

“No.” Her head swung back and forth. “You have plans. College, medical school.”

“I’d like to include you in those plans, if you’re willing.”

Her willingness had nothing to do with it. “We’d hold you back.”

“I don’t see how.” His massive shoulders shrugged. “If anything, you’d make it easier.”

Leah rubbed her temple. If only she could rub away his sense of obligation. “I know what you’re doing. I know you feel sorry for me and you enjoy providing for me, but I’ll be fine on my own. I will. The Lord is my provider. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“But I want to. I—”

“No, Clay. You once dreamed of becoming a physician and marrying a woman you loved, and you lost that dream. But you deserve to become a doctor. You deserve to marry a woman you love. I won’t let you lose it again. Not out of—out of charity.” She spat out the detested word.

“Charity? Is that what you think?”

Leah shoved the books back into the gap. “I’ll see you at eleven.”

“Leah!”

She shoved the cart up the aisle, then down the farthest aisle from Clay, her throat tight and her chin quivering. Why was he making this difficult? Why couldn’t he see this was for the best? Why did he have to be so honorable, so generous, so . . . charitable?

“Thalia Karahalios Paxton!” Clay’s voice boomed from the reading area.

What on earth? Leah dashed to the end of the aisle.

Clay stood on a table—on top of a table—legs astride and fists on his hips.

She gripped a shelf for support. He looked so grand and noble, and yet adorably silly. What on earth was he doing?

He stretched his hands and a grin to her. “Thalia, my muse. Leah, my wife, my—”

“Sir!” Mrs. Sheridan marched over. “Excuse me, but I’ll have to ask you to quiet down and get off the table. This is a library.”

“I do apologize, ma’am.” Clay turned that electrifying grin to the librarian. “But I’m not coming down until I’m finished proposing to my wife.”