He tried to wait for her to finish, but he was out of his seat two chords before the end. He brushed the long strands of her hair back away from the guitar and kissed her. Slow and languid, because too often these days they ended up with quick pecks on their way past each other. He should take more time to sink into the taste of her like this, their tongues playing together, comfortable and teasing all at once.

When the guitar started biting into his ribs, he pulled away and kissed the tip of her pert little nose. “I love you, sweet girl. And just so we’re clear, I loved you even before you learned just enough music to make me look good.”

She exploded with laughter and shoved him away. “Oh, you caught me. This was all about making you feel better about how you play. Especially since Ty has you beat on a guitar even on your best day.”

He clapped a hand over his heart. “You’re killing me, girl. A man’s ego is a delicate thing, you know.”

She snorted. “Maybe some men’s, but certainly not yours. Thing’s as big as Texas and twice as tough.”

He laughed and turned toward the refrigerator. “We ought to have a celebration dinner after that. What are you in the mood for?”

She caught his hand. “Hold on. There’s more, and . . .” She wet her lips and tugged at his hand. “Maybe just sit here with me for it?”

Her voice was too small to tease her, so he dropped cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “Sure I will.”

He pretended to look up her skirt, and she slapped halfheartedly at him, laughing. When he settled down, she carefully placed her fingers on the frets like she’d practiced this song a lot.

This one was slower. He listened to several chords, nodding along, and when she peeked up at him, he smiled. “It’s nice. Keep playing.”

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and she stopped midsong and started again, watching his face this time. He broadened his grin, hoping that would suffice until he figured out what the hell she was playing.

The song finished, and he smiled even harder as he reached for her. “Dang, girl. It’s a good thing my mama’s gone, because that was gorgeous. I mean—”

Relief suddenly washed all the tension out of her expression. “You don’t have any idea what I’m playing, do you?”

“Not one tiny clue.”

She groaned and pushed at his shoulder. “Come on, LJ, the wedding march?”

“The—” He froze, his eyes flying up to hers.

She slid off the bench, the guitar bumping the floor as she knelt before him, taking both his hands. “Lyndon Johnson Delisle, I want you to be my husband.”