Thomas & January (26 page)

“Hi, babe,” I spit out, barely.

“
They’re here
!” she sang, plopping the box onto my desk.

She took the scissors from the cup on my desk and opened them so the sharp part was exposed. She ran the length through the tape binding the entire thing and I swear to God I thought I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I stood quickly and shut the door before sitting back down in my chair. I tried to rest my hand on my mouse but it was trembling so badly, I pretended I needed something from my shelf. I stood, retrieved the tape,
the tape?
, then sat back down. Thankfully, she didn’t notice and I abandoned the worthless tape in front of me.

I set my arms on the rests of the chair and folded my quaking hands over my stomach.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, making me sit up a bit. “We’re on the cover after all!” She drank in the image of us and turned it toward me. “Oh my God,” she breathed.

I somehow brought my face down from staring at her eyes and noticed the pic they’d chosen. It was January and me, but not in one of the posed shots like I expected. In fact, it was a candid shot of us when we thought no one was watching. We were both laughing, my face almost buried in her neck, and her hair falling back. We looked so incredibly happy.

I swallowed.

“Can you believe how beautiful this shot is, Tom?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “You’re in it.”

“Tom,” she choked, a small tear escaping her eye. She smiled gently, wiped it clear of her face and took a steadying breath. She flipped open the magazine and took a seat in the chair at the foot of my desk. She brought her feet up and crossed her ankles on the glass.

              “Let’s see,” she said, looking up the index.

Oh my word, here we go
, I thought.

She looked at me like she’d only just noticed me and smiled again, making my heart stutter. “Well, don’t you look smart today,” she said before standing up and kissing me, then sitting back down.

I think I’m going to have a heart attack
. “Th-thank you,” I stuttered but she was too distracted to notice.

“Okay,” she said, “page seventy-nine. Seventy-nine,” she repeated, flipping through the pages. My knee bounced rapidly and my hand slapped down to still it.

She looked up at the noise. “You okay, buttercup?”

“Uh-huh,” I offered.

“
Okay
,” she sang and went back to searching. “Sixty-eight,” she teased. “Seventy-two.” My heart beat rapidly in my chest. “Ah! Here we are. Seventy-nine.”

She turned the page and saw that we had a two-page spread. Minutes seemed to pass.

Her face fell and tears started to fall when she read the header. She brought quivering hands to her face and looked at me with glassy eyes.

I stood and fished the wooden box from my right pocket.

“January MacLochlainn,” I said, kneeling on my left knee in front of her, “I love you so incredibly much.” A sob burst from her mouth but she worked to stifle it with her hand. “And I would be especially honored if you would let me worship you for the rest of our lives.

“You see,” I continued. “It seems it’s my life’s purpose.”

I opened the square wood box from the little antique store I’d been hiding for three months and presented her the ring I knew was perfect for her, even then. I’d replaced the center diamond with an emerald because she’d always told me that her grandmother’s ring was just like that and how much she loved it.

“Will you marry me?” I asked, repeating the magazine’s header.

“Yes,” she barely whispered.
Zap.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to the editor who saved me. Hollie Westring, this book never would have been published without you. You didn't know it at the time but it's true. Plus, we're baby bump sisters. Sorry about
The Gambler
. Kind of. Sort of. Not really.

I'd like to thank my Plumes. Somehow being insane is cool and acceptable when I'm around you. Probably because you're all insane. That helps. So much love for you guys. When we're eighty, somehow I know we'll still be putt-putting around with each other, guilty of hijinks and blaming our age.

Thank you, Petra Bagnardi. You're a modern day January with your multilingual skills. I seriously don't know how I would have done those translations without you. So grateful. Thank you, again.

And last because I always save the best for last. Thank you, hubs. I don't think talent like yours exists but in a select few and for damn good reason. Also, thanks for putting up with a messy house and dirty laundry. I know I always say that but I mean it. You're a trooper and I love you very much.

Fisher Amelie is a member of The Paranormal Plumes Society.

http://theplumessociety.com/