Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(81)
Holly moved to Adam’s side, wondering if he wasn’t feeling well. “You okay?”
He nodded, and then his phone rang. She expected it to go to voicemail, but Adam got even more flustered, grabbing the phone and clicking on the screen repeatedly. “There we go,” he finally said, and held it out to Holly.
Curious, she took the phone and glanced at the screen. Polly was there, with her girlfriend squeezed into the picture. They both waved. “Video call!” Polly said. “Happy holidays! Adam wanted to get everyone together even if we couldn’t be there!”
“Oh! This is wonderful. Happy holidays!” Holly couldn’t stop smiling. She gave Adam a warm look. He was always so thoughtful.
Her boyfriend only adjusted his baseball cap again, swallowing hard. As she studied him, Mike reached over and snatched it off his brother’s head, grinning, and Adam turned red. He cleared his throat. Paused.
And then Adam dropped to a knee in front of Holly.
Holly nearly dropped the phone in shock. “W-what—”
“Wait! Hold us out!” Polly screeched from the video call. “We can’t see!”
Mary hustled forward, beaming, and took the phone from Holly’s numb hands, maneuvering so she could get the entire picture. Holly didn’t move. She couldn’t stop staring at Adam. Her handsome, wonderful Adam, who was on a knee in front of her in front of their families . . . and who looked so nervous he might throw up.
“Yes,” Holly said immediately.
Adam swallowed hard, then managed a half grin. “You didn’t even let me ask yet.”
“Unless there’s something else you’re planning to ask while on your knees, then I already know my answer.”
His grin grew broader, and he held a small ring box out to her. “This has been burning a hole in my pocket for the last week. Will you do me the honor?”
She took the box from him with trembling hands, and snapped it open. It was a simple band, a lovely platinum without any design on it. It looked plain, but Holly sucked in a breath. Hadn’t she griped last week that her assistant Tina had gotten dough into all her jewelry and how simple was best? He’d paid attention. It wasn’t the ring for everyone, but it was perfect for Holly. “Oh, Adam,” she breathed. “It’s amazing.”
“Since I couldn’t put a stone on it, I got it engraved,” he told her, grinning.
She squinted at the inside of the ring. One part Holly, One part Adam. Mix well. Happy ever after.
It was a recipe.
Stupid, silly tears poured down her face as she laughed and laughed. “This is the worst recipe ever!”
Adam chuckled, too, getting to his feet. He moved toward her, his arms going around her waist. “It’s the inside of a damn ring. What do you expect?”
She just laughed even more as he slipped it onto her finger, and they kissed. She didn’t need a recipe to make their relationship work. Some things you just knew by heart.
“Is that a yes?” he asked between kisses, smiling.
“Yes,” Holly said, and everyone cheered.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Jessica Clare’s magical next romance,
GO HEX YOURSELF
Coming soon from Jove!
When I pull up to the location of my job interview in Nick’s borrowed car, my first thought is that I’ve made a mistake. I peer up at the ominous-looking building, a black-brick brownstone tucked amongst several more brightly colored neighbors, and consult my phone again. No, this is the right place. After all, there’s only one Hemlock Avenue in the city. With a worried look, I glance up at the building again, then find a place to park that’s not too close and not too far away. I check the parking lot lines to ensure that I’m perfectly within my space, and then re-park when I’m not entirely satisfied with how close I am to the yellow line. It takes a little more time, but it’s always better to be precise than sloppy.
Ten minutes later, I’m down the street with the freshly fed meter running, and I’ve got my CV in hand. Am I really going to interview at someone’s house for the assistant job? I’m a little uneasy at that, but it’s for a gaming company, and those sorts of people are notoriously quirky . . . I think. I check the address one more time before I move up the steps and ring the doorbell, smoothing my skirt with sweaty hands. Up close, the building seems a little more imposing, with dark burgundy curtains covering every single window and not letting in a peep of light. The stairs have an ornate black iron railing, and even the door knocker looks like something out of a horror movie, all vines and animal heads.
Someone has a goth fetish, clearly.
The door opens, and I’m startled to see a woman about my age in jeans and a T-shirt proclaiming her favorite baseball team. Her hair is pulled back into a bedraggled ponytail and she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. She’s also about twenty months pregnant, if the balloon under her shirt is any indication.
“You must be Regina,” she exclaims with a warm smile, rubbing the bulge of her stomach. “Hey there! Come on in.”
I’m horribly overdressed. I bite my lip as I step inside, painfully aware of the clack of my low-heeled pumps on the dark hardwood floors. I’m wearing a gray jacket over a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt, and I have to admit, the feeling that I’m in the wrong place keeps hitting me over and over again. I don’t normally make these mistakes. I like for things to go perfectly. It’s the control-freak in me who needs that satisfaction. I researched what one wears to an assistant interview, so I don’t know how I flubbed this so badly. I want to check the ad one more time, but after re-reading it over and over for the last three days, I know what it says by heart.