One Bossy Offer (135)

“It’s a fit?”

“Yes. This ring is from the 1930s. I was worried it wouldn’t line up, but your girlfriend has slender fingers.”

I grin. “She’s perfect that way.”

And after this, perfectly and irrevocably mine.

I open my wallet and hand him my card.

“You sure? Most guys stop in here a few times before they commit.”

I nod firmly.

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

Well, maybe one thing.

He swipes my card and passes it back to me.

“I should have been here sooner,” I mutter as he boxes the ring up and slides it over.

“Good luck,” he says, waving as we turn to go.





The next week Jenn and I are bundled up against the biting December wind, walking my property with the dogs.

They stay close to our sides and trot faster for extra warmth, though they seem cozy enough in their black-and-red checkered coats.

“So, why do I want to see your new storage shed again?” she asks with a curious smile.

“It’s a good place to keep your boat.”

“Huh? But I agreed to have the boathouse restored.”

Damn. I didn’t think my cover story through.

“Because. Maybe I have a surprise for you and you love me too much to tell me no.”

She giggles. “I do love you. Some days.”

Brat.

I pull her closer as the wind sweeps through her hair and drop a kiss on top of her head.

“What if I promise to overcompensate for my less than noble behavior tonight?”

She looks up at me and grins. “What if I don’t want to wait until tonight?”

“Then I’d be happy as hell to oblige.”

She blushes and laughs.

I drop an arm around her, shepherding her onward to the new shed. “I love it when you blush.”

“Miles, it’s freezing. Hurry.”

“I’ll heat you up when we get there. Don’t fret,” I tell her.

She giggles and elbows me.

“Speaking of the boat, did you decide when to start the tours?”

“I’m hoping for March, weather pending, but if it’s still too frigid we may have to push back the date.”

“That’ll be a good new income stream for the inn. You could even add a few kayak rentals in the future, if you want to expand the docks.”

She looks at me. “I could. But aside from you playing hero with my old boathouse, the inn is my problem, remember? I don’t want to make a habit of you propping up my business.”

“And I want to make your problems mine,” I growl, grabbing her hand and bringing it to my lips.

She smiles softly as I kiss her skin.

Coffee and Cream run ahead of us, both of them barking impatiently.

It’s like they can read my mind.

A few more steps toward the dip in elevation, and the tower comes into view, planted on a windswept cliff.

It’s fifteen stories high with a winding staircase, custom built from reclaimed white stone just like a real historic lighthouse. Red bands glisten in the sun going up its length, each spaced evenly in fresh paint.

“Holy—Miles! That’s no shed.”

I shrug. “A little white lie for a good reason.”

“It’s seriously beautiful. Pinnacle Pointe hasn’t had a lighthouse since the old one was torn down in the fifties. Gram used to mention it.”

“Right. The original lighthouse wasn’t far from here, supposedly. The builders had to make adjustments for changes in elevation. The top isn’t functional like a true lighthouse either, but it does have ambient lighting, an observation deck, and an elevator. I told them to preserve the spirit of the original as much as possible. It’ll bring in tourists for sure.”

Her face screws up with happiness as it dawns on her.

“Totally.” Then before I can get in another word, she breaks into a run. She doesn’t stop until she’s at the entrance, looking back at me impatiently. “We’re going in, right?”

I laugh as the dogs sprint around her.

“Thought you didn’t want to see my stupid shed, kitten,” I call after her.

She looks back and grins. “You’re lucky I don’t mind you being a crappy liar when the lies are actually good. This town rarely gets new attractions.”

In a couple large strides, I’ve closed the space between us. “It may be a tourist attraction, but I built it for the woman I love.”

She stops in her tracks and turns to face me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Landers,” I say for old time’s sake.

With any luck, I won’t be calling her by that name again.

“Shall we?” I pull the door open and hold it for her while the Dobermans run ahead, sniffing around the smooth floor.

She looks around slowly, reverently, and then goes up the first two steps and stops. She’s staring up at the winding staircase.

“That is a lot of stairs. Do you think the dogs will be okay?”

“There’s always the elevator.”

Grinning, she steps back down into my arms. I lead her and the dogs into the elevator.

“This is even classier than I thought,” she whispers, laying her hand against the copper and custom brass finishes I had installed.