I shake my head, smiling at the floor. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you. Congratulations!”

“Love you, too.”

I press the end button and let my head fall back to the wall. If someone had asked me this morning if I thought I’d feel like this right now, I would’ve laughed in their face. As weighted as I felt when I woke up on day fourteen of the missing Flo, I didn’t think it was possible to float ever again. But I hug my phone and the towel to my chest, smiling like a fool at the bathroom ceiling, wondering why I’m not up there bouncing.

I’m engaged.

Engaged.

Best. Day. Ever.

Chapter 3

I stand in the kitchen, hands firm on my hips while I cluck my tongue. “Where in the hell?” I whisper, eyes skating over every surface in my apartment. The junk drawer is empty, contents strewn over the counter. Our card table is piled with Landon’s jeans, each one with the pockets outturned. The living room looks like it barfed Rubbermaid bins.

And still no sign of a ring!

The first ray of sunlight streams through the balcony blinds, and a leap goes through my tummy. “The balcony storage!” I all but holler, my stride dead set on that sliding glass door even though I’m only in my ugly (but totally comfortable and warm) orange pajama shorts and clashing green tank top with no bra. The chill in the September air makes my nipples instantly perk as I step outside.

We seriously need to put up a wind chime or maybe a chair or something out here. It’s so plain, just the wood that needs a coat of varnish and a door on the right that leads to storage. We only keep our bikes in there, but Landon could’ve put the ring on a hook or in his helmet, or something. Because if it’s inside, either it’s up his ass or imaginary.

The door slightly creaks as I pull it open, and I flick on the dusty light, careful about where I step in case there’s a giant spider in here. I check the helmets, the hooks along the wall, even inside the cobwebby water bottles attached to our bikes. Seriously…where did he hide—

“I’d put on a jacket if you’re going for a ride.”

My stomach leaps into my throat and my feet leave the ground. “Shit! Don’t do that!”

Landon scratches his bare abs, then settles his hand on the door frame. His dark hair is flattened on one side of his head, and there are pillow lines across his cheek.

“It’s not out here.” He grins.

I let my heart go down to normal beats per minute, then slide past him to get back inside. His hands latch onto my waist, and he hugs me from behind. His body is warm. It’s always warm. He’s like my own personal heater.

“Where is it?” I ask, linking my fingers through his over my bellybutton.

“What? No good morning, how’d you sleep?”

“Morning.” I tap his knuckles. “Where is it?”

His soft laughter tickles the small hairs on my neck. “I hid it.”

“Where?”

He sweeps my scraggly blond ponytail across my shoulders, placing playful kisses on my skin. Curse his power of distraction.

“I gotta get ready for work,” he says into my ear. I shiver like I’m still standing out on the balcony, and he chuckles and squeezes my hand twice. I squeeze back once.

“Oh, by all means, take your time getting the ring on my finger. You know how patient I am.”

“It’ll be on your hand before I leave today.”

He nips at my shoulder again, then weaves through the obstacle course I created in the living room. I pout behind his back, playing with my bare ring finger. I need a distraction, or I’ll tear this place apart even more.

After getting past the Rubbermaid bins and clearing off a space wide enough on the counter to fix myself some coffee, I start the pot and slouch on the couch with the laptop.

I pull up my Pinterest and go to my wedding board. Not that I have a ton of pins on here…or that I thought this would be happening anytime soon, but some people post the prettiest dresses or the cutest cakes and I needed a place for them. When I started the board a little less than four years ago, I gave Landon a heart attack. We’d only been dating a month. So of course I played it up, had some fun with him, and I thought he was joking when he asked me to move in with him just to get back at me. But he wasn’t. And I haven’t regretted that decision at all. Well, minus those darn socks he leaves everywhere. It’s still one of the Hurdles from my Moving In With Boyfriend List I have yet to clear.

Oh! My Hurdles List…I should make one for planning the wedding. I click over to Word and start typing:

The Hurdles of Getting Married

1. Get Landon on board with Operation Make Wedding Night Sex the Greatest Ever.

2. Tell friends and family

3. Actually meet the in-laws (bonus Hurdle…get them to like me!)

Some very angry wings beat in my stomach with the thought of meeting Landon’s parents, and I hurry and type more Hurdles so I don’t have to think about it right now.

4. Find the perfect dress. (!)

5. Find the perfect (i.e., sunny) honeymoon locale

6. Book the perfect venue.

Oh, I know exactly which one, too. Landon and I made a pact on our two-year anniversary. He accidentally gave the cabdriver the wrong address and instead of going to the Pranna Restaurant, we ended up at the Boathouse in Central Park. After teasing him relentlessly that he was planning on marriage so soon, he said that the next time we were at the Boathouse, we really would be getting married.

I pull up their website and my bank account, patting myself on the back for being such a penny-pincher that we have a nice savings balance.

“Ugh…” I groan as I click through available dates, spanning out two or three years. Hell no. I cannot be sex free for that long. Just as I’m about to pass this Hurdle to my mom, I find a January date.

January…perfect. I can picture it now…winter wedding, snowflakes and hot chocolate fountains. Then we can take off to our honeymoon in the Bahamas. Bonus! I get a week of winter somewhere above thirty degrees.

And to top off the perfection, January is the month I met Landon.

I was lucky to get into an advanced theater program my freshman year of college. My first class was after Christmas Break. I did all the plays in high school, performed at a couple theaters as an extra a few times. I loved it. And when I waltzed into the class that’s usually reserved for upperclassmen, I held my back straight and smiled like I belonged there. Because I did. I’d earned it.

There weren’t many empty seats and they were organized in kind of a group fashion, chairs randomly around the room, and it looked like people would just grab one and drag it to their friends. My eyes swiveled around at my classmates, who all seemed to have people to talk to. No loners out there, and really, there aren’t many shy people in theater, so I took a deep breath, found an open seat in a pretty large group, and marched over.

“Hey, I’m Liz,” I announced when I got there. They all were polite, waving and saying “hey” back, so I let go of my nerves and went to sit. But my butt hit nothing but air, and a yelp flew past my lips while my stomach shot up to my throat. I landed with such a loud thud that everyone in the room looked over while my face went instant flush. My hand fell on someone’s foot, and I glanced up at ratty jeans, a graphic tee, and a wide-open jaw, to gray eyes and baseball cap. His mouth looked stuck open, until he finally said something.