“Then why?”
Coulter tossed her a key.
She caught it badly.
“What’s this?”
“Come on.”
He led her behind the shop.
A small house stood on the adjoining parcel.
Adeline had passed it hundreds of times.
White paint fading.
Sagging porch.
One broken shutter.
Empty for nearly four years.
Coulter walked to the front door.
Inserted another key.
Opened it.
Adeline remained on the porch.
“You bought this?”
“Yes.”
“With the truck?”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
Coulter entered.
The living room was bare.
Dust floated through evening light.
He turned.
“I’m bad at speeches.”
“I know.”
“You mention that often.”
“It remains true.”
Coulter looked around.
“Marianne and I talked about buying this place.”
“What?”
“Years ago.”
“Her mother was getting older.”
“We thought maybe she could live here.”
“She died before that happened.”
“Then after Marianne…”
“I couldn’t stand looking at it.”
Adeline waited.
“So why now?”
“Because you rent a room above a pharmacy.”
“That’s a cruel description of my home.”
“It is a room above a pharmacy.”
“Fair.”
Coulter stepped closer.
“I didn’t buy this because I need somebody to cook.”
“Good.”
“I can cook.”
“No, you can’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
He almost smiled.
“I didn’t buy it because I need someone to manage my life.”
“You demonstrably do.”
“Adeline.”
She stopped teasing.
Coulter reached into his pocket.
No ring.
Only the house key.
“I bought it because I want you close.”
Her eyes filled immediately.
He continued.
“I want to see your light on when I lock the shop.”
“I want to know somebody’s here when I come home.”
“I want to complain about your filing systems for the next thirty years.”
“I want you to tell me when I’m being stupid.”
“That’s a full-time job.”
“Then consider the benefits.”
Adeline laughed through tears.
Coulter’s own eyes shone.
“I said the first day that I needed a wife.”
“I sounded like an idiot.”
“You did.”
“I still think I need one.”
Adeline’s breath caught.
“But I don’t need a wife because I’m lonely and I need someone to fill Marianne’s place.”
“She doesn’t have a place that can be filled.”
He looked toward the garage through the window.
“I need you because somewhere between the bank statements and the broken radiator hose and that damn tax investigation, you became the person I want beside me when things go bad.”
“And when they’re good.”
Adeline stared at him.
Coulter’s voice became quieter.
“If you don’t want marriage, tell me.”
“I’ll still give you the house.”
She blinked.
“You bought me a house?”
“I bought us a possibility.”
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“I practiced in the truck.”
“The truck you sold.”
“Yes.”
Adeline laughed again.
Then covered her face with both hands.
Coulter panicked.
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She dropped her hands.
“You haven’t actually asked me anything.”
He stared.
Then understood.
“Oh.”
Adeline waited.
Coulter took both her hands.
“Adeline Monroe.”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
His whole body seemed to loosen.
She stepped forward and kissed him.