Twain and Allison
Whenever Twain gets a call, a wave of fear goes over me, and my face gets all tight. You see, he's a firefighter. Every time that darned bell rings, he has to go. I didn't want him to become a firefighter, but he told me college wasn't for him. I went and got an English major, and now I am a semi-successful writer which is amazing for someone like me. I'm only 24. Twain's 25, and today the bell hasn't rung.
We're about to but a house together. It's really old as it was built in the early 30s, but it just looks so cute and quaint. Once the papers go through, we'll be able to move in.
"Twain!" I call. He's in our bedroom.
"What?" He calls.
"You want some pancakes?"
"Who'd say no to pancakes?" he asks my as he comes in the kitchen.
"Point made," I say as I stack three of them on the plate.
"It look wonderful," he tells me. I get some for myself, and we sit down at the table.
"How has your day been so far?" he asks me.
"Well, considering I just woke up? Pretty good."
"That's good." All the sudden, I start coughing. I must of swallowed wrong. "Let me get you some water," Twain says. By the time he comes back, I've stopped coughing.
"I'm fine," I tell him though I take a sip anyway. I hear something clink. I look down and it is a ring swishing in the bottom of the cup.
"Twain," I say cautiously, "Why is there a ring in my cup?" I've been so distracted by the beautiful ring inside by cup that I couldn't see Twain kneeling.
"Allison McGee, will you marry me?"
"Yes. I mean if I can get the ring out of the cup, yes," I say, trying to control my excitement. A goofy grin forms across my face. I jump up, and I can't believe I get to enjoy his warm embrace forever.