Emma is just sitting on my bed, casually, talking and watching me on the floor get ready. We're over at my parent's house. She starts to repeat a story about her mother that she's told me before, and I beat her to the punchline. She suddenly stares at me, surprised.
"You've told me that one before."
"Oh, have I? Sorry."
"No, not at all." I stand and walk over to her kneeling on both knees below her and take her hands. "You know what it means when you start repeating stories?"
"Either we're seeing too much of each other and we have to stop, or you have to marry me."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you proposing?"
"Looks like it."
She nodded, and I took off the only ring I had with me, my spinning Celtic ring, and slipped it over her finger.
I laughed when I realize how loose it was, since I usually wore it on my thumb, and she joined me. Then I stood, pecked her on the lips, and hugged her. We walked down the hall holding hands to tell someone, while Mom was in the kitchen making dinner.