"I'm so full," Josh whines as we push open the restaurant door, and he leans his full weight against me, almost toppling me sideways.

I grab onto him for a few moments, more to steady myself than anything else, before giving him a little shove, trying to get him upright. "Whose fault is that?"

He moans and slumps against me again, making a big production—someone's bucking for an Oscar. "So full," he complains, rubbing his stomach for good measure.

"Such a drama queen," I tell him. "You're such a faker."

"I'm not faking anything. This is real pain. What do you know from faking?" I look at him, lifting an eyebrow, and he cringes. "Don't answer that."

"I don't fake it with you. You know that."

"So you've said," he answers, eyeing me suspiciously, "but I feel like I can't trust you when you say things like that."

"I keep telling you—you're magnificent in bed," I say casually, my voice purposely louder than usual.

"Donna!" he exclaims, glancing around at his security detail, looking somewhere between mortified and smug. I can see Troy's cheek twitch ever so slightly as he tries not to smile—he thoroughly enjoys when I embarrass Josh—but no one else seems to notice, their eyes going everywhere as they try to keep Josh, and by extension me, safe.

"I mean, you're such a stallion," I continue, trying my best to keep my face straight. "No one else makes me moan the way you do, or grab at the headboard like it's the only thing tethering me to this plane of existence."

He gapes at me even as we keep walking down the sidewalk. I can tell there's a small part of him that wants to strut—any time I talk about his prowess, he gets a gleam in his eye and prances around like an insufferable peacock—but when I make public comments, he turns into a shy Victorian-era virgin, horrified that anyone knows that we have sex. It's actually wildly entertaining. A few moments later, he eyes me suspiciously. "Hey—what are you doing using present tense like that?"

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.

He stops abruptly and I only get a couple of steps away before I'm jerked back, my arm having unconsciously threaded through his at some point. "You just said I'm the only one who 'makes' you moan. Present tense. Shouldn't that be, you know, past tense?"

I can't help but laugh at his distraught expression. "I think you're reading too much into that, Josh."

"Like hell."

"You think I'm cheating on you? In all the spare time I have?"

"That's the only reason stopping you from straying—lack of time?"

Okay—he's starting to look genuinely panicked. Time to stop screwing with him. I untangle my arm from his only to grab his hands. "Well, that, and the whole love of my life thing you've got going on."

Poor man; he still looks way too concerned about this. "Really?"

"Really, Josh. Love of my life. Probably the love of my next life, too. The thought of being with another man…" I trail off, letting myself consider it for a few moments before I shudder a little. It's not a good thought. I really like monogamy, actually. One would think it'd get boring and routine, and maybe one day it will, but at the moment, it's still amazing. My only other foray into extreme monogamy was with Kyle, or Dr. Freeride as Josh so affectionately calls him, and…it wasn't great. Hindsight and all that, of course, but during our five-ish years together, our sex life was mediocre. Most of the time it was just okay, once in a while it was good, and toward the end, well…I'd start mentally reciting state capitals in alphabetical order to keep myself entertained. I didn't entirely realize it at the time, but I was only nineteen the first time we slept together and my experience to that point wasn't terribly extensive. My basis of comparison was small. Fortunately, I had great sex a few times after him and with Josh…I've never experienced a more powerful, joyful expression of happiness and love in my life. So, really, just the idea of downgrading and trying to be with someone else nauseates me to the extreme.

"Well, it's not a thought I want to entertain. I'm very happy with our sex life, thank you very much."

He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively, trying to cover up his moment of insecurity. "Very happy, huh?"

"Extremely."

"Oh, yeah?"

I take his face in my hands, pulling him close to me. "I'm a highly satisfied customer," I whisper, planting a quick kiss on him. "That's all the ego-stroking you're getting from me out in public." I caress his cheeks with my thumbs and turn, heading back in the direction of our apartment. "And I don't want to hear you bitching about how full you are the rest of the night."

He lets out a pathetic moan. "But I am," he whines.

"No one forced you to eat what equaled probably half a chicken." The upside to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant we've discovered in the last year and have absolutely fallen in love with is everything on the menu costs a fraction of just about every other place within a fifteen block radius. The downside is that, somehow, their portion sizes are easily twice as big as the pretentious, overpriced places that populate Georgetown.

"I couldn't let it go to waste."

"Leftovers, Josh. They're called leftovers, and it's perfectly acceptable to admit defeat and bring food home with you." I can feel him wind up beside me, ready to argue that he never accepts defeat. "I know, I know," I say, cutting him off. "'Defeat' isn't in your vocabulary. You laugh in the face of quitters. You conquer. You reign. You rule. The world is your oyster because you never give up and you never surrender. You also lack self-control, which is why you're going to spend the rest of the night sprawled out on the couch as you try to digest several meals worth of food." I take two steps past Gus and realize Josh has come to a halt. I stop and turn around to find him several feet back, stock-still as he stares at me. I put my hands on my hips, lifting an eyebrow at him. "What? Are you upset because I'm mocking you? You should be used to that by now."

"Donna," he says softly, and I have a brief moment of panic that something has happened to him before I realize that none of the detail look concerned. They're all keeping their eyes trained elsewhere, continuously searching our surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

"Are you okay? Is it your stomach? Does it hurt for real?" He shakes his head and I feel my brow crinkle in confusion as I take a few more steps, closing the gap between us. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but your face is frozen in an odd way."

He reaches out and grabs my hands, pulling them to his chest. "I love you so much."

I let out a relieved breath—he's just having one of his moments of clarity. That happens to him every so often. It's almost like he forgets that this hasn't always been the status quo and his relationship synapses start firing all at once, usually causing an overload of some sort. "I know that."

"You're the love of my life."

"I know that, too." I give his hands a squeeze. "Don't look so worried."

"I just like to make sure you know it."

"I do," I promise, squeezing his fingers again. "I really do."

He lets go of one of my hands, but before I can turn to start walking again, he's reaching into his suit jacket and lowering himself to the ground. My heart leaps into my throat and I suddenly forget how to breathe. My free hand comes up to cover my mouth. My eyes fill with tears. "Oh, my God," I manage to whisper. "Josh…"

He just stares up at me in awe and wonder, one knee pressed against the sidewalk, small box in his free hand, and the strange look on his face from a moment ago starts to make sense. "Donna," he says, his voice choked and strangled, and I can't help but reach out, running my hand over his cheek. He clears his throat and tries again. "Donna…wow. I've never done this before. I've gone over this a dozen times in my head but nothing ever feels quite right. I figured that I'd know what to say when the time came but…how do you find words good enough to let the woman who's made your life bearable for so many years know that she means everything to you? How do you tell her that the earth and the moon and the sun revolve around her? How do I express how happy you make me? That I wake up every day and smile because you're there? That you make my heart light? I'm not eloquent enough to…"

"You're doing a pretty good job," I tell him, my voice high and tight.

"I love you so much, and all I want to do with my life is try to make you as happy as you've made me." His mouth opens and closes a few times before he shrugs helplessly. "Will you marry me?"

I don't have to think about it—I've known for a long time that I want to marry Josh. Still, I can't get my voice to work—all I can do is let out a couple of choked sobs. Instead, I nod my head vigorously, hoping it's answer enough.

A smile starts to tug at the corner of his mouth, but he quickly schools his features. "I'm going to need verbal confirmation."

A laugh bubbles out of me and I sniffle, bringing my hand up to wipe my face, my left hand still clasped firmly between his. "Yes." Surprisingly, my voice is strong and clear. "Yes," I tell him again because it feels so good.

A full-fledged grin spreads across his face. "Yes?"

"Yes," I answer again, my cheeks starting to hurt from smiling. "Yes, I'll marry you."

He laughs, too, and stands up suddenly, hugging me so hard I almost fall over. We bury our faces in each other's necks and I feel myself sob, crying for no reason other than joy. I clutch Josh to me for a few long moments before I realize his body is shaking a little and that my neck is wet.

"Hey." I pull back just a bit so I can grab his head, dislodging him carefully. "What's all this?" I ask, wiping my thumbs over his wet cheeks. He cries less than I do, which isn't terribly often, though it seems like I do so more with him than I ever have before. Something about trusting another person with all that you have and that they'll still love you.

He doesn't answer; instead, he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me closer, leaning in to kiss me. My head tilts as I respond eagerly. As far as kissing Josh goes, it's one of the best ones to date. It's sweet and hopeful and full of passion…basically, everything that is Josh. I'm kissing everything that he embodies, all the things in his heart and soul are being transferred in his kiss and it's utterly perfect. Without even realize it, one of my feet has come off the ground—not entirely like an old-fashioned movie, but definitely along those lines. I didn't think that sort of thing actually happened.

We come up for air, both of us gasping, our chests heaving, grins splitting our faces. His cheeks are still damp, his eyes are still shiny, but I don't think I've ever seen him look so happy.

"We're getting married," I whisper, though it sounds a little bit like a question.

"You're my fiancée," he counters, his voice lilting up at the end, too. It's a lot to take in. I just grab his face and pull him in again, though it's hard to kiss when we're smiling so much.

We surface again, probably minutes later, and he steps away from me marginally. "I have a ring. I'm sorry—I guess I did this out of order but…I have it." His hands leave my waist and start fumbling with the box I'd forgotten was in his hand—he never even opened it before when he was asking. He fumbles with the clasp for a few moments before the box pops open, and I get choked up all over again.

"Josh," I whisper through my fresh set of tears. "Oh, God. It's beautiful." He shrugs bashfully, grabbing my hand after he plucks the ring from its nest. I'm surprised to see my hand shaking as he slides the band onto my finger. I'm even more surprised that it fits nearly perfectly. I hold up my hand for a few moments, watching the diamond catch the light from the street lamps before my insides turn to jelly and I wrap my arms around him, trying in vain not to weep again. I never imagined I'd have this reaction to Josh proposing to me but I absolutely can't stop crying. At least he seems to be having the same trouble. I just can't believe I had no idea he was going to do this—

"Oh, my God!" I exclaim, pushing back from him. "How did you plan this? I can't believe you were walking around with that ring in your pocket all day. Were you going to do it at dinner?"

He chuckles a little, giving me a quick kiss. "Does it matter?"

"Well, if I ruined some big moment you had planned it does! We can go back, if you want."

"I wasn't going to do it at dinner."

My head tilts in confusion. "At home, then? Did you—but why would you have the ring on you now?"

"Donna," he says, pausing when Troy clears his throat.

"Sorry, Mr. Lyman, Miss Moss. But if we could get you two moving again…"

"Yeah, no problem," Josh answers, taking my hand in his and weaving our fingers together.

"And congratulations," he says as we start walking, and it's only then I remember we had an audience. Josh only beams, though, not looking at all concerned about his emotional display. He just reaches out and claps Troy on the shoulder.

"Thanks, man." If I wasn't almost completely overcome with joy at the moment, I'd reach over and smack the caveman, I-just-locked-in-my-woman look off his face. As it is, I'm constantly glancing down at our linked fingers, stumbling over my own feet as I marvel at the engagement ring.

"Josh…how…I mean—"

"I've been carrying that thing around with me for months."

I swear my feet turn to lead. I stop walking as I gawk at him. He gives my arm a tug, knowing the guys want us to get inside sooner rather than later.

"You've had an engagement ring picked out for months?" I ask as I start walking again, sure I've misheard him.

"No, it's been on me for four or five months."

"Josh!" I exclaim, coming to a halt again for a few seconds before he pulls at my hand once more. "You've been walking around with something like this for months? What if something had happened to you?"

He glances around at the security detail before lifting an eyebrow at me. "It was probably safer like this than anywhere else. Can you wait until we get home to yell at me, though?"

"I'm not going to yell at you," I answer softly, staring at his profile in shock, my mind whirling. He's had this for months? He's had it with him for months? How is that possible? How did I not suspect?

"Well, I'll tell you everything when we get home. I don't think Gus or Troy could handle us stopping again." One of them grunts in agreement. I'm sure there's no imminent danger, but Josh is typically easier to keep safe if he's confined. Fortunately, it only takes another couple of minutes before our building come into view. I can hear the guys talking into their pieces, letting everyone inside know to start their sweep. We only have to wait another minute before we're given the all-clear, and Josh all but drags me inside. Before I can admonish him for being rude, he closes the door and presses me against it with a thump, attacking my mouth.

"Everything all right in there?" Someone—I think Alex—calls from outside the door, laughter barely concealed. I can't help it—I snort with laughter then bury my face in Josh's neck. I try to stifle my laughter, but it's no use.

Josh makes a noise and calls out, "Yeah, we're good. Sorry about that. G'night!" He tickles my side a little. "You done?" he asks, his voice softer.

I lift my head and bite my lip. Our life can be so absurd at times. My laughter dies down quickly, though, at the look in his eyes; it's like nothing I've ever seen before. I cup his cheek in my hand, the unfamiliar weight of the engagement ring making me feel oddly off-balance. It's amazing that something so relatively small can carry such weight, metaphorically speaking.

"You're really gonna marry me?" he asks suddenly, like this hasn't been a foregone conclusion almost since the moment we decided to be us.

Though, I suppose it's fair. I'm still in shock, too. Somehow, knowing it was going to happen at some point doesn't change the reality of us actually getting engaged.

"I can't wait to marry you," I answer. "You ready to put up with me from until eternity?"

"Got anything longer than eternity? 'Cause I don't think that's long enough."

The things this man can do to my heart. I grab the back of his head and pull him to me, kissing him thoroughly. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight to him. I run my hands through his hair, the ring getting hung up on a couple of strands. Somehow, that brings me back to the present.

"Josh," I mumble against his lips. "You said you'd explain some things."

He groans a little, sliding one hand down my hip until he gets to my thigh, trying to tug my leg over his—the suddenly impractical pencil skirt I'm wearing stymies his actions. "I can think of better things to do," he answers, moving down to suck at my neck.

"You make a compelling argument," I agree, tilting my head to give him better access. "And I'm sure the guys would really enjoy hearing us having sex against the door—" I pause and whack the door behind me, hearing a few snickers on the other side—I'm sure they're not standing around with their ears pressed to the door, but we've all learned the hard way that some of the walls around here aren't exactly thick. "But can you think of a more clichéd way to celebrate being engaged?"

He lifts his head, giving me a lazy smile full of dimples and teeth. "Some things are clichéd for a good reason."

"Weren't you just complaining about how full you are?"

"It went away. Better things to think about."

I grin, not protesting when he leans into kiss me again. My head swirls—my life has suddenly changed drastically. He's going to be my husband. My husband. We're not going to be talking about the general possibility of getting married one day—we're actually going to be married, and it's only now—now that we're engaged—that I've realized just how much I want to this. I've been beyond happy with Josh for the last almost-two years, and living together has been wonderful, but I'm only just realizing or admitting how much I want to be married. Well, not married in general—married to Josh.

I wrestle my lips from his and duck under his arm in one smooth motion, making my way over to the couch. I lean against the arm and as I bend down to take off my shoes, Josh turns around to gape at me. "Donna," he whines.

"We have all night to have sex," I tell him, wincing a little as I rub the arch of my foot, "and you'll be useless afterward, so if I want to hear this story, it'd better be now."

He comes and stands in front of me, pulling off his suit jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. "Want me to rub your feet?"

Yeah; I'm marrying the perfect man. "Always. But seeing as how you just gave me the most beautiful engagement ring I've ever seen, I can do without for now."

He takes my hands and pulls them against his chest, smiling at me warmly. "I don't mind."

"I know, honey, but I'm okay. They're just regular sore, not super sore. Thank you, though."

"The offer is on the table," he tells me, pulling my right hand to his mouth and kissing the palm. I sigh, melting a little under his touch. I pull my other hand from his chest, getting my first look at the ring in full lighting. I can't help it—my eyes fill with tears again. It's just so…wow. It's in an antique-looking setting, and the main stone is large enough that I'm probably going to feel very self-conscious and nervous for a while, and it's surrounded by tiny diamonds. I don't know how he did it, but it's the exact ring I would pick for myself if ever given the choice.

"I've been trying to figure out how to propose for months," he says suddenly, his voice soft.

I look up at him, somehow not surprised to see that his eyes are shiny again. "You have?"

"I wanted to make it special. You deserve that much. Every time we went somewhere nice or to an event where we had to dress up, I thought I should do it then but…I don't know. There were always a million other people around, or one of us would get called away, or it just didn't feel right yet. I kept thinking I was wussing out—I mean, I had the ring on me and the perfect woman, all I had to do was ask—but I knew it wasn't how I wanted to do it. Realistically, I knew you wanted me to do it, so it didn't entirely matter how I asked but...I also knew it didn't feel like the right moment, so I waited." He hangs his head, shaking it a little before stepping around me to sit on the couch. "And after all that, I propose to you in the middle of a grungy sidewalk."

"No, Josh!" I protest, turning on the arm of the couch to face him. I try to pull him in for a hug but my skirt gets in the way. I give up and slide onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him. "It was perfect."

"Yeah, right."

"I swear, it was amazing. I can't imagine anything better." The moment has already grown hazy in my memory, the only clear part being Josh looking at me like I hung the moon. That's why I always knew that the setting of the proposal wouldn't matter—I figured the only thing I'd care about would be that he was asking me to spend my life with him.

His arms go around me, giving me a squeeze. "I just figured if I had the ring on me, I'd be able to find the perfect moment. I guess I thought I'd do better than having it fall out of my mouth as we were walking home from dinner. But I just suddenly knew. I don't know how else to describe it. I had to ask right then."

"See? You found the perfect moment. What's better than you being so full of love that you couldn't help but ask?"

"I was full of something all right," he mutters, and I give him a little nudge.

"So, you bought this five or six months ago? How'd you manage it? I can't picture you trolling around jewelry stores looking for rings."

He chuckles a little, his body tensing beneath mine as he shifts. "Yeah, well, about that…"

"What—you knock over a jeweler?"

"Yes." His voice and expression are so deadpan that if I didn't know him better, I'd actually believe him. "But seriously, how do you feel about hand-me-downs?"

I unwrap my arm from around him, holding my hand away from my body like it's suddenly become diseased. "Joshua Lyman, if you gave me a ring you bought for another woman, I will actually kill you. Your guards would do nothing to stop me."

"Calm down, Zsa Zsa," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling it back in. "You really think there's another woman out there I'd have gotten a ring for?"

"I suppose you have a point," I answer, settling back against him a little. "Did you get it at an antique store or something? Because I don't mind that at all."

"You really want to take all the mystery and fun out to this?" he teases.

"Yes. When it comes to you shopping for jewelry, I need a clear mental picture of your discomfort."

He chuckles a little and leans his head against my shoulder, fiddling with my fingers and playing with ring a little. "Well, I'll have you know that I actually did manage to go to a few jewelry stores, though usually when I was out of town and less likely to be spotted, and always under the guise of just trying find you a present. I had to go with misdirection because I figured if the President knew, he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. If nothing else, he'd tell the First Lady and it'd snowball from there. It should also be noted that I tried to design one, too, to sort of go with the necklace and earrings, but I thought that maybe that'd be too much, at least for an engagement ring. Maybe I'll do that at some other point, you know, so you can have a whole set—"

"Josh," I interrupt with a laugh, poking him with my elbow. "Circle back to the point."

"Yeah. Okay. Well…" he lets out a big breath. "It was my grandmother's."

I feel my mouth drop open, my eyes automatically going back to the ring. "What?"

"I got it from my mom."

"Josh…wow. You got your mom to send this—wait, does she know…"

He hugs my waist. "Well, here's where the story takes…an unusual turn. No, she doesn't know I was thinking about proposing."

I open my mouth answer, stop, then shake my head. "Wait—what?"

"Remember when we went to Florida last summer? She gave it to me then."

I turn and stare at him, completely in shock. "But we'd only been together for, like, seven months then."

"Eight, but I get your point."

"You've had the ring for over a year?"

"Yeah."

"So, when we were in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving and you said that you couldn't propose because you'd left the ring at home…"

"I was half-joking at that point, yes. I wasn't ever going to do that in front of our families, but I didn't have the ring with me, either. It was in the safe deposit box at that point."

My mind really is swirling right now. "So when we were in Florida, you already knew…you asked your mom for…"

He chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. "No, but I wish that's how it happened. Seems more romantic." His eyes grow wide, panic on his face. "I mean, I did knew—know—then. We both knew it. We weren't ready for it, but we knew it. But I didn't ask my mom for it. I didn't know it existed until then. No, she was asking me when you and I were getting married and going on about wanting grandkids, and then she pulled this out and told me I should give it to you. She had a whole thing about how I should look for a ring anyway, just in case this wasn't the one, but she said I should give you this one anyway because you'd like that it has history. So, I did—I looked at other rings but I already knew this was what I wanted you to have. So, I took it out of the box and…tried to figure out how to give it to you. Which obviously took months."

I stare at him for a few long moments before I feel a laugh burst out of me. I cover my mouth, but Josh looks a little mortified.

"Um, ow."

I shake my head, trying to get myself under control. "No, no—it's just so…quintessential Alice Lyman. I can totally picture your mom doing that. Well, I can picture my mom doing, too, and I imagine the only reason she didn't is…" I gesture helplessly toward the engagement ring, feeling laughter shake my entire body.

Josh finally starts to laugh, too. "Yeah, they're pretty meddlesome, aren't they?"

"They should have their own sitcom by this point."

He nods in agreement, still chuckling. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if my mom told your mom about the whole thing at Thanksgiving. All they had to do was egg each other on at that point."

"Speaking of," I say, trying to shift off his lap only to have him tighten his hold on me. "We have a couple of calls to make."

"Can't it wait?" he asks, kissing the back of my neck.

Like I want to do anything but just be with him right now. "If we were normal people, I'd say it could wait, but you know how this would go. If we try to delay telling our families for even twelve hours, this will be the moment one of your crazy groupies would have been walking by with a camera and it'll be all over the news by morning."

"That's a little extreme," he answers, "but you're completely right. Better to just call now and get it out of the way."

"You prepared for a lot of screaming and crying?"

He makes a noise, pulling me in for a kiss before maneuvering himself out from under me. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, grabbing the cordless from there. "Don't you think whoever we call first will suspect something?"

"We'll do the three-way thing," I answer as he comes back into view. "Tell them we want to talk about our plans for the holidays."

He grunts in agreement, sitting down beside me. I cover his hand, stopping him before can dial. "What?" he asks.

"I love you so much, and I can't wait to be your wife."

He completely melts and we wrap our arms around each other, kissing slowly. "It's gonna be amazing, isn't it?" he whispers; I swear my heart is going to explode.

"Being married?" I ask, and he nods a little. "Definitely."

He gives me another kiss before pulling back, grabbing the phone again. "We're probably gonna have to send an email, too, otherwise there are going to be a lot of pissed off friends who'll want to know why they weren't the first to know."

I sigh and stand up, going to dig our digital camera out of the desk. The group emails started a little more than a year ago after CJ got a lot of calls to find out why they heard about her wedding through invitations instead of a phone call. In her defense, her engagement period was almost non-existent because she got married about a month after Danny proposed, but after that, she started sending out group emails that included me and Josh, the Bartlets, Sam, Charlie, sometimes Toby, and occasionally Will and even Kate; depending on the content, it'll include her siblings, too. The rest of us have taken to communicating like that, too, so one feels slighted. It's silly, but also effective. It's not unusual for pictures to be included, though I think Dr. Bartlet started with pictures of her grandkids and the former President in his natural habitat of New Hampshire. It's just another thing that's caught on in the last couple of years.

I grab one of our laptops then set up the camera only to find Josh holding the phone in midair as he stares at me, and I sigh playfully. "If you were a cartoon character, I'd swear you had hearts in your eyes." I bend over and kiss him. "Why haven't you called yet?"

"Do I really get to spend the rest of my life with you?" he asks, his face filled with wonder; just the thought of it makes me tingle.

"Yep," I answer, clearing my throat. "You're stuck with me for good now. Trapped. Tied down. Shackled."

He smiles at me almost dreamily. "I'm so lucky."

Part of me can't understand how he's not a little freaked out by this, but maybe he's just overwhelmed—the part where he realizes I'm the face he's going to see every morning until he dies will hit him eventually.

I grab his hand and pull him up, kissing him again. "Pose for a picture, Mr. Sentimentality. I'll get it ready to send while we're on the phone with the parents."

"What're we going to do?" he asks with a smirk as I push him into position, then move to fiddle with the camera on the mantle. "Are we going to reenact the proposal?"

"No, we're not going to—we could."

"No."

"It could be cute."

"No. You'll look cute; I'll look like an idiot."

"Well, then just shut up and smile."

He rolls his eyes, trying to look terribly put upon, but the truth is that he loves having his picture taken. Josh Lyman is a camera whore and since I've introduced him to digital photography, he's content to pose for a dozen pictures at a time, studying each one carefully until he declares himself perfect in each shot.

I check the camera again to make sure I can see him, set the timer so it'll take continuous shots, then take my place next to him. "Wait—how's anyone going to see your ring?"

I shrug, holding up my hand as I look at him, and I hear the camera click. "Damn it." He wraps his arm around me, and I can see him giving the camera his best "my girlfriend is forcing me to do this so I'll just play along" smile. I elbow him a little, which I think winds up being captured, too. Then he plants a big kiss on my cheek, tickling my side to make me laugh. After that, he kisses me and I forget all about the camera for a few minutes.


Heeeeeey. In case anyone was wondering, I didn't abandon ship. My life has just been so extraordinarily busy the last few months that I haven't had time to do much of this stuff. I've been working on typing this up for 3.5 months (that's after having written it by hand a year ago), and it's been slow going. I'm still working on editing this sucker, so that's going to take some time, but I wanted to post something. It just felt like it'd been too long. I've got lots of ideas for things I want to write, and some more stuff to type up, too.

Also, I know this story is cheesy but it's one of those things that's been nibbling at me for a long time now so I thought I should write it. That proposal scene has been in my head for probably almost two years. Same with that ridiculous photo shoot at the end of this chapter.

Anyway, more to come; just hang tight. Thank you to all the people who've left occasional messages letting me know you've missed my work, and thanks to those of you who've read it without sending messages (that sounds snarky but really isn't—I just appreciate all of you reading my ramblings).