I swung wide into the Tasty Pastry parking lot and gunned the motor in frustration before shutting off the ignition. I directed a particularly nasty Italian hand gesture in the general location of my tattle-tale GPS beacon, and marched my stiletto heels right up to the Tasty Pastry counter. I tapped my nails impatiently on the glass éclair case while the girl behind the counter boxed up my dozen Boston crèmes and determinedly avoided looking atthat spot. It had been seventeen years since Joe Morelli relieved me of my virginity behind that display case, and I swear I could still feel the slick waxed linoleum tiles sliding under my back.

Not going there. Nope. No way.

I pulled out my plastic card and practically flung it at the poor clerk. She was still punching in numbers and swiping the card when I ripped open the box and practically inhaled the first Boston crème. I closed my eyes in ecstasy, feeling the sweet cream fill my mouth, the hint of chocolate at the tip of my tongue. I quickly scrawled my name one-handed on the bottom of the credit card receipt, then took my booty back to the front seat of my car and ensconced myself. The second Boston crème was just as delicious as the first, and like clockwork, my cell phone rang. I rolled my eyes, and didn't bother to check the readout.

I flipped the phone open and snarled, "What are you, the donut police?"

"Babe."

I rolled my eyes again, and realized I was starting to get a headache. Just what was Ranger's all-purpose word supposed to mean THIS time? Admonitory, probably, I decided.

"Don't you have a life? There has to be something more pressing at Rangeman than watching me pull into a donut shop."

"That stuff will kill you, Babe."

"So you keep telling me. At least I'll die happy."

"Just trying to save you from yourself."

"Maybe I don't want saving, Ranger. You ever think of that?" I clicked the phone shut, effectively ending the conversation. Of course, there would be recriminations. I sighed. God forbid the man would actually engage in conversation and have a legitimate knock down drag out argument. Nope. Instead I'd be treated to hours of the silent treatment. The one thing I can't stand is being ignored, and he knew that. He'd use that against me, of course, until I was chasing around after him like some kind of desperate puppy begging forgiveness for daring to disagree with Ranger-the-Almighty.

This time, the eyeroll was directed at myself for being so predictable and pathetic, and I defiantly bit into another Boston crème.

The day had started out innocently enough. I'd rolled out of Ranger's bed at the buttcrack of dawn and stumbled to the elevator. I woke up alone, of course, which was becoming more and more of a habit. Three months ago, when I'd moved into Ranger's apartment, we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. The sex was scorching, and if we didn't have a lot to say to each other before or after, well, I figured that would come as the relationship progressed. Now I kind of smiled sadly at my own naivete. There was no "relationship" with Ranger, there was only Ranger operating within his own established parameters. He called the shots, he controlled the outcome. His turf, his terms. Period.

At first, I had been dazzled. The man had charm to spare, and plenty of flash. The whole tightly-leashed control thing had been a real turn on. A version of the same barely-controlled masculinity was what had initially drawn me to Joe for all those years. The difference was, of course, that the real challenge of the relationship was demolishing those emotional walls, making the man with legendary control lose that control, just with me.

Only with Ranger, it had never happened. I was still just as firmly outside his mind as I had ever been. The more I tried to get close to him, the farther away he pushed me. I began to feel like another piece of expensive workout equipment. Ranger pushed his body on the equipment to keep it functioning at peak physical capacity. Sometimes it felt like he pushed his sexual endurance with me for the same reason. After awhile, I began to feel empty. After awhile, I began to feel used.

And he didn't seem to notice when I drew back. Or care.

He was busy with Rangeman, I'll give him that. He had meetings, he reassured clients, he was very, very good at his job. But his life existed within that seven story building on Haywood. It hummed and functioned like a well-oiled machine, or an extension of Ranger's well-maintained body. He liked it there, he was safe there, in control.

But for me, it had started to feel like a prison. I woke up in the morning, alone, because Ranger was working, or traveling, or just somewhere else. I went to an empty kitchen that was stocked with nutritious, wholesome food that I loathed. If I wasn't down in the gym by 7:00, Tank was banging on the door to drag me down there for a workout I didn't enjoy. Back to the showers, then at my desk staring into the computer screen by 8:30. When I'd balked at the enforced regimentation, Ranger had disappeared for three days. I'd been so worried that I'd giddily greeted him and fallen into bed, and gone along with "the program" like a good little trained dog.

The Not-So-Merry-Men seemed content to live their lives within the constraints Ranger set. They lived at work, and worked where they lived, and it didn't seem to bother them. I can't pinpoint exactly when it was that the GPS started to bother me, but it did. Sometimes, I just wanted to be free. I wanted to get out of that stultifying building and just drive. Go somewhere unexpected, just because I wanted to. And I wanted to do it without being tracked. I wanted to go to the mall and go shopping by myself, without Lester or Hal, or Cal, or some other generic hulking male in tow to "keep me safe". I'd tried to talk to Ranger about it, but he just "Babed" me and patiently explained that these steps were necessary to keep me safe.

So I was safe.

My mother had tried to keep me safe. And somehow, the gilded cage of Ranger's building was just as much of a prison as the Burg life my mother had tried to force on me. And after three months, it had begun to chafe just as much.

I drove around the Burg aimlessly for awhile, just enjoying being out in the crisp winter air. Alone. No body guards, no schedule. I'd walked out of Rangeman today without saying a word to anyone. Halfway through my daily workout with Tank, rebellion had suddenly taken over. I hadn't even known I was leaving until my keys were in my hand. I had ignored the barrage of questions that had bounced off my retreating back. I felt a twinge of guilt, since I knew "the guys" would catch hell from Ranger for letting me leave without ascertaining where I was going, and when, and why, and without submitting a typewritten itinerary in triplicate, but I just got enough. I had to get out of there or the place was going to smother me.

The phone chirped again.

"Yo."

"Look, I don't have the manpower to have someone tracking you all day while you drive nowhere."

Agitated. He wasn't happy. There was a time I would have seen it as progress that I'd gotten under his skin enough to irritate him. I smiled grimly. Too little, too late. I no longer cared enough to want to get a reaction out of him. He'd tried to shut me away in an emotion-free zone, and I wasn't willing to play the game any more.

"No problem," I said breezily, and disconnected, flipping the phone to voice mail.

Then I savagely twisted the GPS tracker off and tossed it out the window. The cold winter air felt like snow, and I let it wash over me, heightening my senses after I'd been stuck in the monotony of Haywood for so long. I felt truly free for the first time in months. I drove to my parents' without hesitation. I hadn't seen them in several weeks—I had bought into the line that there was no one available to escort me to their house, and of course, Ranger flatly refused to spend time with my family. I sighed and shook my head at my own stupidity. I'd bought into the control thing for so long, I'd stopped even questioning it. I'd chosen to let Ranger control my life, let him isolate me from my family, my friends, but no more.

I knew for certain that I didn't want to live my life on my mother's terms, but I was also unwilling to live it on Ranger's terms either. Time to be a grownup, Stephanie, and stop letting other people call the shots. I needed to stop reacting to everyone else, and figure out what I wanted for myself.

Luckily, Rangeman paid well, and living with Ranger had allowed me to bank some serious savings for the first time since I'd worked at E.E. Martin. I could take some time to regroup and decide what I wanted to do with my life.

The first thing I wanted, I decided, was lunch. The Boston crèmes weren't sitting so well, and the sugar overload was making me a little bit queasy. Sugar was a wonderful thing, but dessert was definitely out as the base of my food pyramid. I pulled into the driveway and hurried up the walk, the cold nipping at my heels. I let myself in through the front, door and called out a loud "Hello," as I stomped the feeling back into my feet.

"Stephanie! What a surprise!" My mother looked shocked to see me, and Grandma was right behind her. I decided I would never again stay away so long that my mere presence for lunch made my mother goggle-eyed.

"Hey, Mom. Is that minestrone I smell?" I asked hopefully.

"Well, it's Thursday," she said, by way of explanation. I counted back, and realized she was right. The sameness of the days at Haywood Street had made time a blur.

"Right," I answered. "Thursday's minestrone, and Friday's pot roast." My mother gave me a "duh" look and went to retrieve another bowl from the kitchen. I loved the predictability of my mother's menus without having any desire to emulate it myself. Except for the ubiquitous peanutbutter and olive sandwiches, I decided I would let whim dictate my food choices. Lucky for me, I still had the familiarity of my mother's cooking to fall back on when I wanted.

And I would never again touch tofu or sprouts. Ever.

There. I'd made one decision about my life already. I would eat what I wanted to, when I wanted to, and right now that meant a bowl of my mother's minestrone soup. I sniffed appreciatively. Tomato. Basil. Plenty of garlic. The smells of my childhood assaulted me, and I wallowed in it.

We sat at my mother's table for hours, we three generations of women, and I wallowed in that too. I loved the connected-ness, the bonds that held me fast. In the slanting light of that winter afternoon, I made another decision. I decided I didn't have to live my mother's life in order to be part and parcel of my upbringing. The Burg would always be part of me, and I would always be part of it, but I had the power to choose the parts of it I would keep as part of my life. I didn't have to let anyone else dictate to me how to live my life.

I smiled and let my mother's words pass over me like warm water, lapping at the edges of my consciousness. She barely paused for breath, so long had I been gone. So long since I'd sat at her table just listening to the ebb and flow of life in the Burg. I learned who had a baby, who was separated. Who was getting married, who was sleeping around, who had started drinking again. Who had a new car, new curtains, new furniture, who'd lost an old job, an old spouse. My grandmother's voice joined at set intervals, adding to the litany. Who had died, who was sick, who had a boob job, who filed for divorce. It was all as familiar to me as my own face in the mirror, and I'd missed it so much.

I told Mom I'd moved out on Ranger, and she poured me another cup of coffee. I asked if I could stay in my old room while I looked for a new apartment, and she and Grandma went upstairs nattering about sheets and dust covers while I braved the cold and retrieved my duffle from the car. I'd let my apartment go when I'd broken things off with Joe and moved in with Ranger, and most of my things were in storage. Somehow, there had never been room for my old life in the new life with Ranger. I should have realized the implications sooner, of course, but I was determined to prove Joe wrong. He'd warned me I wouldn't be happy, but I wouldn't listen. Then things had gotten ugly. Joe had told me he'd waited half his life for me to grow up and figure out what I wanted, but he wasn't going to wait any more. I'd thrown back that what he was really waiting for was me to want what HE wanted. He'd gone cold then, and it scared me. All the heat had left him between one breath and the next. He'd looked at me like he'd never seen me before. "Do you really think that about me?" he asked, and his voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. I'd wanted to tell him that of course I didn't think that. But guilt was nipping at my heels—guilt over the way I'd treated Joe. I shoved my finer feelings aside and decided it was better if it was just a clean break with Joe. That way, I reasoned, I didn't have to face up to a lot of things. It was easier that way. "You aren't going to be happy in that cell over on Haywood," he threw at me as I walked out the door. I didn't even look back. I couldn't.

Joe had been right. About a lot of things. I wasn't happy at Haywood, and it did feel like a cell. And hormone-driven sex wasn't a substitute for love and a relationship. It was easier sometimes, not having to be emotionally accountable to another person, but it left me feeling empty and alone, even when I was in bed with someone else. And work acquaintances couldn't take the place of friends or family, either, I finally admitted, if only to myself. I'd missed this. I'd missed my family, my friends, my life.

But I was going to get it back. All of it.

I took my coffee cup with me into the livingroom. I eased myself into my time-honored corner of the overstuffed couch, and the smell of fresh pine overwhelmed me. I stared at the naked tree in consternation, and did some quick mental arithmetic. Two days till Christmas. How had I let that sneak up on me? I had copious packages due to arrive at the Rangeman building, all safely ordered from the anonymity of a computer screen. They would arrive neatly wrapped and bundled, seemingly without the touch of human hands.

Suddenly, I craved that human connection. I wanted to bump into other last minute shoppers at the mall, and listen to canned Christmas music. I wanted to fight for parking spaces and slide over Jersey's grime-coated snow in the parking lot. I wanted the adrenaline rush of grabbing the very last sweater in my sister's size, or find that perfect pair of gloves for my father hiding behind a stash of women's handbags. I wanted to feel dull scissors ripping their way through cheesy wrapping paper and get the scotch tape stuck all over. I wanted lumpy, bumpy presents with mismatched bows instead of the perfectly wrapped sterile presents I'd dutifully ordered from the catalogs Ranger had presented me. I grabbed my car keys and hollered up the stairs to let my mother and grandma know where I was going. It wasn't high tech, and it wasn't a GPS tracker, but it was infinitely warmer and more comfortable. My mother's head appeared at the top of the stairs. "Are you coming back for dinner?" Thursday night. Cabbage rolls. Ugh.

"I'll grab something while I'm out, Mom. I gotta finish my Christmas shopping." She rolled her eyes at me, and I decided not to mention the catalog presents. I just gave her a little finger wave and she smiled back at me, happy to have me here, disorganized and late on my shopping as usual. God, it was good to be home.

My perspective wasn't quite so rosy the next morning as I listened to my father and Grandma Mazur square off over the bathroom. My bladder was about to burst, and I just wished they'd both shut the hell up and actually use the damn bathroom instead of argue about it. I opened my door and peeked through the crack. Grandma and Daddy were standing in the hallway bitching fit to raise the dead, but the bathroom door was open. I made a mad dash in between them and slammed the door shut. The silence from the other side of the closed door was ominous, but my bladder was too relieved to care. I could wait for a shower, but I couldn't wait another minute to pee.

I smiled innocently at them both as I sashayed back out of the bathroom and climbed back into my warm bed. I knew from past experience that by the time both of them finished in the bathroom and the water heater refilled, I'd have at least another hour to sleep. Lovely. No tofu, no workout, and no Tank. I luxuriated in the thought and pulled the covers back up over my head.

Later that afternoon, I sat in my car and considered the apartment I'd just looked at. It was bigger than my old place, and newer. The dishwasher was a plus, and there wasn't a sign of avocado green or burnt orange in the bathroom. The only drawback I could see was it was only half a block from the park where Joe and I used to walk Bob. I pulled my Pino's sub from the bag and took a bite. It might seem like a stupid thing, but it felt pretty important to me. Could I take living every day in a place where I might see Joe and Bob? Or worse, what if Joe found out I lived there and started avoiding me? I hadn't run into him once in the three months since I'd broken things off with him, so it was pretty clear he didn't want to see me. Did I want to impinge on Joe and Bob's space like that? I gnawed my lip then took another bite. God, I had missed Pino's. I licked the marinara from my fingers and leaned back against the headrest.

I saw the orange blur in the distance as it streaked past the left side of my car. I smiled sadly. Speak of the devil. Bob was in fine form, dancing his goofy little dance and romping up and down the walking path. My breath caught as I saw Joe walk into view: black jeans, dark leather jacket, with his hair wild in the winter wind. He turned to say something to the person behind him. I scrunched low in my seat as the woman took his arm and laughed, looking him full in the face. Into his beautiful, smiling face. The Pino's sub turned to stone in my gut as I watched Joe reach up and brush the snow from her long, dark hair. I closed my eyes and my gut clenched, and a wave of sorrow hit me like a sledgehammer. Oh, God. What had I done? Mesmerized, I forced my eyes open and watched Joe and the woman slowly walk with Bob. She was pretty, with soft brown eyes and a sweet face. Her hair was long and blew in the breeze. She looked at Joe like he had hung the moon, and I twisted in agony. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't watch any more. My eyes were blurred with tears as I started the car, and quietly backed away. Neither of them looked my way as I slowly pulled out of the parking lot, too caught up in each other and Bob's antics to pay me any notice.

I unloaded the last of my Christmas gifts on autopilot, and sat through Christmas eve dinner without tasting anything. My mother shot me a worried glance, and I told her truthfully that it had been a really exhausting couple of days, and that I thought I'd go lie down for a little while. I just wanted to be alone and come to grips with my misery by myself. She reminded me about midnight mass, and I nodded. Maybe I'd find some peace in the quiet rituals of the mass, because I sure wouldn't find it anywhere else. My heart ached for Joe and my own lost chance. He'd obviously moved on, and I couldn't even bring myself to hate the girl. She obviously knew a good thing when she had it, unlike me. I finally cried myself to sleep.

My dreams were wicked things, biting and bitter. I'd chased imaginary lights through endless tunnels that dead-ended, leaving me alone in the cold dark. I'd run screaming through them, then, battering my fists on stone walls until I could feel the blood running down my arms, screaming until my throat was too swollen to make a sound. Finally, finally, there was a gray and misty light at the end of one of the tunnels and I ran for it gratefully. The tunnel opened out onto the park where I'd sat today. Just off to the left, Bob ran past me, just as he had earlier today. I turned to look. Joe was there, wearing the same jeans and leather jacket, hair just as wind-tossed as it had been earlier. He turned to say something to the person behind him, and the woman with the long dark hair, came into view. She was pushing a blue stroller and laughing up into Joe's face. I floated over to the stroller, but neither Joe nor the woman could see me. I pushed aside the blankets and saw the baby inside the stroller, and my throat closed up. I knew with everything in me that baby was my son. Just then, a dark haired little girl toddled up and raised her arms to Joe. Smiling into her chubby face, he picked her up and tossed her into the air, and I heard the woman laugh, a low, satisfied sound. The little girl with her curly brown pigtails reached out her hands with a big smile. I felt my own face soften in response, and reached out to take her, my own sweet daughter. In that moment, I remembered the feel of her heavy in my womb, the tiny movements of her delicate arms and legs while she was still inside my body, I remembered the feel of her skin when they laid her on my belly, wet and warm, for the very first time. I remembered her first smile, her first tooth, the sight of her sleeping in her father's arms, his beard-shadowed cheek next to the smooth milkiness of hers. I ached to hold her in my arms, smell the sweet baby scent of her hair, nuzzle the silk of her neck.

She reached past me, and the woman with the long dark hair held her close, smelled her hair, nuzzled her neck. My heart ripped free from my chest, and I screamed. Loud and long, past the constriction in my throat, I screamed until I had no breath left, and sat blinking in the light of my bedroom, my mother's worried face in the doorway.

I struggled for breath, but I couldn't stop sobbing—deep, tearing things that felt like they would literally take me apart. My mother started to come into the room, but I held up a hand. I scrambled madly for my purse and said, "I have to go. I have to go." She tried to question me, but I couldn't think, couldn't talk past the waves of pain that were battering me. I only knew I had to get out of that house. I had to get to Joe before it was too late.

I have no memory of driving from my parents to Joe's house on Slater. I was just suddenly there, my car in front of his driveway, blocking him in, my chest heaving, barely able to draw breath. I threw open the car door, and left it hanging wide, my keys still in the ignition and the lights still burning. I pounded on the door, then pounded some more. I was frantic. I had to get inside to Joe. Joe could make everything all right. I just had to get through the door. I pounded again, both fists, leaning against the door since my legs refused to hold me.

The door swung open, and I fell in a heap at Joe's feet. "What the hell?" he started to speak. He reached down and took my elbow to help me to my feet, and that one single touch suddenly filled me with fury. I kicked out at him, and caught him right below the knee. He yelped and went down and I was on him. I was slapping at him with both my hands, pummeling him, and all the time I was screaming. "How could you! How could you!"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Joe was trying to hold onto my flailing arms, but I could still get in a stray smack once in awhile.

"I saw you! I saw you in the park today. With Bob." I sobbed. "And then I saw you again later. With the STROLLER!" I accused. "You gave her my babies, Joe! How could you do that? How could you???" I was building to a high crescendo again.

"They were my babies, Joe. Mine and yours. And you gave them to her." I was sobbing uncontrollably, brokenly. "You gave her my babies, Joe." Suddenly all the fight went out of me, and I just curled up on the floor. "I want my babies," I whispered, and the tears just kept flowing.

I felt his arms close around me and cried even harder. I wanted to lose myself in his arms, for all the pain and hurt to just dissolve around us. "Shhh. It's okay," his voice was quiet and soothing. "I won't let anyone take your babies, Cupcake. It's okay."

I sat up on his lap and looked at him. "You promise? You won't give away my babies?" I knew if Joe promised, he would do it. If he said he wouldn't give away my babies, then he wouldn't.

"I won't give anyone else your babies."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on for all I was worth. "Okay," I breathed against the side of his neck. He smelled like Joe. I inhaled his scent like it was everything to me, and I guess it was.

He brushed my hair back and looked at my tear-ravaged face. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" he asked gently.

I took a deep breath. This was it. I had blown it so many times, this was undoubtedly my very last chance to make things right with Joe. I was scared to death of saying the wrong thing. Now that I was starting to calm down, I worried that he would laugh, or send me packing. I could see the cold veneer of the cop face slide down over his features as he saw my hesitation. That last flicker of vulnerability I had seen in his eyes coupled with those phantom babies pulling at my heartstrings sent me over the edge. If I made a fool of myself, so be it. But guarding my pride had gotten me nowhere. At least nowhere I wanted to be.

"I saw you today. In the park, with Bob," I started. "And a woman." I broke off for a minute, then forced myself to continue. "I was looking for an apartment." His eyebrows raised at this, but he didn't interrupt me. "Then later tonight, I fell asleep. And I dreamed I was back at the park, only you couldn't see me or hear me." The next part was hard, because my feelings were still raw. "And instead of being there with just Bob, the woman was pushing a baby stroller and there was a little baby boy in it. And I knew it was my baby." I blinked back some tears. "Then a little girl came up to you, and you picked her up, and…." My voice squeaked to a halt, and I felt my chest constrict. I couldn't breathe. I forced in some air and continued, "And I reached for her… Oh, God!" I put my head down and waited for my tears to subside. "I remembered. I remembered carrying her, and how she felt in my arms. I remembered everything, only I reached for her, and she didn't see me. She went to the woman. The woman who became her mother. And it wasn't me." I was sobbing again and I choked out the words. "They were my babies, Joe. Mine and yours. Only some other woman was their mother, and it was all my fault. It wasn't your fault, Joe," I cried. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. It was my fault, not yours. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything." I cried into his shirt, great wracking sobs, and his hands moved gently over my back, soothing me.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes, I started to calm down. Embarassed, I realized what I had done. "Jeez, Joe, I'm sorry," I started to apologize. I hadn't seen him in months, then I'd shown up on his doorstep in an emotional frenzy and started beating on him, screaming about phantom children that I'd never have. The ache was still strong, but my initial adrenaline rush had faded, leaving me feeling exposed and stupid.

"Be sure of what you want, Stephanie," Joe voice was low and deadly serious. "Be sure, because I can't keep doing this." His voice cracked, and I looked up into his face. His eyes were melted chocolate, but so sad, and so weary. I reached my hand up to cradle the side of his face.

"I want you, Joe." He shook his head, and I continued. What the hell. I was already at rock bottom, and I had nothing left to lose.

"I want you," I continued. "And I want to wake up with you every morning and feel your arms around me, and smell Ivory soap and laundry detergent and really good sex. And I want to see the sun coming in Aunt Rose's curtains. And I want to curl up on the couch wearing your sweats and watch football. I want Pino's subs and your mother's manicotti. I want to watch your hair turn silver and your laugh lines get deeper. I want to watch you teach that little boy to throw a football, and I want to watch you go all cop-faced when that little girl brings home her first boyfriend. I want my life. I want my life with you, Joe. That's what I want."

"Are you sure?" Joe's face was hard and controlled. "Are you sure this is what you want.

I nodded. "I love you Joe. I want to marry you. That's what I want. I know I've blown it, and if you've moved on to someone else, I'll try to respect that and wish you well. Really."

"The hell you say."

"What?"

"Wish me well, hell, Stephanie. That's why you came in here like a screaming banshee hollering about me giving away your babies, because you were going to wish me well?"

"Hey," I started. Here I was trying to be all noble, and he was giving me a hard time.

Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. I felt the anger rise in me like a red tide.

"Listen here, Joe Morelli," my finger jabbed into her sternum and I drew a deep breath, ready to rip him limb from limb.

"God, I've missed you, Cupcake," He pulled me close and murmured into my hair. "I can't let you go again." His arms tightened around me. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," I said meekly, and snuggled into his chest.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch. "My mother is gonna kill me."

"What?"

"It's ten minutes till midnight mass, and I promised her I'd be there."

I grinned slowly up at Joe. "I'll give you your present when we get back," I promised.

"Damn straight you will. Now come on." He swatted me on the behind and steered me toward the door. "Wait!" he yelled, and thundered up the stairs.

I shook my head at him. He came running back down the stairs with a small box in his hand. "Here," he said, and unceremoniously shoved a ring on my left hand.

"What—"

"I bought it the first time around, but I'm damned if I'm letting you out of this house without a ring on your finger. You got me, Stephanie? This time it's for real. No changing your mind, no moving in and out, I'm done. Yes?"

I nodded.

"Say 'yes', Stephanie."

"Yes."

"Yes, you'll wear the ring? Yes, you'll marry me? Yes, we'll have babies?""

I grinned. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes to all of it."

"Well, okay then." He gave me the patented Morelli smile, and I couldn't resist a quick kiss.

"Come on, Morelli. Midnight mass only comes once a year, and we're going to have both sets of mothers mad at us if we don't get a move on."

"Not once they see the ring." He was smug, damn him, but he was also right.