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The Forever of Ella and Micha

The Forever of Ella and Micha

Titel: The Forever of Ella and Micha Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Jessica Sorensen
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at me. “The point of the story isn’t the women who didn’t find love, but the one who did. Your great-grandmother Sherri, and my grandmother, was happily married for fifty-three years to a guy she met when she was a teenager.”
    “You’re so full of shit right now,” I say, shaking my head. “But I have to give you props for making up the story.”
    “It’s not a story, Micha Scott. It’s the truth.” She picked up the box from the coffee table and balanced it in the palm of her hand, urging me to take it. “You’re the one who did. People envy you and Ella—hell, I envy you.”
    “That’s because you were married to a douche bag for six years.”
    “What you have isn’t the same as your father and me. I barely knew him when I met him.”
    Giving up, I decided to tolerate her and took the box from her hand. “I’ll think about it.”
    She smiled, leaning back into Thomas, who whispered something in her ear. The longer I stared at the ring, the more my reservations crumbled. In the end, I had an idea.
    As Ella and I lay in my bed with the lamp on, we cuddle close to each other because of the icy temperature. The neighbors’ red and gold Christmas lights flash through the window and light up my room. Ella has on the Silverstein shirt without a bra on and her hair smells like vanilla mixed with smoke. I love the smell.
    “What are you thinking about?” She rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on my chest, batting her eyelashes at me. “You’re being really quiet.”
    I stare into her eyes, considering my next words carefully. “I’m thinking about giving you your Christmas present.”
    Her head tilts to the side. “Since when do we do the Christmas present thing? We’ve never done it before.”
    “Well, I’m thinking about starting a new tradition.” With a deep inhale, I reach for the box on my nightstand and balance it on my chest right in front of her face. “Actually a few new traditions maybe.”
    Her green eyes amplify as she quickly retreats and kneels on the bed. “What is that?”
    Collecting the box, I sit up. “It’s what you think it is. However, before you go freaking out, let me get through my speech, okay?”
    Her chest heaves as she breathes in and out. “Okay.”
    I’m shocked I even got an okay from her, so I swiftly push forward. “So, my mom told me this story about my great-grandma who apparently was, like, the only woman in the family lucky enough to ever find love.” I pause, trying to pick up her vibe, but in the low light, her eyes look black and her face is barely a shadow.
    I kneel in front of her, taking her hand, which trembles. “She also explained to me how lucky we are and that she kind of envies us.”
    She stifles a smile. “Your mom envies a couple of teenagers?”
    “Hey, tomorrow I’m officially out of that category,” I remind her in a light tone.
    She swallows hard and her eyes flicker to the box in my hand. “Which means I should be giving you the presents.”
    “Oh, you will,” I assure her with a grin as I clutch the box tightly in my sweaty palm, struggling to hide my nervousness. “But tonight is about you and me and our future.” Her lips open with an objection, but I talk over her and her eyes drift to the door. “The thing is, I knew when my mom suggested it that you aren’t ready. I get you, Ella May, that much.” I cup her cheek and compel her to look at me. “Like how I know that right now you want to leave. Not because you don’t love me, but because you’re scared. Scared you can’t do it. Scared you’ll hurt me. Scared you’ll actually be happy about what I’m going to ask you.”
    She bites down on her bottom lip, looking torn, her eyes wide, her chest heaving with each unstable breath. “Sometimes I think you’re a mind reader.”
    I smile. “I actually am. I just don’t tell anyone because it would freak too many people out.”
    She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bed, settling my nerves a little. I sit in front of her and position the box between us.
    “I’m not going to ask you to marry me,” I say and her eyebrows furrow as she raises her gaze from the box to me. “I’m going to make a proposition.”
    “A proposition?” she asks, confounded. “What kind of a proposition?”
    I’m thoroughly enjoying myself now, knowing she’s curious. I take her hand in mine and open her palm to set the box in it. “I want you to wear it, not on your ring finger but on some other finger and

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