“Hey Beckett, we’re leaving in thirty minutes!” I head for his bedroom to make sure he’s getting ready for the special Christmas Eve dinner known as The Feast of the Seven Fishes. It’s an Italian tradition at my mom’s house, featuring, in case you hadn’t figured it out, seven kinds of fish. My favorite dinner of the year. I peek inside his door and see lots of clothes piled up on his bed while he’s searching through his dresser. “Hey, I’m not pushing you out the door now that your apartment’s done. You don’t need to pack up now, it’s Christmas Eve for goodness sake.”

“I’m not packing. I’ve misplaced something... important.”

“What is it? I’ll help you look.”

“A personal item. Really, I don’t need your help on this, I can find it.”

“Two heads are better than one—”

He gets down on his knees and looks under the bed. “Damn it!”

“I know how you can find it.”

He looks up. “How?”

“Pray to Saint Anthony, he finds lost things. You have to say this prayer three times. Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around. Something is lost and has to be found.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It usually works. Even if you’re not Catholic. Go ahead, give it a shot. Oh, and at the end of the third prayer you have to tell Saint Anthony what’s missing.”

“At this point I’ll try anything.” He starts to say the prayer but is whispering, and I can’t hear what the lost item is. “There, I prayed to him. How long does this usually take?”

“Depends on how busy Saint Anthony is. During the holiday season he’s probably swamped with people who bought Christmas presents earlier in the year and can’t find them. C’mon, forget about it, get dressed and let me take you to the best dinner you’ve ever had.”

He shakes his head and exhales. “You’re right. I’ve looked everywhere. Guess I’ll trust in a higher power.”

It dawns on me. “Have you looked... everywhere?”

“I’ve torn this room apart.”

“Have you forgotten the first place to look when something is missing around this apartment?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“You know, the place our furry little kleptomaniac takes stuff that she’s stolen?”

His eyes grow wide. “Gypsy...”

I turn and start heading down the hall. Beckett runs out of the room and practically shoves his way past me on the way to the cat’s bed. “Geez, Beckett, calm down—”

And then I see what Gypsy has stolen.

Whoa.

Beckett kneels down to pick it up.

“That what you’re looking for, Beckett?”

He slowly nods. “Yes.”

I fold my arms and look down at him. “Well, isn’t this an interesting situation. A wonderful man who I absolutely adore on bended knee in front of me, holding what looks suspiciously like an engagement ring.”

He blushes a bit. “I... uh...”

“My, that’s lovely. Looks like an antique. Family heirloom?”

“Yes. Belonged to my mother.”

“Beautiful. Why do you have it?”

He turns the ring over in his hand. “Charlotte told me I would need it at some point.”

“Ah. And when might some point be?”

He finally looks up at me. “It was originally to be some point in the future, but apparently a little furball has moved up my schedule.”

“Ya know, Beckett, I’ve always loved the way you say that word. Shed-jool. So, regarding the original... shed-jool... was it far in the future or near?”

“It was growing closer. In fact, one might say I’m behind... schedule... in a certain matter due to my own inability to make a choice that should be an obvious one regarding what is best for me.”

“Well, I’m guessing the one who might say that would be your sister.”

“You’re correct. She knows me quite well.”

“Huh. And it looks like my cat thinks you’re late as well. She seems to have moved up your... shed-jool... and made a choice for you.”

“She has, hasn’t she?”

“She’s a very perceptive cat. She knows what’s best for you as well.”

“You’re enjoying this a great deal, aren’t you?”

I flash a wicked grin. “Oh, Beckett, you have no idea.”

“I will need one thing from you before I proceed.”

“Before you proceed with... what?”

“Please stop torturing me. I need one thing.”

“Okay, this oughta be good. What do you need from me?”

“Your real name.”

My face tightens. “Why do you need that?”

He gives me a soulful look. “Because a gentleman doesn’t do what I’m about to do using a nickname.”

“Well, if that’s the case... get ready. It’s Antoinette Josephine.”

“Oh, how lovely.”

“You gotta be kidding me. It’s horrible.”

“No, it’s a beautiful name. Classic.”

“Glad you think so. Okay, you got what you wanted. So... proceed. With... whatever it was that required my real name.”

He holds up the ring. “Antoinette Josephine Scaramucci—”

“Damn, it actually does sound pretty when you say it with that accent.” (This is way too much fun.)

He rolls his eyes. “If I may continue?”

“Sorry. You may proceed.”

“You are an amazing woman with an incredible heart. You’ve taken me into your home, comforted me when I’m sad, helped me when I had reached rock bottom, and made me laugh every day. You are the most unique woman I’ve ever met. I should like to spend the rest of my life with you and would consider it an honor to be your husband. Because, as you often say about Gypsy, you have become my sunshine.”

“Beckett, that’s about the nicest thing any man has ever said to me.”

“All true. Every word. So, Miss Scaramucci, will you marry me?”

“On one condition.”

“And that is...”

“I get to keep my name. While I don’t have a problem taking yours, you probably don’t know that Mrs. Dash is a seasoning they sell in the grocery store, and with me being in the food business, I’d rather not go that route. Besides, I love the way Scaramucci rolls off your tongue.”

“Not a problem. Keep your name. So, what’s your answer?”

A single tear rolls down my face. “Of course I’ll marry you, Beckett. I’d be honored to be your wife.”

He slips the ring on my finger, a perfect fit, then stands up and gives me the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had. I hear a meow as our lips part, look down and see Gypsy at my feet. “Nice job, sunshine.”

Beckett reaches down and picks her up. “She gave me the nudge I needed.”

“Hey, you were her choice from the beginning. And what Gypsy wants, Gypsy always gets.”

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