“Better.” Casey leaned against the counter and grinned.
“You won an all-expense-paid vacation to Tahiti?”
Casey scrunched her nose. “Better.”
Bri stirred in a capful of vanilla. “You found Justin Timberlake’s home address?”
“Almost better.” Casey winked and held up her left hand. “Nathan proposed.”
“What?” Bri dropped the whisk and grabbed her friend’s weighed-down ring finger. “That’s so beautiful! Congratulations!” Bri tilted Casey’s hand to inspect the ring at a different angle. The light hit the diamond and spiraled in tiny rainbow-tinted rays. “When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
Bri let go of her hand and poured in the flour. “Tell me everything.” She bet Nathan went all-out. There were probably hundreds of bouquets, a starlight sky, soft music, and twinkle lights.
Or maybe he took her to the pond behind Old Man Miller’s farmhouse, where everyone had free access to his two paddleboats and left donations in a rusty tip jar on the dock, and proposed under a canopy of fireworks.
She began kneading the thickening dough. Or maybe he’d taken her to that popular steakhouse up north, where they drizzled dark-chocolate icing around the edges of the dessert plates. Nathan had probably buried the ring in a thick slice of triple chocolate cake and dropped to one knee while she gasped in surprise.
Casey tapped her finger on the parchment paper Bri was using to prepare the dough. “You have stars in your eyes right now.”
“Well, you have little pulsing hearts in yours.” Bri laughed as she reached for her marble rolling pin. “I can’t help it. I love a good romantic story.” Nothing could have topped her dad’s proposal to her mom in Paris. But for Casey’s sake, hopefully Nathan had tried. “So, tell me already.”
Casey cupped her hands under her chin, her pale pink polish gleaming. “He came over last night for lasagna.”
A home-cooked meal. Nice. “He made it?”
“No, I cooked. He had just gotten off a long shift.” Casey grinned. “It’s his favorite.”
Hmm. “Go on.” Bri started pressing her Eiffel Tower cookie cutter into the dough.
“We were eating with the girls. Evie had just smashed a fistful of tomato sauce into Lexi’s hair, so Lexi threw her milk at Evie in revenge.” Casey rolled her eyes. “Just your typical weeknight.”
Bri could only imagine. She used to offer to babysit before Casey met Nathan, and Casey always resisted. Lately, after hearing so many of her mom stories, Bri understood why. Mental note for the future—ages two and three were apparently difficult ones.
“So, Nathan grabs this polka-dotted dish towel off the oven handle—my favorite one, which is the only one in the entire kitchen that has thus far avoided permanent stains—and begins wiping up the kids, red sauce and all.” Casey shook her head. “I literally burst into tears.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.” She could relate. It was sort of how Gerard had expected her to use her favorite apron to clean up coffee.
How did he get into this story? She shoved away the thought. “What happened next?” This sounded more like a breakup story than a proposal story so far, but surely any minute now, Nathan would swoop in and knock Casey off her feet.
Hopefully not literally, the way this was going.
She peeled the excess dough away from the mini Eiffel Towers as Casey continued. “So, Nathan grabs a paper towel then, while I plop Evie, who is dripping milk, into the sink. But the roll snags and the stand falls over, so the entire stack unrolls across the floor. Lexi is screaming because tomato sauce is in her eyes. I’m still crying because I love that dish towel so stinkin’ much and it’s ruined.”
By now Bri had stopped forming cookies and stood staring at Casey. The poor girl. A proposal was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And he hadn’t even hidden the ring in the lasagna?
“I just look at Nathan across the kitchen, tomato sauce smeared all over his jeans. I’ve got milk dripping down my arms, soggy paper towels draped everywhere. We both start cracking up.”
Definitely a laugh or cry moment. Bri sort of wanted to cry just hearing the story.
“He says, ‘You know what? We should get married.’ And I think he’s joking, because who wants to marry into this hot mess of my life, you know? But before I can advise him to run for the hills, he pulls this ring out of his pocket.” Casey holds up her left hand. “The next thing I know, I’m yelling ‘yes’ while the girls are clapping, and then we’re kissing while the sink overflows with water and floods the kitchen floor.”
Bri’s initial urge was to offer sympathy, but Casey rested her chin on her palm and all but swooned. “It was perfect.”
Perfect? More like horrific. Disappointing, at best. How could she be content with that? Bri didn’t consider herself a diva, but some things in life were worth holding out for. A beautiful, romantic proposal was one of them.
But she didn’t want to burst Casey’s bubble.
She began carefully placing the cutout Eiffel Towers on the baking sheet. “I’m so happy for you.” And she was. Casey deserved happiness—and that was hers to determine, not Bri’s.
“I love that he asked me, right in the middle of a mess.” Casey picked up the discarded cookie cutter and absently ran her finger up the side of the tower. “I would have doubted his sincerity otherwise, you know? Especially since this is happening so quickly. I would have wondered if he really got it.”
Bri’s hands stilled on the cookies as Casey continued.
“I’m not exactly fairy-tale material. I’m complicated. I come with baggage—even if they are the cutest set of baggage in town.”
“Definitely that.” Bri smiled.
Casey’s gaze drifted somewhere over Bri’s shoulder, almost if she were speaking to herself. Her voice softened. “But he didn’t ask when everything was perfect. It’s easy to love when life is shiny and looks its best—it’s a lot harder when it’s covered in tomato sauce and Pull-Ups.”
“Easy
