“I’m taking you out. Remember? Date night.”
“Where are we going?”
“A surprise.”
“But I need to shower. I’ve been outside all day. I’m nasty. After work, I helped Cali move. Do we have a reservation? I need to—”
I kissed her soft lips to quell the flow of words. “Take all the time you need. I got ready early so I wouldn’t be in your way.” And I also wanted to set her expectations for a big night. A night I hoped she’d remember for the rest of her life.
She cocked her head and studied me. Without a doubt, her brain synapses fired off a thousand different scenarios, but I’d bet she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the wildest scenario of all. We’d been living together for less than two months. She didn’t immediately agree to move in with me that fateful afternoon in Alice’s garage, but it didn’t take long for her to see reason.
I paced the den, waiting. I focused on the hypnotic roll of the waves, hoping to calm the rising anxiety.
I didn’t call her father to ask permission in accordance with southern tradition. But her father hadn’t really been a part of her life. And she hadn’t bonded with any of her stepfathers. Against my better judgement, I did call her mother.
“I’m sure you’re a good man. You promise to treat her right, and you have my blessing.” Her voice cracked, and then she blew her nose and proceeded to sniffle throughout the remainder of the call. No matter what had happened in the past, her mom loved her.
What if she doesn’t say yes?
I’d told every single person in our joint life of my plans. Tate’s distrust of marriage bore a similarity to Poppy’s view. After all, growing up, every marriage she’d seen had ended in divorce—her mom, but also her aunt and her grandparents. The national divorce statistic didn’t provide any data to support the institution. We’d only been living together for two months. She wasn’t expecting this.
Sure, I’d dropped references with increasing frequency to where we’d live in the future. When we’d argued over the height of a picture I hung downstairs in her office, I’d sarcastically quipped, “Whatever the future Mrs. Chesterton wants.” She’d laughed, but it was a funny moment. I moved that damn nail up and down the wall six times before the frame hung at a height she liked.
I patted my coat pocket and triple-checked my faint reflection in the glass for any tell-tale bulge. My palms grew clammy. I washed my hands under cold water in the kitchen sink. Then I returned to my place overlooking the ocean. I paced. Then gazed. On repeat.
If she says no, it’s not the end. It’s no for today. I need to eliminate any doubt about how I see her and what I want for us.
“Gabe?” Her large blue eyes gazed up at me, a question in them. Concern radiated through her soft touch. She sensed I hovered near a precipice.
“Hey.” I reached out to touch her soft golden curls. These were the curls she obtained by blowing out her hair and using a wand and curlers. I’d played the role of observer long enough to know. She wore a flowing aqua dress that enhanced the cerulean hues in her irises.
“You look beautiful.” She spun around for me, sending the light, silky material into a floating whirl. “It’s good for tonight?”
“Perfect.” I held out my arm for her, and she giggled.
“What?”
“You’re being so formal. I like this side of you.”
If tonight goes well, you won’t see these nerves again.
“I invited Cali over for tomorrow night. Her new place is three doors down.”
“Wait. You mean Jasmine’s tutor? She moved in on our street?”
“Yes, I told you. I helped her move.”
“How can she afford—”
“I don’t know. She’s divorced. There’s more to her story. I like her.” She searched a large tote bag and pulled out what looked like lip gloss and tissues to put in her small clutch, then paused, studying me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’d rather you hang out with happily married women. Not disgruntled divorcees.”
“Would you shush?” She kissed me in a tease, and I let it drop. I’d worry about this Cali another day.
When we pulled up at the Shoals Club, her girly giggle returned as I came around the side of the golf cart to escort her into the restaurant.
“None of tonight is supposed to be amusing,” I reprimanded with a teasing tone.
“It’s not my birthday. Like, if this is a surprise birthday party, you got the wrong day.”
“I am aware.” I hadn’t thought about it, but her birth date fell exactly one month ahead, so her assumption I’d gotten the month wrong bore logic.
I tapped my phone as we ventured up the sidewalk, and a million twinkling lights lit the expansive deck and every available railing. She gasped, and I took her hand in mine.
“My lady?”
“I’ve never seen this before. It’s gorgeous. When did they…” She paused on the second step up to the deck. “Did you do this?”
“I did.”
She let my hand go and wandered onto the deck, her mouth slightly open. She twirled beneath the lights with the amazement and wonder of a small child at Christmas.
“Where is everyone?”
“I rented out the restaurant tonight. When we enter those doors, the staff will escort us to a candlelit table with an ocean view. The chef is a Michelin five-star chef I flew down from Manhattan.”
“Jason is a good chef. Why would you kick him out of his kitchen?”
“Trust me. He appreciated the paid night off.”
“It’s a Saturday night. The amount of revenue—”
“Trust me. I made it worth their while.”
“But, what? Why?” Her hands clasped over her chest as her confusion increased.
“He’s an amazing chef. And he’s willing to talk to you about your restaurant. And I figured--”
“Gabe, that is insane.”
I dropped to one knee, and her manicured hands covered her mouth.
“The last time I dropped to one knee, I asked you to give us a chance without
