“Are you kidding? I’m already walking down there.” I wink as I grab my drink and walk to the back door. “You coming?”
“In a few.” Maisey nods her head in the direction of the stairs. “Let me run upstairs and grab us a blanket to sit on. You go on, I’ll be down soon.”
I start to walk to the porch door, but double back to shove a few potato chips in my mouth. I’m well aware I’ve now moved into “eating my emotions” territory and I don’t care. Crunching away happily, I make my way outside and start down the pitch-black path to the dock.
As I approach the spot where the yard ends and the dock begins, there’s a sudden flash of brightness as the world around me lights up—and it’s not from fireworks.
In front of me, the old dock comes to life.
The path is lined with twinkling fairy lights snaking their way down to the dock. As I follow the walkway, I look up to see where lights have been strung on the posts, outlining the embankment and adding a romantic feel that I’m pretty sure this old baby has never seen before. On the decking, the part of the dock where we like to sit each year, someone has placed several small Mason jars full of flowers—white and bluehydrangeas and red roses, to be exact. I recognize the flowers from the bushes around the property. On the ground, delicate petals are sprinkled everywhere I look as if it has snowed red roses, and the effect is stunning.
In the middle of the deck area, a circle of lights border a decadent oasis: a large blanket has been spread and a bevy of pillows, both large and small, are strewn about. On the blanket sits a giant picnic basket with Wyatt standing next to it, grinning my way and holding his arms out wide.
My heart implodes.
“Ta da,” he whispers, but only loud enough so I can hear him. There’s that smile of his, lopsided, charming, and so, so sexy. I can’t stop smiling, to the point I’m worried a firefly might get stuck in my teeth. Everything inside of me is jelly.
Wyatt holds out his hand, and I step closer, ready to close the gap on the slope between us, and I realize I'm shaking. As I take my first step toward him, instantaneously the first few notes of “Born in the USA” blare across the lawn.
And of course I jump—it startles me and I’m not expecting it.
Flinching, I feel my feet shift underneath me as the dirt moves, just enough that I’m thrown off-balance on the sloping hill. Losing the battle I’m waging with gravity, I land with a thud on the ground. Cue the domino effect as I begin an epic slow slide on my rear for the last five feet until the tips of my toes hit the wooden planks of the dock, stopping me.
“Freya!” Wyatt is right by my side. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing’s broken, but my butt is going to be bruised for a very long time, just like my chin.” I take his hand, letting him help me stand up. My bottom hurts too much to stay seated. Bruce Springsteen stops singing, thankfully. Not that I dislike Bruce, but I need my heart to chill out. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else should I be?” Wyatt takes both of my hands inhis. “This is for you, Freya. I’ve been trying to find a way to show you how much you mean to me. I let you put us on the backburner ages ago—and against my better judgement, I might add. But when I look back and think about what it took for us to get here, I can only think it’s supposed to be.”
My heart is pounding, and I'm pretty sure Wyatt can hear it, it's so loud. I will it to quiet down. “You did all this for me?”
“You bet I did. This is why Dyls”—insert Wyatt’s stern expression here—”has been helping me the last few days. We used the party as a diversion so no one would find out.”
“So there’s not a party at Dylan’s tonight?”
“There is. But I wasn’t helping her with it, I was getting her to help me do all of this.” He tips his head, indicating in the direction of the picnic basket. “Well, Maisey had a hand, too.”
Taking his hand, I step up on the dock and walk with him to the blanket. He bends over and begins to pull out an assortment of plates and treats from the basket.
“We’ve got food, drinks, and someone made sure that we have something sweet as well.” He stands up and hands me a dish. “I think this should be to your liking?”
I look down. Strawberry pie. “You know the way to my heart, Wyatt Hogan.” Holding the desert in my hands, I look around at the scene once more, my eyes filling with tears. “This is so nice, Wyatt. I think it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Well, I think you’re the person I’ve always wanted to do nice things like this for. The only person I want to laugh with, and at…always.”
The air around us fills with the opening strains to “The Time of My Life.” Oh, well played, sir. If he’s got Dirty Dancing on his playlist, he definitely brought in the big guns.
I giggle. Straight-up, silly schoolgirl style, but I’m okaywith it. “I wanted to be the one who told you how I feel. I figured since I was the one who insisted we be friends, I should be the one to make the first move…so you don’t slice open my cheek again.”
“And take away the moment?”
“The moment?”
“The moment I get to look into your eyes and see your reaction…the moment when I tell you how much I love you. That moment.”
Be still my heart. No really, be still, I’m about to go into cardiac arrest. Part of me thinks this is insane, how do two people fall this hard in such a brief window in time? I would think there may be some kind of passage to get from friends to here, a slower shift as we transition to more than friends—but the other part of me? That part knows we’ve been laying the groundwork to get to this very moment for years.
And I’m going to enjoy every moment from here forward. Starting right now. “You love me?”
