I rest my head on Connor’s shoulder as Hatteras comes into view in the distance. “I could retire here someday.”
He looks wistfully out over the water. “Yeah, me too.”
“Mr. Chief Marketing Officer means we could probably retire early,” I say with a finger to his ribs.
The sports magazine that Connor began working for three years ago, exploded almost overnight. They’ve been in a constant state of hiring and expansion. Six months ago, they offered him the position and he accepted without hesitation. The men he works for—along with their families—have become some of our dearest friends.
“I don’t know,” he says, all coy. “I think it might be Saks’ newest Assistant Buyer that could make that happen.”
He lies. Not about the Assistant Buyer part, that’s true, but the part about my promotion putting us on the early retirement path. Not even close, but it’s a step in the right direction up the corporate ladder. Plus, the new position puts me back alongside Monica who’s become a best friend to me over the past few years.
Obviously, we’re nowhere near retirement, but dreaming up our future is a fun game we like to play. And we’ve dreamed of it all: travel, marriage, a river-front penthouse in Jersey, three or four babies (adopted and biological), moving to a suburb if city-life doesn’t feel right once kids are in the picture, and now, retiring to the beach.
Someday, we’ve always said.
On the drive back, we stop at a quiet beach to watch the sunset, neither of us in a rush to get back to a house full of beautifully rambunctious nieces and nephews.
There’s not another soul to be found within shouting distance in either direction. The steady rhythm of waves crashing the shore is the only sound other than thump of Connor’s heartbeat at my back as I lean against him. His arms wrapped loosely over my shoulders, our fingers twirl and play together.
“You know what my favorite thing is about you?” he asks.
“Hmmm,” I say, gaze cast over the ocean. “I’m gonna say boobs.”
He chortles, sweet and rough in my ear. “Those, too. But not what I was thinking.”
“Do tell, then.”
His chest rises and falls at my back. “Everything about you is…easy.”
“You calling me easy, old man?”
“Okay, that didn’t sound right.” He sighs. “What I meant was, you’re…effortless. Falling for you was easy. Loving you is even easier. Even when life is hard, loving you isn’t.”
He exhales a shaky breath and my heart thrums a little faster in my chest.
“I love that you’re not showy or fancy. Without a stitch of makeup, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I know you think it’s a character flaw, but I love that you hate being the center of attention.” I smile. “You don’t care about all the celebratory fuss. You don’t want big grand gestures or to be under the spotlight.”
He kisses my temple and, if I know this man as well as he knows me, I don’t have to turn around to know his eyes are glassy with tears. His right hand pulls away, but I cling to his left, pulse racing now.
“It’s why I can give you this.” He holds up a ring in front of me. No velvet box, no pomp and circumstance. “And I don’t have to get down on one knee or paint the words across the sky to tell you everything you already know.”
A tear falls down my cheek.
“That you’re my favorite person. That you’re my best friend.” He leans in closer. “Don’t tell your brother that part.”
I laugh through a sob.
“That I love you,” he continues. “That I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His voice thickens like the words come from the deepest part of him. “That I want to be your husband. And I want you to be my wife.”
He tilts the ring between his fingers and I’m beside myself with how perfect it is. The modest princess cut stone on a simple platinum band shimmers in the early evening light—it’s exactly what I would have chosen for myself.
Cheek pressed against mine, he slides the ring on my finger. His voice, barely a whisper, finally utters the words, “Will you marry me?”
I nod like a jittery fool and choke out a teary “Yes” as I flip over and collapse into him. We fall to the sand wrapped in each other’s arms.
When we arrive backto his parents’ beach house sometime later, our faces a little worse from wear from all the crying—and kissing—Connor stops me before I reach the front door.
“I have another surprise,” he says. Before I can ask a single question, he swings the door open and we hit a wall of cheers. Connor’s family hoots and hollers as we step inside, shouting their congratulations. I scan the living room and my breath catches in my throat.
