“What type did you take me for?” Annie asked, more curious than insulted.
Paula flushed. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just that you’re usually so practical. And, you know, flowers die.”
“You should get that guy you date to buy you flowers,” said Celeste.
Paula discreetly elbowed her daughter into silence, but nonetheless, Annie caught the motion. “Walter isn’t the flower-giving type,” Annie said.
“Some men aren’t.” Paula wrapped up a bouquet of daisies and handed them to her. “I always say jewelry is best.” Then, as if realizing what she’d just said, her cheeks went pink.
Annie gritted her teeth and paid for the flowers. This made three subtle and not-so-subtle (in Bridget’s case) references in the past twenty-four hours to what Grams liked to call “That Unfortunate Incident.” What was wrong with people in this town? If she was over Russell dumping her, then they should be too.
On her way out the shop door, she turned to wave goodbye to the women, but they’d already put the volume back on the TV and were too engrossed to notice her.
She jogged across the street to the café, where Walter was waiting for her in the same booth they sat in every Tuesday night. He appeared deep in conversation with Connie, their favorite waitress, so despite Annie standing just a couple of feet away, he didn’t notice her. Annie took a moment to study him. Walter didn’t have Sam DeLuca’s ruggedly classic good looks, but so what? He looked nice in his white shirt and tie. Serious. Dependable. Neat. His suit jacket, as usual, was carefully folded on the seat beside him.
Annie decided to make her presence known. “Hello. So sorry I’m late. Hi, Connie.” She leaned down and kissed Walter on the cheek, then laid the daisies on the table and scooted across the padded bench to face him.
Connie gave her a friendly smile. “Hey, Annie.” Connie was a staple at The Miramar Café. She’d worked here for her uncle Milo since she was sixteen, baked all the diner’s pies, and always remembered everyone’s order without having to write it down. She was a year older than Annie. Pretty, with chin-length curly red hair and big blue eyes. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. And congratulations, Walter,” she said before heading to the kitchen.
Annie waited until Connie was out of earshot. “What’s she congratulating you about?”
Walter tapped his wristwatch. “I was just about to call you. Is everything okay at work?” He looked at the daisies, then scowled. “You haven’t forgotten that I’m allergic to flowers, have you?”
“Oh! Yeah, so sorry.” She picked up the daisies and set them next to her on the seat. “The flowers are for me. I thought they would look nice on my desk. And everything at work is fine.”
Connie came back to set two glasses of iced tea in front of them. “Meat loaf is on its way.”
“Thanks, but I think I want to shake it up this week,” Annie said. “Bring me the fish instead.”
“Sure thing. Do you want—”
Walter cut her off. “She’ll have the meat loaf.” Before Annie could dispute that, he said, “Babe, remember what happened last time you ordered something different? You instantly regretted it and kept trying to pick the meat loaf off my plate.”
“I know, but I’m in the mood for fish tonight. Grilled, lemon on the side,” she said to Connie. “No tartar sauce, please.”
“You got it.” She winked at her, then left to put in their order.
“First, you’re late, then the flowers. And now you don’t want the meat loaf?” Walter acted as if she’d ordered plutonium off a secret menu. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean what’s going on? Just because I got flowers for myself and I don’t want the meat loaf doesn’t mean I’m in the middle of some kind of … quarter-life crisis.”
He frowned. “Who said anything about a crisis? I just know that if you don’t order the meat loaf, you’re going to regret it.”
She took a sip of her iced tea. Walter had a point. She loved the meat loaf here at The Miramar Café. What was she doing? Ordering the fish and getting daisies that were going to die in a few days anyway? It was all so unlike her.
This was all Bridget’s fault. Riling her up over that Gas Station Sam character.
I want someone who’ll make me laugh and laughs at all my stupid jokes. Who doesn’t mind that I wake up grumpy and don’t like to talk until after I’ve had my coffee and work the crossword puzzle. I want to feel that zing you get when you meet the woman you know you were meant to spend the rest of your life with.
Pretty words, sure, but they were probably something he’d memorized ahead of time. Sam DeLuca wasn’t real. He was just some Internet sensation made famous by a reality dating show. What was real was sitting right in front of her.
“You’re right,” Annie said. “I should have ordered the meat loaf. Do you think it’s too late to change my order?”
As if on cue, Connie brought them their plates.
Walter switched them around. “Annie will take the meat loaf. I’ll have the fish.”
Connie looked between them. “You sure?”
Walter nodded.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to,” Annie said, feeling guilty.
“Not a problem,” Walter said, right before smothering the fish with ketchup, which effectively sealed the deal since Annie didn’t like her fish with anything except lemon. Before he started in on his food, he cleared his throat and reached out for Annie’s hand. “Forget about the meat loaf. I have something important I want to talk to you about.”
What was—Oh my God.
This was it.
Well, it couldn’t be it-it. She knew Walter well enough to know that he wasn’t about to get down on one knee on their regular Tuesday night dinner date. He was more romantic than that. At least, she thought he was. Maybe he was going to talk about engagement rings. Or—
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this because I thought this wouldn’t happen for at least another year or two, but sometimes in life, you just have to go for it. You have to take the bull by the horns and the hell with everything else. Because if you don’t, someone else will come along and before you know it, you’ve lost the most important thing in your life.” He squeezed her hand to emphasize his point.
Annie had never heard Walter sound so passionate before.
Her pulse raced out of control.
Yep. This was it.
Walter was about to propose.
She’d been waiting three years for today. Well, not three years exactly, but the last year for sure. Every time Walter acted the tiniest bit mysterious or hinted about how much money he’d saved up, Annie was certain it was the prelude to a proposal. How many times had she set herself up for disappointment? And now, on a perfectly normal Tuesday evening, he was about to say those magical words she’d waited so long to hear.
What would she say in return?
Her heart braked, sending her pulse to a sudden stop.
What would she say?
Where on earth had that come from? There was only one thing she could say. After dating for three years, it would be ridiculous to turn Walter down. She loved him. Of course, she did! Their lives would be wonderful. They’d continue in their respective jobs. Buy a house together. Have two kids. A dog. Or a cat. No, scratch the cat. Walter was allergic to them. He was allergic to dogs too, now that Annie thought about it. So make it a gerbil. Or some goldfish. Whatever. They’d still have a great life. Right?