“You’re right,” I say, flashing a hopeful grin her way. “Does this mean you’ve decided to come with me to Nashville? I’ll be able to concentrate on being creative so much better if I’m not missing you every night.”
She laughs. “You’re shameless.”
“I am. So come with me. We’ll have dinner together every night and spend Thursday sightseeing before we fly home.”
“But a last-minute plane ticket will be so expensive. Surely, we can make it four days without each other,” she says, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “And what about the mortgage paperwork and applications? I should stay here and get on top of that.”
“Or you could let me pay cash for our house when we find it,” I remind her.
She shakes her head. “No. I told you, I want us to be equal partners in everything, and that includes paying for our first home. I may not have a ton of savings—or a job,” she adds with a sigh, “but I have excellent credit.”
I grunt.
She laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s what supposed to mean?”
“The grunt.” She props her hands on her hips as she sits back on her heels. “I do have excellent credit. And one of these banks is going to wise up and realize they should loan me money any day now.”
I ease out of my chair and onto the blanket beside her. “I know you have excellent credit, and I would loan you money if I were a bank, but real banks are stupid. They have a long history of it. So why don’t we do this instead—I’ll pay for the house and you can write me an IOU for your half. Then you can pay it off when you have a job and money to spare, interest-free.”
She wrinkles her nose, but when I reach for her, she slides closer without hesitation. “That could take years. Maybe even decades.”
I shrug and kiss her temple. “I don’t care.”
“But your money could be earning interest instead. Or you could invest in rental property or something.”
“I’m not worried about it, Cee. I told you, money isn’t a big deal to me anymore. I just want to be with you and be happy.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m already happy. So happy.”
“Me, too,” I say, my heart racing faster as I realize this is it, the right moment, the perfect moment. It isn’t what I had planned—I was going to wait until dinner tonight with a brilliant August sunset and an acoustic version of the first song I wrote for Colette in my arsenal—but this feels so right.
And terrifying.
I know there’s a chance she’ll say no. A very real chance. She’s made no secret of the fact that her feelings about marriage are complicated and not particularly favorable.
But if she says no, I’ll bide my time and ask her again. I want to stand with her in front of all our family and friends and promise the rest of my life to her. More importantly, I want to know she’s legally protected and provided for in the event anything should happen to me.
Reaching into the beach bag, I take out my wallet. Colette glances down, her eyes going wide as I draw the plastic bag with the ring inside from behind two twenty-dollar bills.
Her hand flies to cover her mouth, her gaze darting between the ring and my face as I open the bag and drop it into my palm.
“I know how you feel about marriage,” I say, shifting onto one knee on the blanket while Colette sucks in a breath, and her eyes fill with tears. Happy tears, I hope, but I honestly can’t tell what’s going through her head. “But I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I don’t need years of dating to know that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Colette Claude Blanchet, you are everything I’ve ever dreamed of finding in a partner and so much more.”
“Zack,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t tell me to stop, so I push on, determined to prove to her how serious I am about this.
About her.
About spending every second of the rest of my life loving her.
“You are kind and funny and clever. And so beautiful.” I reach up, smoothing her hair from her forehead as I add, “Inside and out. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. And I know if I live a hundred years, I’ll wake up every morning grateful that I get to spend another day in your most excellent company.”
She swallows, and a tear spills down her cheek, making my chest ache.
“Happy tears or sad tears?” I ask, my voice rough. “I can’t see your lips, so I’m kind of flying blind here, baby.”
She laugh-sobs and drops her hand, revealing a megawatt Colette grin, the one that gives the sunshine a run for its money. “Happy. So happy,” she says, reaching for my empty hand and squeezing it tight. “I feel the same way. But we don’t have to get married to keep being the best part of each other’s day, forever and always.”
“True. But it will make the business of ensuring you and our baby are taken care of if I’m killed in a plane crash a whole lot easier.”
She blinks faster. “We don’t even know if we’re pregnant, Zack. You shouldn’t—”
“I don’t care,” I cut her off. “Even if we never have a baby or get to adopt a child together—if my life is cut short, I want everything I’ve worked to build thus far in your hands. I trust you to take care of my legacy and my unfinished business.”
“Unfinished business?” she echoes.
“Clearing my search history. Burning my diary from junior high. Burying the bad poetry in the backyard. The usual.”
“Same.” Colette laughs before squeezing my fingers again. “I would do all those things. In a heartbeat. I have your back, and I always will, even if we never say ‘I do.’”
“I know you do,” I say, believing it. For Colette, a promise is as binding as any marriage, but sadly, that isn’t how the world works. “But knowing you’re my wife and you’ll have easy access to our money and property in the event of my death would give me peace. Should something happen, I don’t want to spend the last minutes of my life regretting not having my house in order.”
“I thought I was going to die in a car crash once,” Colette says softly. “If I had, my final thoughts would have been ‘shit, oh shit, oh shit.’ I was so disappointed in myself after. I wanted to have more meaningful last words, even if they were only in my head.”
I smile. “Me, too. And being your husband would help a lot with that.” I sigh, forcing an upbeat note into my voice, not wanting to pressure her into something that doesn’t feel right. “But if you’re not open to getting married, I can adjust my will. I haven’t talked to my estate planner yet, but hopefully, with the right paperwork, we can make sure you’ll have access to my money and the intellectual property and everything else, even if you aren’t my wife.”
“You’d do that?” she asks, her brow furrowing.
“I would. Your well-being is my first priority.” I bite my lip and shrug. “Would I also like to be your husband? Yeah, I would.” I laugh as I admit, “I guess I’m more of a romantic than I thought because seeing you in a white dress and all of the people we love gathered to help us celebrate sounds pretty awesome.” I shrug again before lifting her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to her soft skin. “But if that never happens, I’m okay with that, too. I’m still going to keep choosing you every day, no matter what.”