I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into, and what if Bronson had taken a dislike to flashmobs? What then? It could be a huge disaster. But perhaps seeing me dance might blot out any embarrassment he had at a very public proposal.
14
BRONSON
Traditionally speaking, when two people fell in love and it was time to think about spending the rest of their lives together, the alpha was the one who did the asking. But “traditionally speaking,” they were also talking about two humans. Lincoln and I weren't that. He was a shifter and I was human. Shifters committed by mating each other, while humans wore rings. Nothing about us fit the traditional mold, which had me feeling brave enough to break outside of it.
We'd been holding off on mating. Neither of us was really talking about the why, but I knew a lot of it had to do with the fact that I was human, and he didn't really want to push. I appreciated that, but also, I was ready to commit to him for always.
I thought about asking him just to mate me a bunch of times, usually when we were naked. That was never the time to make important decisions. Something always stopped me from asking, that was until I saw a way that we could honor both of our backgrounds.
That was how I found myself in the fourth jewelry store this week, looking for the perfect rings to propose to my alpha.
Jewelry shopping was not for the weak. The sales people were ruthless. Just the looks I got when I asked to look at the rings were enough to have a weaker person going online and hoping for the best. Then came the comments.
"Are you picking one out ahead for your alpha… to give him ideas?"
"Are you helping your brother shop?"
“Oh, isn't that cute? Are you getting friendship rings?"
All of it was ridiculous. We didn't grow up in an age where traditions had to be followed or where social norms were set in stone. And why the heck did they think I had a brother I was shopping for? The whole thing was argh.
Finally, today, I walked into the right store. I walked in and said I was looking for rings, and the old man behind the counter, instead of judging, instead of implying every which way he could that I didn't belong there, smiled brightly.
"Congratulations! Do you know what metal you prefer? Or does your significant other work in an industry where maybe silicone might be a safer option?"
I wanted to jump over that counter and hug him. Not only was he not judging, he wasn't trying to upsell me. He was willing to show me the $20,000 rings and the $40 rings, as long as I left with the right ones for us.
"I don't know about color. Not silicone.” Or maybe silicone.
Would that stretch enough when he shifted? No, he'd definitely have to take this off, no matter which one I got. That was the only benefit I could think of for Lincoln and non-metal rings. I’d made the right choice.
“Maybe something in the silver-ish family.” I didn’t think gold was Lincoln’s color, but if it was, he could always exchange it. I’d rather him have something he liked over something sentimental he hated.
"Excellent, silver. We have multiple choices."
I should have picked gold. He set out rings that were made of silver, others made of stainless steel, others of platinum, and others of white gold. Who knew there were so many options?
"Why don't you tell me about your partner?"
And so I did. I told him about how we met by a wrong number, how we didn't get along at the first meeting, and how from that time on, we couldn't stay away from each other. I told him how he never made me feel less than for being an omega and how he loved animals. I wasn't sure how any of it played a part in what ring to pick, but as I talked, he would remove some of the choices until I was left with three.
"Each of these has a companion piece for when you tie the knot."
I looked from one to the other to the other. "I think this one." I pointed to the one in the center. It wasn't as shiny, and for some reason, that caught my eye. Was it going to win his heart? No, but no ring should. The "yes" needed to come from the heart, not the eyes. I bought my purchase and walked out of there, nearly skipping.
We had a date tonight, and I was thrilled that I was going to propose. It was hardly a well-orchestrated proposal idea. I was going to keep it in my pocket, and when the time felt right, I was going to ask him to marry me. Done.
Lincoln didn't seem like the kind of guy who wanted a big, fancy thing, and the idea of arranging with the restaurant for it to be on the plate somehow felt like I was asking for someone to choke or for it to get lost. No, I was sticking with my plan, which was basically to wing it.
He told me to get a little dressed up today, but not too formal. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant and went with business casual. It wasn't like I couldn't change when he got here.
When Lincoln showed up, the ring was already burning a hole in my pocket. I wanted to give it to him already—just thrust it in his face and say, "Here! Are you going to marry me?" and then, of course, have him say yes, kiss me until I was weak in the knees, and then twirl me around like I was the grand prize.
Instead, I kept it firmly in place, my hand resting on it as we drove to a part of town I wasn't familiar with, to a restaurant he'd seen some influencers say was the best.
"I'm not really hungry yet," he said. I was surprised. We didn't exactly have an early reservation, and it was well past our normal dinner time. "Do you mind if we maybe go for a walk in the park first?"
