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“Why? You’re great,” I say with complete honesty. I’ve been to see Melody sing at The Horse and Rider three times since she became the new lead singer for Ghost Town Double Wide, and every time, she’s been better than the last.
She shrugs and looks out across the water. “I don’t know. I’ve always been more of a family and friends type of girl. I never thought I’d enjoy getting up in front of a crowd. I’ve never had those kinds of dreams, you know?”
“Do you have them now?” I ask as we glide closer to the platform.
She chews her bottom lip for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know. Lila was saying I should audition for this all-girl band she plays with in Atlanta on Saturdays, but that’s a big workday, so…”
“But it’s a paying gig, right?”
She nods, her gaze lingering on the shoreline, showing no sign of noticing the unusual object on the platform. “She said the gig on Saturdays pays three times what The Horse and Rider gigs do, but still… The catering business is my first love, and I don’t want to let Lark down.”
“Lark will understand,” I assure her. “And so would I. I’m behind you, whatever you want to do. I can even switch shifts with John and be your chauffer to the city every Saturday.”
“As long as I keep making shepherd’s pie every Wednesday for dinner?” she asks, poking my calf with her toe.
“Yes,” I say seriously. “You can change careers, change your hair color, change anything else you like, but the shepherd’s pie is non-negotiable.”
Melody’s laugh becomes a soft, “Oh,” of surprise as the boat reaches the platform with a dull thud. Her focus finally shifts in that direction, and my heart starts pounding all over again.
“What’s that?” Her brow furrows.
“What’s what?” I ask, playing dumb.
“There’s a jewelry box or something…” She trails off as she reaches out, scooping the box off the platform as we drift by. “I wonder if we should take it to the lost and found? Maybe someone…”
She looks up at me through narrowed eyes, her surprise now tinged with a hint of suspicion. “Nick?”
“What?” I fight the urge to smile, wanting to keep the surprise going for a few more moments, or at least until I can talk my heart out of my throat and figure out how I’m going to get down on one knee in the narrow space between my seat and Melody’s.
“It’s a phoenix.” She runs gentle fingers over the carved top of the box. “It looks almost like my tattoo.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Weird.”
I finished her tattoo three weeks ago, using non-latex gloves, of course. The bird turned out beautifully, if I do say so myself. Even Mr. and Mrs. March might grow to like it once they finally see it out for show and tell next summer during swimsuit season.
But whether they like it doesn’t really matter. Melody loves it, and I’m pretty sure it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Catching glimpses of it as she changes into her pajamas at night has only added to my torment, making me repeatedly question what the fuck I was thinking when I insisted we wait to sleep together until we’re officially engaged.
The past six weeks with her—kissing and touching but stopping before things go too far—have been torture. I go to bed every night aching with longing and wake up hard enough to shatter glass. I can’t wait to see my ring on Melody’s finger for a lot of reasons, but I can’t deny that finally being able to make love to her is pretty damn high on the list.
“Open it,” I say when she seems content to keep her exploration confined to the outside of the box.
“I shouldn’t. What if it’s something private inside? I don’t want to snoop.”
“I think you should snoop.” I rest the oars inside the boat and wipe my hands on my jeans. It’s almost time.
She cocks her head. “Is this a surprise?”
“Open it,” I repeat, suddenly ready, past ready, to ask her the question I’ve been working up to all week.
“Okay, okay,” she says, laughing as she unhooks the latch and opens the lid.
I know the instant she sees it. Her laughter dies, and her entire body goes perfectly still. I take that as my cue and ease off the seat and onto one knee, cradling the sides of her thighs in my hands as I say, “Melody March, I love you.”
She looks up, her eyes shining with unshed tears and an expression on her face I can’t quite place. She’s either terrified or overwhelmed with happiness or something in between. It isn’t necessarily a reassuring look, but I push on anyway. There’s no turning back now.
“I love you more than I thought I would ever love anyone or anything.” I pause to clear my throat, but it does nothing to dislodge the lump that’s formed there. “You make me smile every day. I’m so happy I hardly recognize myself anymore, and I like it that way. I look forward to every morning because you’re there when I wake up, and I never want to wake up without you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
