It’s a small distinction, but it feels deeper since he says how beautiful I am, not just how beautiful I look. Like he’s seeing all of me and not just the shell. I can’t help but melt a little more every time he says it.
“Only three times since you picked me up.”
“Then I must be slacking. You’re stunning.”
I laugh softly, because although he hasn’t taken his eyes off me once, I haven’t missed the appreciative glances the women in the restaurant keep sending his way. He’s looking extra handsome tonight in black slacks and a gray button-up with the top two buttons undone. With or without a shirt, the guy is beyond hot, so I understand the stares. I don’t care if they look, because he’s all mine.
“I can’t believe I’m so lucky to be here with you,” he says, and it reminds me of how he once described his version of our ideal first date.
I would have taken you on a date, our first real one, and told you how beautiful you looked, and spent the entire evening half in disbelief that I was the one sitting across from you, pinching myself that I was with someone not only achingly beautiful but also brilliant and kind.
Today has more than lived up to my expectations. My favorite part has been getting to know Becks better and experiencing everything with him. The restaurant we’re at is a dream, but we could be eating leftovers at home and I’d still feel just as happy and content as I do right now. What makes all of this special isn’t the scenery. It’s the man I’m with.
Even so, we proceed to have one of the most delicious meals of my life. I let Becks order for me because I don’t recognize all the menu items, and he picks the perfect dishes. By the end of the main course, I’m more than full, but I still can’t help sharing the chocolate cake dessert with him. It arrives beneath a transparent dome no thicker than a sugar bubble. When we pierce it with our forks, it bursts with a soft pop, showering the cake in edible sparkles that drift down like stardust.
As the night winds down, Becks grows quieter. There’s a faint edge of nervous energy about him that feels so unlike him, I almost convince myself I’m imagining it. When he pulls out my chair after dessert and suggests a short walk to a nearby lake instead of heading home, I readily agree. I don’t want this night to end.
He holds my hand as we amble through the trees. It’s chilly this time of year, but the restaurant and surrounding grounds are enchanted to feel like a mild summer evening, and the night breeze brushes warmly over my skin.
We wander in companionable silence, and the forest slowly parts to reveal a lake. The water stretches out like glass, broken only by soft ripples that catch the silver glow of the moonlight. Fireflies hover near the reeds, drifting lazily as if they, too, have nowhere else they’d rather be.
Becks slows, his fingers tightening around mine, and for a moment we just stand there, breathing, listening, existing in the stillness.
“You know I love you,” he starts, and I glance up to find him watching me. “And I know you love me. You said it out loud and I’m not letting you take it back.” He says it with a grin.
A laugh escapes me, light and breathless. “Fair enough.”
He turns fully toward me then, the humor softening into something deeper, steadier. Something certain.
“We haven’t talked much about the future, but I want you to finish school. I know how important it is to you, and if you want to become a pediatrician in the human world, I’ll support you every step of the way. Your dreams are my dreams now.”
My heart stutters. Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they mean. He isn’t asking me to choose. He isn’t asking me to give anything up. He’s making space for every version of me.
Letting go of my hand, he reaches into his pocket and then drops to one knee.
The world seems to tilt.
The breath catches in my throat as he stares up at me with all the love in his heart shining from his eyes.
“I don’t care where we live,” he says quietly. “I don’t care which world we’re in, or how long it takes to get there. I just know I want to walk through all of it with you.” His voice is steady, but his tight grip on the small box in his hand betrays him. “So I’m asking, no pressure, no timelines, no expectations beyond us . . .”
He opens the box, the ring catching the moonlight.
“Will you marry me?”
For a second, I can’t speak. My chest feels too full, my eyes burning as I nod once, then again, laughter and tears colliding all at once.
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes, Becks. Of course I will.”
The relief that floods his face is almost comical, until he’s on his feet, hands framing my face as his forehead rests against mine for a beat before he claims my mouth.
As with every time Becks kisses me, I lose myself, and when he finally pulls back, my mind is foggy.
Taking my hand, Becks slips something onto my finger. I was so caught up in the moment that the ring barely registered, but now, as I look down, I see a delicate platinum band set with a dark purple stone, ringed by tiny black gems.
It’s beautiful and unique. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Lunacite and tamalite,” Becks murmurs, and I flick my gaze up to him.
