Page 10 of When Lemons Give You Life

“Looks like you’ve got some serious digging to do. I prefer yellow anyway.”

The tears stop, and we make the switch. The mum mouths “thank you,” I wave her off as I sit back down.

Beau watches me with a smile. “You’ll deny it until the day you die, Griffith Barlow, but you’ve got the softest heart of anyone I know buried under all that”—he gestures to me in a circular movement—“rough.”

I grunt. “It’s the spade I felt sorry for. You know I can’t bear to watch utensils suffer.”

He looks at my bowl. “What are you going to eat yours with now?”

I hold up the broken spade and shrug. It’s sandy and pathetic-looking, but vaguely spoon-shaped. I give it a rinse with my water bottle, jab it into the couscous and take a mouthful. “There. Rustic.”

Beau bursts out laughing, it’s a tonic to my nerves.

“Let’s have dessert now,” I say, clearing the salads and pulling out the last of the containers like it’s nothing. Like my heart isn’t on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

His eyes narrow playfully as I reveal a luscious individual lemon tart. “What are you up to?”

“Just eat the damn tart, Beau.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles and takes a big bite.

His teeth meet the ring with a sharp clink. His body tenses as he drops the tart and grabs his jaw.

My heart plummets. “Spit it out!” I stammer, panic rising.

He reaches into his mouth and retrieves not the ring but a large piece of tooth, smeared with curd and pastry crumbs.

“Oh no! Are you okay? Have you swallowed something?” I scan the grass, the sand, anywhere the ring might’ve gone.

“I hope not! Did you accidentally leave a baking weight in there?” He bares his teeth, now with a sizable gap at the front. He groans, blinking through the pain.

That’s when I see the blood. “Oh my god! We need to get you to a dentist now!” I scramble to my feet, heart lurching as he winces again, clearly in agony.

I stash the tart in the container and shove it into his backpack, mildly relieved to spot the flash of gold poking from the yellow curd. At least he didn’t swallow the ring, and we’re spared the kind of search no one wants to make.

Later, at the emergency dentist in Mornington, I pace the waiting room. Why did I have to stuff it up? My stepfather was right: I am a failure.

Beau eventually emerges, the lingering effects of the anesthetic no match for the grin tugging at his lips. He pulls the ring from his pocket, his voice slurred but delighted. “The dentist asked what I bit into. I said I didn’t know, then I found this in my backpack!”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “It was meant to be romantic. You were supposed to find it like in the movies you love.”

“Is that why I caught you watching rom-coms the other week in secret?”

I feel myself blush. Normally I’m a Die Hard fan all the way. “I wanted it to be perfect. You deserve better, Beau.”

He steps close. “Griff, I don’t want better. I want you. You’re my best.”

For a moment, I can almost believe him.

He slips his cool hand into mine, steadying everything.

“I’m broken, you know,” I tell him. “I have baggage . . .”

“Baggage just means you’re ready to go somewhere new. I love you, Griff. For everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve come back from. I want to be wherever you go. The thing is—” He pauses, grimacing.

What now? He has to think about it? He finally sees how bad I really am?

“You haven’t actually proposed yet, you duffer.”