Page 130 of The Tartan Thesis

Goosebumps erupt across my body, adrenaline shoots heat through my veins, my jaw drops. I stare down at him; he looks up at me with tears in his eyes.

“Torin,” he says, voice rough, “I knew you were mine the first time I met you.”

“What the—” I clap my hand over my mouth. “Are you—”

He nods, swallows hard, and continues. “I had no idea what I was doing when I moved to Scotland. I was scared and uncertain. I didn’t know if I’d ever truly belong.” His lip quivers. “Then I found you.”

“And I made your life a living hell?” I say with a grin, a tear already gliding down my cheek.

“Yes.” He laughs. “You decided I was your mortal enemy. You were mean to me.” He sticks out his lower lip like a pouting child, and it’s my turn to chuckle. “But even when we battled in the classroom, I knew there was more to you. A lot more. Something beyond the prickly exterior.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Then you finally let me in, and it turns out I was right.”

“That I’m an unhinged mess?”

He laughs again. “No! Well, yes. At times. Now stop interrupting me.”

I pretend to zip my smiling mouth closed.

“Thank you. Where was I? Oh! The part about me being right. I love that part.” I roll my eyes at his grin, and when my gaze returns to him, his face has gone serious again. “Torin, I know our past isn’t perfect. You don’t have to remind me. I know our future won’t be either. But I can’t imagine my life without you.” His voice cracks; I hold in a sob. “I love taking you to bed and waking up next to you every morning, making you lift weights and eat cottage cheese while you swear at me under your breath. I love the way you look when you’re reading history, like you’re a sponge, absorbing every bit of information, and how your eyes light up during the opening bars of your favorite musicals. I want to be there for every important moment of your life, the ordinary ones too. I want to do everything and nothing with you. For the rest of my life.”

He reaches into his coat, pulls out a small ring box, and pops it open. Two identical gold bands catch the light. My heart feels like it’s slamming against my rib cage.

He wets his lips. “Torin Ramsay,” he says, his accent curling warm around my name, “my beautiful, fussy, intelligent soulmate, will you grant the wish I made two years ago on this very bridge, and marry me?”

“Aye, Beau,” I say, voice trembling, “I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah?” he says, fumbling for a ring.

I nod, unable to speak, my vision blurring as tears spill faster than I can blink them away. He frees one of the bands and has to hold my hand steady as he slips it onto my finger. Then he stands, his mouth on mine, and we both laugh and cry as my arms wrap around his neck, his hands finding my waist, holding me like he never wants to let go.

“I love you,” he says against my lips.

“I love you more.”

He kisses me again, then pulls back, looks over my shoulder, and shouts, “He said yes!”

And that’s when the screaming begins.

I turn to see Freya sprinting toward me, Maeve and The Pigeons not far behind, Isla and her fiancé trailing them. They crash into us in singles and pairs, wrapping us in their arms, jumping up and down, laughing and shouting, the kind of chaos that only comes from people who love you too much to stay quiet.

Maeve kisses both of us on the cheek; Freya jokes that I can’t wear a white dress to the wedding, given what she knows about me; The Pigeons make warbling noises between cackles; Isla and Thomas grab my hand, wanting to see the ring.

It’s loud. It’s ridiculous.

It’s perfect.

“Alright, alright,” Beau says, hand on the small of my back, always there for me, “it’s time to celebrate!”

Cheers go up again, and we head back into the city. Beau holds my hand as we trail just behind our chattering band of weirdos, glancing over at me every few steps, smiling like he can’t quite believe this is real.

I’m not sure I can either.

Before we reach the pub, I stop him, pull him close, and slide his ring onto his finger. We decide we’ll call my parents after dinner and his tomorrow morning to tell them our big news. His family… they’ve completely come around. I didn’t know what to expect when I met them our first summer together, but they were so welcoming, so happy to meet me. Now Beau’s mum asks about me every time they talk, and she sends me even more presents than him—Christmas, my birthday, Valentine’s, Easter, and any other holiday she deems fit for gift-giving. I’m not entirely convinced she wouldn’t celebrate a Tuesday if it meant wrapping something up for me.

I kiss Beau again, unable to help myself, then step into the cozy pub as he holds the door open, ever polite.

Maeve is already in full command when we reach the table, shifting chairs, flagging down a server, requesting a replacement for a wobbly one. She directs us to our place in the middle, and everyone’s in high spirits as we take our non-wobbling seats and order drinks.

Lucas browses the menu with a furrowed brow. “Do they not have hot dogs here?”