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“Open your eyes,” I tell her once we’re inside the main hall.
She looks around her, gasping and shoving her hands over her mouth. “You’re kidding,” she says, beaming at me. “What is this?”
“Bill Watterson exhibition,” I tell her.
“You remembered I like him?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much. He was my all-time favorite growing up! If I ever come up with something a tenth as good as Calvin and Hobbes, I’ll die a happy woman. Are these genuine?” She walks up to the nearest glass case, looking inside at the hand-drawn illustrations laid out on plain backing card inside.
“Real thing,” I tell her. “Want to hold one?”
“We can’t, can we?”
I hold up the keys to the case. “We can do anything we like tonight.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t dare.”
“Then I’ll do it for you.” I unlock the case and lift out the sheet of card, holding it toward her. “Go ahead.”
She steps back. “I don’t dare. What if I smudge it or something?”
“Nothing will happen. It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that. I could get arrested or something.”
“I doubt it.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I bought this one for you. You don’t get arrested for touching the things you own.” I squeeze her arm lightly.
“You’re shitting me, right? You didn’t buy it.”
“It’s yours.”
“It must have cost a fortune.” She takes the sheet, looking down at the four frames, scrutinizing them, a serious look coming over her face. “You can see how he’s used the ink here to show motion,” she says. “Not easy with a crunched up frame like Calvin’s. He managed it every time. See the expression on his face? So much shown with just a couple of lines of ink.” She looks up at me and her eyes are glassy. “I can’t believe you did this for me.” She kisses me softly on the lips. “Thank you.”
I glance at my watch, ignoring the tingling still lingering from her kiss. “You’ve got an hour. Better make the most of looking around. Shall I hold that for you?”
She nods, passing me the sheet of cardboard. I don’t tell her how much I had to pay for it. She doesn’t need to know.
I watch as she walks around the exhibition, examining one piece after another, always with a huge smile on her face.
I’m not going to lie. It feels good to make her this happy.
I pull out the ring box from my jacket pocket. I was going to wait until we got to the restaurant, but I might as well make the most of her good mood. She comes skipping over to me at the end of the room. “Wow,” she says. “That was amazing. What are you doing?”
I’m sinking to one knee, opening the box to show her the ring. “Will you marry me?” I ask her.
She looks at me and she looks torn for a moment; the smile fading. “Do I have a choice?” she asks.
“You always have a choice in life,” I reply honestly. “But not with this.”
“Then I guess I have to say yes.”
“That’ll do for me.” I get back up, taking out the ring and slipping it onto her finger, next to the existing one that’s there. It fits perfectly. “Fate,” I tell her as she stares at the rings, feeling them both with her other hand. “Let’s go eat.”
