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“That’s too many F’s for ‘best friends forever,’” I say, with a watery little smile of my own.
“Best fucking friends forever,” Jordan says, and he looks so proud of himself that I can’t help it, I laugh, and suddenly things are going to be okay. I was being silly.
“Ainsley, I was going to wait a little while to do this,” he says, suddenly serious, “but I don’t want to wait until I can go shopping for a ring. Will you marry me?”
Marry him?
Oh yeah. I mean, oh yeah. Hellz to the yeah.
I wipe the tears off my face and nod. “Yes, Jordan.” He leans over to kiss me. It starts sweet, and then it gets deeper, and before I know it we’re in a clinch like teenagers in the car, finding the steering wheel awkward, and I start thinking about climbing into his lap, and then somebody bangs their hand on the roof of the car, making us jump apart like we’d been doing something really inappropriate.
“Get a room!” yells Mrs. Thurman from down the street. “Damn kids,” she mutters as she shuffles away, wielding her cane in one hand and her Scottie’s leash in the other.
Jordan and I look at each other and start laughing so hard we can barely get out of the car. When we finally make it out, lugging our suitcases up to the porch, I fish the key out of my purse and hand it to Jordan. “I’ll take the spare key and you can have this one. When are we getting married?”
“As soon as possible,” he says, and unlocks the door with a grin at me.
“Don’t you think it’s a little fast?” I ask, worried about what people will think.
He gives me a level look. “Damn, Ains, we’ve known each other for sixteen years. Don’t you think that’s long enough?”
He has a point.
“Now. We have a house to christen before we call your mom with the good news. Where do you want to start?”
Anywhere.
Everywhere.
BFFFs.
