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“Take your time,” he said. “I know it’s a big question.”
I slowly let the breath out. “I want to, Wesley, I really do. You’re an amazing guy, but it’s just… I don’t know.”
“I know, I know,” Wesley said. He remained in his kneeling stance. “Anybody could go out and buy you a nice ring and promise you a life of happiness. And to take care of you and have and hold you.”
“No,” I said, “that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Maybe not, but it’s the truth. Which is why you’re going to want to see what’s in my left hand before you answer me.”
“What’s in your left hand?”
I watched carefully as he unclenched his hand and revealed something else that glistened in the sunlight.
“Is that… that’s not what I think it is, is it?”
“Try it out,” he said.
In his palm, there was a key. I walked towards him and pulled it out of his palm. Then I walked to the doorway of the Dyer house, which had since been renovated in addition to the mold and flooding treatment.
I put the key in the lock and turned. There was a click. I turned the doorknob and pushed. The door opened.
“I bought it,” Wesley said, “for us to move into. And there are five bedrooms, which, by my count, means we’d have enough room for four babies to grow up in.”
I walked back towards him. “Just four?” I asked.
He shrugged. “If we want more, I guess we’d have to move. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
I grabbed the ring from his hand.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
“Let me try it on,” I said. “You let me try out the key. I want to try the ring out, too.”
I took the ring out of the box and put it on my finger. It was a bit loose.
“I didn’t have a way of getting your measurements,” he said.
“We can get it adjusted.”
I leaned down and kissed him as he stood back up.
“Yes,” I said, sweaty and gross, but still glowing and feeling beautiful. I was the luckiest woman on earth. “Of course, I’ll marry you!”
And he gave me another sweaty kiss. He really didn’t seem to mind at all.
EPILOGUE
***WESLEY***
The wedding was small, but beautiful, though none of that mattered as much as what it signified. And, with the sale of the house, I did as I promised and took Sloane on a cruise to Reykjavik, a place neither of us had ever gone to. The two week trip was too short for us, so after docking in New York, we canceled our plane tickets to return home to Los Angeles and flew to Toronto instead, where we stayed for another two weeks. I tried to convince Sloane to stay on vacation even longer, but she said no.
“At this rate, we’ll never go back to work,” she told me.
“Yes, that’s the idea.”
We were lying in our hotel bed, eating room service for breakfast.
“We can’t just be on vacation all the time,” she told me.
