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"It's nothing too fancy.” Cobb holds his arms out to the sides and models his button-up shirt like it's a tuxedo.
"We're not going out, are we?" Marigold looks around the kitchen with confusion on her face; there are no food smells and the stove and oven are cold.
"Well, actually we're going outside.” Cobb reaches for the bouquet to take them back from her. "How about if I put these in a vase with water while you throw on a dress or whatever you feel more comfortable in?"
Marigold looks down at her frumpy clothes again, but this time she laughs. "We're going outside? Did you make us sandwiches to eat on the sand, Cobb?"
He turns his back to her. "Put on a dress, Goldie," he says, opening a cupboard and pulling out a blue glass vase.
It takes Marigold ten minutes to find a floaty, long-sleeved chiffon dress in a pale tangerine color, change into it, brush out her hair, and put on lipgloss and mascara. She emerges barefoot to find Cobb still standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. He looks happy and not the least bit perturbed, and it occurs to Marigold that she's not used to this version of Cobb. In their married life, he was either missing in action, lounging on a couch or in bed as he slept off a bender, or looking at his watch as he waited for the people around him to snap to and get the ball rolling.
But now...now he looks at peace.
"You look stunning," Cobb says, offering her his arm. Without a word, he leads her not through the house and out the front door to the beach, which is what she's been expecting, but out the back door in the kitchen and into Marigold's little garden.
"Oh," Marigold says, breathing out. She's been on her computer all afternoon, writing and listening to Fleetwood Mac, and she hasn't heard a thing that's apparently gone on right under her nose. "This is gorgeous."
Without her knowing, Cobb has had servers from The Black Pearl come over and set up a table for two under her palm tree, which is wound with lights. The sun is low in the sky, but the garden is still warm, and he pulls out her chair so that she can sit.
"Cobb," Marigold whispers, leaning across the table as a server in a black apron appears with a bottle of wine in hand. "I can't believe you arranged all this."
He spreads his palms to the sky. "For you, Goldie, I would arrange for the moon to be pulled down from the sky if you wanted it to hang right here in your garden. I would find a way to make it snow in June. I would--"
"Get sober and stay that way?" she offers, lifting an eyebrow as the server pours wine for her and sparkling water for Cobb.
"Absolutely," he says with a full, happy grin. "One thousand percent, no question, and without reserve."
Marigold reaches both hands across the table for his, and he puts his palms on top of hers as they look into one another's eyes.
"Thank you," Marigold says, rearranging her bare feet on the sandy ground under the table. "Not just for a Valentine's Day dinner with a table for two under the stars," she says, looking up at the sky as it goes purple with twilight, "but for the candles, the wine that's all for me, for letting me take care of you, for Elijah, for twenty years in the Cotswolds, for a life of tour buses, concerts, music, love…thank you for all of it."
Her eyes are shining as they hold each other's hands, and the server disappears into Marigold's kitchen, where the lights have been turned on and a second restaurant employee has joined the first. She can see them moving around efficiently in her kitchen through the window over the sink, but Marigold blocks them out and focuses on Cobb.
"There's a lot of bad stuff in there too, Goldie--we both know that. I did a lot of things wrong, made a lot of choices I wouldn't make now."
She shakes his hands to get him to stop talking. "Shh," Marigold says. "Let me say more."
Cobb laughs. "Okay, you say more, Gold."
Marigold can't help but feel a smile tug at her lips whenever he calls her that. "I want to say that I'm glad you're on the road to recovery, and not because I want to get you on a plane back home and out of my hair." Cobb laughs at this, but doesn't interrupt her. "I'm glad because...well, because the Cobb I know is strong and creative and not a quitter. When I heard you laying in bed that day, talking about how you didn't even want to get up for fear that you might fall down again, it broke my heart. And I know what you wanted from me, Cobb--I know you wanted me to tell you I'd take you back and that things could be the way they used to be, but I didn't want to make you promises like that when you were knocked down. I never want you to think that I'd take you back just because I felt sorry for you."
Cobb lifts his brows and tilts his head to one side, still holding her hands. "Yeah, receiving the love of a woman solely out of pity isn't really an ego boost," he admits.
"So I'm sorry if I couldn't say the things you wanted to hear." Marigold's eyes fill with tears as she says this, and Cobb lets go of her hands.
"I have something else for you," he says, standing up and pulling two pairs of AirPods from his pocket. He hands her one. "They're both paired to my phone," Cobb says, opening the case and popping his into his ears. Marigold watches him, confused, but then does the same.
Cobb reaches for his phone, which is sitting on the table, and he taps at the screen. The opening notes of a song fill Marigold's ears; it's one she's never heard before, and she looks at Cobb with a puzzled expression.
He holds up a finger to her and the strumming of the guitar turns into Cobb's warm voice filling her ears.
I'm going to be right here. Forever. I'll never let you go, and I'll never leave your side. It's you and me, baby, until the end of time...Cobb sings in the recording, his voice going ragged with emotion.
Marigold's eyes widen.He hasn't...he couldn't have...
Cobb nods at her as she realizes that in fact hehastaken her promise from the hospital that day so long ago--he's taken it word for word--and turned it into lyrics with so much heart, so much meaning, that it takes Marigold's breath away. She puts a hand over her heart as the tears spill down her cheeks.
Cobb stands up again and offers her a hand, which she takes. He pulls her up from her chair and then tugs her hand gently, bringing her body into his as the stars come out overhead. They fall into each other's arms the same way they've done so many times, and it's a feeling of pure comfort for Marigold. She may have thought her little bungalow near the beach was home, but this--Cobb's arms, his heartbeat, the very smell of him--thisis home.
