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He wanted to hop on his bike with Hannah on the back, wearing his leather, and roar off into the sunset, never to return. Since he couldn’t, he was looking for someone to get into a screaming match with—Noelle (fucking Noelle) or Cass or anyone who got in his way, and—
He stopped.
Hannah was in front of the open fridge, in a pale blue sundress and flip-flops, eating olives out of a jar with a fork. She looked up and caught him staring, a whole olive frozen on the way to her mouth.
“These aren’t guest olives,” she said around it.
He was poleaxed by her. This woman, always so in control of every aspect of their lives, standing with her hair down, sneaking pimento olives like some sort of Nigella Lawson fantasy come to life.
“Marry me,” he said, before he even knew the words were going to come out of his mouth.
She very carefully chewed and swallowed the olive in her mouth, then set the jar down on the counter, like she feared she was hallucinating, or the laws of physics might not be working.
“Can you run that by me again?” she said, blinking at him.
“You’re my favorite person I’ve ever met in my whole life, and the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The me with you is the best version of me, and I want to be your husband.” The words all came out in a rush, all the things he’d been bursting with, unable to figure out how to say, spilling out of him as the dam broke.
“If the youwithme is the best version,” she said with a sly smile, “I would hate to see the you without me.”
“Hannah,” he choked out around his heart, which had lodged in his throat. “Will you marry me?”
She stared at him. “You’re serious?”
“Yes?!”
She looked at him for a long beat, and he tried to read her mood. Was she angry that he hadn’t made the proposal a bigger planned deal? That he’d waited so long? That he hadn’t waited long enough? They’d talked about “someday when we’re married” so many times, but never had a conversation about how that someday would become soon or now.
As he waited, his soul left his body and the voice in his head—sounding a lot like Cass—told him what a fuckup he was, reminding him that everything he’d ever done in his entire life would not make him good enough for Hannah Rosenstein. His palms sweated and some part of his brain wondered if it would be awkward to wipe them on his scarf. He settled for scrubbing them through his hair.
Fuck, his hair probably looked like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket. Had he brushed it before he’d come down here?Damn it, Blue, way to propose without even brushing your hair.
Suddenly she was in front of him, pulling on the ends of his scarf.
“Hey. Where did you go just now? Already regretting asking?” Her voice was light, but something in her eyes was anxious. He focused on her face, taking it in his hands.
“Never. You could wait to say yes for ten years and I would never regret asking. Asking you to marry me is the single most right decision I’ve ever made, and probably ever will.”
She set her forehead against his, and he breathed in her rose scent.
“I don’t need ten years. I could marry you today and it would be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
He grinned slowly. The zing went through his body that said,Do A Shenanigan. He’d never, ever ignored that zing, even when he should.
“Today, huh?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think we can get a rabbiora ketubah by sundown, and it’s Friday. Also, my parents are on Easter Island.”
“Wait, really? Haven’t you always wanted to go— Nope! I’m not getting distracted. We can go get a marriage license today. You know Ernie is a minister. Then when we have time to get all our family together, we’ll actually get married. You know, one for us, as a secret, and one for religious purposes. And my mother.”
“This is a profoundly terrible idea made entirely of chaos,” she told him, her pupils blown.
“Yes, because it’s mine.”
She kissed him hard, quickly. “Let’s do it.”
Every cell in his body paused in a way they had never done before. All his life, he’d vibrated on a slightly higher frequency than anyone around him, and he felt himself stop.
Yes.
