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“Not even a quickie in the supply cupboard?” he asks.
“Well . . . maybe I can fit you in on a quiet day,” I say.
Over the next few days, I spend most of my time at Brock’s place, only making trips back to mine to pick up clothes and toiletries.
One afternoon, just as I’m packing yet another overnight bag, Brock stands, hands on hips, and looks around my little apartment.
“Why don’t you just move in with me?” he asks. “It seems a bit silly to keep paying for this place when it’s not much more than a glorified closet these days. I’ve got plenty of space.”
This should be a big, momentous decision—one I need to sit down, and take some time to consider. But it doesn’t feel like that at all. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
And so we do. Just a few days later, my lease is canceled, and my stuff is moved into Brock’s lovely townhouse.
Life is pretty much perfect. I feel content, happy, and settled. I also get to do something that I was never allowed to do when I was with Peter—have friends.
I reach out to some of my old college buddies that he forced me to stop seeing and even make some new friends. It feels weird, actually having a social life—people who want to see me, spend time with me. That takes some adjustment.
But it doesn’t take long, and soon my life is just how I had always pictured it—with a wonderful guy who appreciates me for who I am, a respectable, settled job, and surrounded by good friends.
As for Peter, I’ve filed a restraining order against him, and now I never see him anymore.
I can’t quite believe things have worked out so well for me. A couple of years ago, in the depths of the worst times with Peter, I would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d dare tell me this was what my future looked like.
The sun is just setting over the mountains on the horizon. Brock and I are sitting on the dock by the lake house, socks off, dangling our feet in the cool water. We’re sitting mostly in silence, holding hands and just enjoying the scenery, basking in each other’s company.
“I can’t imagine life without you,” Brock says softly. “I can’t imagine coming here without you, coming home from work and not seeing you, waking up every morning and not having you there, sleeping next to me.”
I turn to look into his eyes and smile. “I feel the same way. You complete me, Brock. I know that sounds like a line out of some cheesy movie, but I get it now. I know why people say it. It feels like something was missing from my life before you came into it.”
We kiss, lingering and passionate. When we come apart, he’s fumbling in his pocket.
“Need help taking off those pants?” I tease. I’d be up for a reenactment of our first time together.
But then Brock pulls out a little velvet box. My breath catches in my throat as he opens it.
“Oh Brock,” I sigh, “it’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Brock grins.
I glance down at my ‘fake’ engagement ring. I’ve been wearing it since we got back into Denver from Seattle. “What are we going to do with this one?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ll pawn it or something. I picked out the first one I saw that day, just so that our little ruse would be convincing. Dean helped me pick this one out. I figured he might know what you like better than I do. He said it’s similar to the one your Mom wore.”
Tears spring into my eyes as I realize he’s right. It looks just like it.
Brock takes my hand in his and kneels in front of me. “Nina, will you make me the happiest man in the world? Will you marry me?”
I look at him, at the perfect backdrop of the lake, at the mountains, at the moonlight . . . In front of me is the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’ve never felt more certain about anything in my life.
“Oh Brock,” I say, tears of joy streaming down my face. “Yes, I will.”
Brock slips the ring onto my finger and kisses the back of my hand. “I love you.”
Epilogue
Brock—One Year Later
Time seems to evaporate when I’m with Nina. I know she feels the same too, which makes it all the more magical and unreal.
We’ve spent a lot of time and effort organizing the wedding, and my head is still swirling as I turn to look over my shoulder and see a figure dressed in white walking slowly toward me.
I can barely hear the music and see the rows of people watching from either side, so transfixed I am by the sight of Nina walking toward me in her wedding gown, face glowing behind her sheer veil.
