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Grammy reaches up for both our necks and we are thoroughly Grammy-slapped.
“Annie popped the question on Christmas,” Owen says, and he’s beaming. He loves that I proposed. And to be honest, so do I. It was as if those words, that question—it healed us both in that moment.
I owed him that. I owed myself that.
Grammy pauses mid-slap. “What did you say?” She peers at Owen.
“Ah, that Annie proposed on—”
Grammy’s arms fall to her sides. Her bottom lip protrudes, and she gives her head one shake. “No. No, the man proposes.”
“Come on, Grammy—”
“No,” she says, giving me the evil eye. “Go on,” she says to Owen.
“Ah.” Owen peers from Grammy to me. “Here? You want me to—”
“Come on.” She pounds his backside, and I’m not sure if Owen bends to one knee or if it’s Grammy who pushes him there.
Owen’s eyes flit from Grammy to me. “Ah, Annie, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
I don’t even get to answer. “Very good. Yes.” Grammy gives us each another pat. “Much better.”
Owen gets to his feet, his hand slips into mine and Grammy doesn’t say a thing.
“Well?” I say, peering at my grandmother. “Are you surprised?”
“No. I saw it coming a mile away.” She shakes her head, her bottom lip protruding. “I’ll get the butter syrup.”
“Oh, Grammy. We have to go. Owen has… a thing.” I don’t know what Owen has, just that we need to be on our way.
“I do–but I’ll take that pie first.” He grins.
A minute later, we collect our chocolate cream pie and go.
I have no idea where Owen is taking me. The plan was to ring shop—check. And tell Grammy—check. And now we are in Kellogg, Idaho, forty minutes from home.
“Owen—”
“Just enjoy the drive,” he says, sliding his hand across the seat of this car and slipping it into mine.
I breathe out a laugh. “I am enjoying the drive. I would enjoy it a whole lot more if I knew where we were going.”
“I just have a little business to take care of. And I thought you’d like to be there.”
Business? O is a teacher… would he really be picking up supplies or have a meeting in Kellogg? We’re not even in the same school district.
I’m not great at being patient, but I try. Because it’s a lovely day and I’m with Owen.
He punches an address into his GPS, which announces we have two minutes until we reach our destination.
Two minutes later, we pull up to a one-story, green-trimmed home. This is not a school. Or even an office building.
“Tell me you didn’t buy us a house,” I say, peering out at the little place.
“Shh.” He hushes me with a grin. “I already bought us a house, remember?” Then he hops from the vehicle and marches around, opening my door and helping me out. “Just wait right here.” He looks from my spot at the car to the front door of the house.
“Owen—”
