Page 89 of I Love a Good Challenge

I’m still reeling from the fact that the ring I thought was lost forever—the ring I could never find the perfect replacement for—is now back in my hands. She’s back in my hands.

The people next to us seem to catch onto what’s happening. Cheers from people who’ve had too much to drink and those who love a good grand gesture ripple through our section. I register the flash of lights, no doubt because this moment is being recorded. Leave it to us to become a meme or go viral.

I look up at Lily as the breeze plays with the end of her ponytail. Suddenly, I can’t continue. That darn ponytail undoes me every time. For all that we’ve done, for all that we’ve been through, the emotion is too much. The thought of my love for her is all-consuming. And I realize that if everything in our past is what brought us to this moment—the moment in which I’m vaguely questioning if it’s mustard or ice cream that I’ve stuck my knee into on the concrete floor—then I’d do it a million times over.

“Lily, I—” I manage to get out. Instead of laughing or teasing, Lily does the most surprising thing by kneeling in front of me. We’re wedged between the seats, my feet still sticking into the aisle.

“You truly have the ring?” I ask. The fact that she’s holding it out to me instead of running from it sends fireworks of hope shooting through my heart.

She shakes her head. “You didn’t lose it after all. You didn’t lose me after all.”

“You’ve had it all this time?”

If she thinks I’m upset that she held on to it, she doesn’t realize how I’ve often felt like it was only lost because it wasn’t on her finger. That ring has always been meant to be her own.

She hands me the small box, and I open it slowly, lifting it above the seats where a stream of light catches it. Lily extends one hand cautiously, pulling it back, then reaching for it again. I give her a nod to encourage her.

Instead of squealing or yelling as I’m so accustomed to her doing, Lily slides the ring onto her left ring finger. She clutches it, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that the only way it will leave her hand is if someone pries it from her. Softly, she moves her fingers over the top of my forehead, the effect sending a shiver through me. She traces my face, her eyes shining with reflected light. As her hands rest on the sides of my jawline, a look of determination that I’ve rarely seen etches itself within her features.

“Marry me,” she whispers.

Her eyes search mine, exposing all my adoration for her. I pull her toward me, my neck nestling in the curve of her own. I nuzzle in, catching the scent of her as I feel her arms wrap around me. Her touch unleashes something in me, and I start to cry. Relief washes over me that I didn’t just win her heart back. I won mine back in the process too.

“Beat you to it,” she laughs.

A chuckle escapes me along with the sob. I’m a grown man crying at a ballpark, but I couldn’t care less.

The announcer sounds like an otherworldly narrator in a dream that I’ve had a thousand times. The only way I know it’s real is because, this time, I feel Lily’s pulse under my fingers. Her cool hands run over the jersey on my back, and the warmth of her breath hovers above my ear.

Leaning back to catch her gaze, I cradle her face between my hands. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again . . . you will always be my first choice. No one ever has or ever will come close to you.” I say the words with as much power as I can, my voice catching. “I will never stop fighting for you. Are you with me, honey?”

Her response is a kiss that sears me to my core. Before we can take it too far, people around us cheer. Suddenly, we’re laughing, shouts erupting throughout the stadium. When we rise to our feet, Lily wipes her face, and I wipe mine, and we stare at the lavender stone nestled between the glittering diamonds on the vintage ring together. With wide grins, we peek at the scoreboard to see what all the fuss has been about in the stadium and see it: a grand slam.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lily

Sparrow and Rafe are still on their honeymoon in Paris. I’m trying to keep my crap together over the fact that I’ve got Graham back in my life (like, really). A fact he’s very willing to remind me of every chance he gets. He says it’s because we’ve missed too many kisses during our time apart. He calculated (of course he did) an approximate number of missed opportunities to show his affection. My now-swollen lips and giddy (yes, giddy) heart says: Noted.

Today, Graham and I drove to a wildflower field (yes, another one), this time near a castle. A real-life castle because the wild thing about New England is that you’ll find seemingly random castles springing up throughout the region. It’s as if people long ago wanted a piece of Europe here for themselves. I love it.

As soon as our plans were made, all I could picture was a dress that caught my eye in All Sewn Up. The gown was hovering in the corner during my bridesmaid dress fitting. I noticed it when Graham was (kindly) helping me out of my dress—which sounds a lot dirtier than it was. Yesterday, I rushed in, purchased it, and spent all night sewing black satin ribbon onto the edges and around the waist to make a wrapped look I’m obsessed with.

There was no way I was going to get married today without a hint of black. That color is my love language.

Of course, Graham already had a tux because he’s Graham. I called Pastor Wilfred at five-thirty this morning and asked if he was available to meet us at “the castle” (I sent him the address, don’t worry) late this afternoon, just before sunset. I think he thought I was on something, but when I told him Graham and I plan to get married, he was overjoyed.

I also called and begged the people who manage said castle to let us stand outside of it for thirty minutes. I may have bribed them with pastries. The fun thing about our state is that we don’t need witnesses to get married, and there is no waiting period before they issue you a marriage license. This morning, when we met for croissants and cake, we stopped at the town clerk’s office (I woke him up this morning too, thank you very much), and then Graham kissed me in a way that told me just how much he’s willing to be my husband for the rest of my life. I can still feel the delectable scratch of his beard and smell the trace of mint from his beard oil.

I keep having moments where I bite my nails with a smile and nearly squeal. I know Sparrow would want to be here if she could, but I also know there’s no way I’m spending another day without being able to call him my husband. She knows me enough to know what this means to me.

My parents were less than thrilled, but it feels like a relief not to feel the weight of it like I once feared. Yesterday afternoon, I called my parents, and before tapping on their contact information to place a video call, Graham gently held my free hand and asked if I was ready to announce my love for him. Little did he realize I was ready to shout it from the rooftops. (Or from the couch of my apartment, which resulted in Mr. Crumbs banging the end of his broom on his ceiling. He was yelling at me to stop my shenanigans, and I was stomping my feet to get him to stop while also telling him where he could send a wedding gift. It wasn’t somewhere nice.)

After my liberating call during which Graham was announced as my soon-to-be husband and so much more than a friend, my parents said they’d love to get us monogrammed towels. I didn’t even know those still existed. But I remembered they were what my parents always had hanging in their bathroom when I was a young girl, and so I’m choosing to take it as a sign that they know this is the real deal. My parents and I may not ever be what I had hoped, but allowing myself to love Graham is allowing me to dream of him with me for always, believing that we will get to share our lives. And that feels worth celebrating.

Thankfully, Ivy was free when I banged on her door late last night. She stayed with me overnight, gave me the best send-off possible while we ate pizza and chocolate, and even helped me get ready this morning while Grey attended a conference for booksellers. I invited her to come to our ceremony, of course. She said that, while she’d love to, if the whole town isn’t in on it, she thinks this should be a sacred moment for Graham and me. She also mentioned that her boyfriend is now a nutcracker . . . as in, since she’s already dreaming of the choreography for her studio’s Christmas performance, she won’t have time for anything else. “Waltz of the Flowers” will be keeping her up from now until New Year's.

As I sat in front of a makeshift mirror propped against one of my walls, and Ivy helped to put my hair into the highest ponytail possible, she asked me, “Do you think we have to search for love, or does love know where to find us?”

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