Page 88 of I Love a Good Challenge

“Help!” she squeaks, laughing at this turn of events. I lean forward, folding the napkin and patting the top of her lip ever so gently. The edges of my fingers graze the satin skin of her cheek. I can’t tear my eyes away from her lips, a cherry-red stain accentuating their Cupid’s bow.

Her eyes widen, no doubt from the intensity I know I’m serving at this moment, but I can’t help myself. For a moment, we’re back to the time before things went wrong. It’s just Lily and me out on the town, living life. My brain and body remember what it feels like to hold her without a care in the world. Vividly, I recall how it felt to kiss her perfect mouth and wait for her feistiness to make an appearance.

Even though we’ve rekindled our romance in Birch Borough, it hits me differently to know that we’re out and about in Boston, in public, and Lily is officially back to being my girl.

She swallows, watching me, her grey eyes deepening as the charcoal embers of twilight around us turn to dusk. I move closer, and at the expression on her face as she tilts it up to me, my knees almost give out. It’s a small gesture, but to know she’s remembering our moments together means more than I ever thought it would. With a sudden resolve, I decide now is the time for me to do what I came here to do.

“Lily, I—”

Crack. The sound of a bat hitting the ball and screaming toward the stands has us scrambling to avoid getting hit. A teenager with a hoodie starts pumping his fists in the air as the crowd screams and cheers for the home run. Lily raises the hand clutching her soda toward the sky and screams at the top of her lungs. I can’t help but laugh between cheers (we are in Boston after all). I beg my heart to remember this feeling forever.

That’s the only time I see a score. Soon after the home run scored by the Red Sox, Lily insists she needs soft serve ice cream served in a plastic baseball cap. Even though there’s a degree of chilliness in the evening air, it sounds amazing—until it isn’t.

We’ve scored five more runs, and I’ve missed all of them while waiting in line.

“You’ll have plenty of time,” Lily said. “Nothing exciting will happen while you’re gone.”

At this point, should I be anyone else, I would think it’s good luck for the Red Sox whenever I leave the stands to get some food.

I may have underestimated the courage I need not to propose we elope tonight. When I finally return to my seat, Lily digs into the chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream topped with chocolate jimmies (sprinkles to most people who aren’t from New England). I’m mesmerized.

If I hadn’t already gotten Rafe’s encouragement and blessing to ask Lily to marry me when I sent an SOS text to him earlier today, I would be a lot more nervous than I am. Thankfully, being the good friend he is, he didn’t mind my invasion of his honeymoon. I’ll owe him a case of French wine when he gets back.

The Red Sox are winning, the scoreboard lighting up the night sky as the dusk of a late-summer evening makes its full appearance. When we're in the eighth inning, everyone rises to their feet to join in singing the iconic “Sweet Caroline” blaring through the speakers.

Lily sways and joins the crowd as they chant, a tradition that seems to be something you can’t escape in the stadium. All at once, it’s like everyone gets the memo to give it their all, and no one minds a bit.

“Sweet Caroline . . . bum-bum-bum.”

I’m laughing as Lily is jamming to her own beat, as she often does, singing with such a sweet smile on her face that my knees are wobbly. Emotion creeps up the back of my throat.

This is what I’ve dreamed of since we met—Lily carefree beside me, happiness in her eyes, ponytail swaying, her smile wide. Her image starts to swim as I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. It took us a while to get here, but we made it. And I’m just so grateful I’ve gotten to live this story.

“So good! So good! So good!” the crowd inserts, per tradition, at just the right moments as the song continues.

The crowd is still cheering, yelling, and singing when I feel Lily’s hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me to stand beside her. Her skin is silky and smells a bit like the snacks she’s been consuming. She wipes a tear from one of my eyes, and my vision clears again.

“Graham,” she says, and then she kisses me. Softly and sweetly, she wraps her arms around my neck, pushing onto her toes to show me how much she’s glad to be with me, ice cream now abandoned. Out of everyone in the world, she’s picked me to be near her. I feel how much she’s missed me in that kiss.

Leaning back enough to study her face, I place a light kiss on the edge of her mouth then move to the other side. She takes a sharp breath, simultaneously melting into me. I laugh. I knew she would remember this scene from a certain movie we both love and draw the correlation.

“A place for fun and dreams,” she whispers in an echo of one of the best days of my life. And then Lily shocks me to my core by uttering the words I once never thought I’d hear. “Ask me, Graham.”

Looking down between us, I see it. Clasped in her hand is the ring box I thought was lost long ago.

“How did you—? When did you—?” I stare at her in disbelief and wonder.

She wipes the tears falling from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “After that night, I went back and searched for it in the sand. Hands-and-knees type of searching. It took me hours, but I found it. I . . . I just knew it had to be mine.”

“Lily . . .” The words in my throat are choked off as I decide I’m not going to finish that little segway of affection until later.

Her eyes sparkle, peering into my own. I’m struck as the light from the stadium creates a kaleidoscope of lavender and grey tones, mixing with the emotions swirling through her eyes.

Without a second thought—without waiting to see if she’ll run from our love this time—I switch places with her so that I’m standing in the little concrete aisle. I drop to one knee. I don’t need to question if this is the right moment. Her eyes widen, and her expression is a memory I’ll cling to for the rest of my life. Instead of fear or heartache in her eyes, I only see hope.

“I could tell you how much you mean to me. I’m not sure you’d believe me,” I begin, and she lets out a choked laugh, emotion pouring out from the edges of her eyes.

“You’d probably argue with me about it,” I continue, encouraged by the disbelieving smile she’s giving me as she bites the bottom of her lip, “and you’ll definitely need to cease doing that with your lip if you want me to finish what I started here.”

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