Page 41 of The Best Friend Power Play

"The sauce is ready," he says, not moving, not taking his eyes off me.

"You should, uh, probably go get that," I say, not moving either, not taking my eyes off him.

"Yeah." He clears his throat and steps back, snapping himself out of…whatever that was. "I'll meet you in the kitchen?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. Good. We have a plan. Bye."

"Bye."

I venture into the kitchen not two minutes later.

"Hi."

"Hi."

In that time, Culver has put on a shirt, plated up the pasta into two bowls, and hopefully forgotten all about what just happened in my bedroom.

"It's still light out," he says, carrying both bowls. "Wanna eat outside?"

"Sure."

I grab utensils and napkins, and we head out to the small table in the backyard. I smile to myself as I ease down the wonky step he fixed. It's nice having someone around to help with all the stuff I can't do.

We sit down at the table and start eating, striking up a conversation that flows as easily and naturally, as always.

Good.

What happened in my bedroom was…well, I'm not sure. Not something that needs to be dissected right now, anyway.

Especially since we have another more pressing matter to deal with.

Like our upcoming nuptials.

"Your nonna came into the flower shop again today to discuss our wedding plans."

Culver drops his fork into the bowl with a loud clang. "Want me to get a restraining order?"

I giggle. "No. I like seeing her every day."

"You know that after she harasses you in your shop, she comes over here to have a go at me."

"She doesn't harass me. We…workshop wedding ideas." Culver snorts. I load up on some carbonara. "We're getting married in Fresno, by the way. And what does she have a go at you for?"

"She says I need to propose to you. Properly. She keeps showing me articles she's saved on her iPad of what she calls suitably romantic restaurants where I should do what she calls a proper proposal."

I giggle again. "I love that she's keeping up with technology. She's so active. I hope I'm as with it as she is when I'm in my mid-eighties."

"That's not the point."

"You want me to be fragile and unable to walk in my later years?"

"Of course not." When he notices me smiling, he relaxes a little. "Are we really doing this? Are we really getting married?"

"We are. Unless you can find someone better."

"No."

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