Page 226 of Snap Shot

I grab her throat and punish her with a kiss for that comment, then soften, stroking lines under her jaw with my thumb.

“And that you love being little spoon. My big baby,” she murmurs between our lips.

“Yours.” We share another short peck. “All yours.”

I crack my knuckles and snap.

Indi whips her eyes to me. If she didn’t love me, they’d shred me to tatters. “Did you snap at me?”

“Huh?”

“You snapped.”

“Did I?”

A series of horns peal out. “What was that?”

“No idea.” We both seek out the source and I shed my backpack before leaping in front of her.

“Dhinka chika, dhinka chika, dhinka chika, dhinka chika! Re, ay, ay, ayyyyy! Re, ay, ay, ayyyyy!”

“Oh,no,” Indi swallows the dismay under her breath as I shimmy in her direction.

The reprise repeats with the boys’ entrance, then more and more of our loved ones join. Her parents, sisters, her best friends, my folks, Del, Seth, and the kids. Jaeg, Wade, Fletch, Szecze, Olsen and I leap and turn to flaunt our best assets, alternating the fondling each buttcheek in sync with the rhythm of the words.

I peer over my shoulder to see my girl, hands over knees, gripping her stomach, barely able to watch, in tears with laughter. “Who planned this?!”

We continue the coordinated, flash-mob style dance with hip-thrusts and silly expressions. It's more acting than dancing, as explained by Indi's sisters, but it does the trick. This is the most joyous, lit-up version of Indi I've ever seen, and I hope whatever I do next keeps her that way. She wipes the corner of her eyes, struggling to catch her breath after that ridiculous shenanigan.

I take a knee. Indi gasps from realization.

“I'm so sorry,” I say through a smile, popping open a garnet-colored velvet box. The three and a half carat, oval-cut diamond paints mini-rainbows onto the nearby rocks. Twelve smaller diamonds create the band. “I can't think of anything original to say.”

Her eyes scan through the group then back to me. “Say it anyway.”

“I love you, Indira Davé. I've loved you since we met, and I'll love you 'til we're gone. Wanna get crazy and marry me?”

Her hand spreads over the top of her nose and parted mouth, then rests on her dimpled cheek. “You are the most annoying, irritating, lovable man on this planet.”

“But handsome, too, right?”

“Unbelievably so.” She steps forward, splaying out her left hand. Steady. Determined. “And my answer is yes.”

The ring slides on as easy as it is to love her. I hop to my feet to mold my torso to hers, kissing those lips until I stop to breathe every part of her in: cranberry, cinnamon, and calm.

She tastes sweeter than any win.

Indira Davé tastes like my future, like all our today's and tomorrow's laced together forever.

Epilogue: When You’re Ready, Come and Get It

Indi

My toes twitch in impatience under a heavy lehenga. Muted bells lining my payal jingle underneath. Mom adjusts the gajra surrounding my chignon, the sweet smell of jasmine releasing with every placed pin.

“Hold still,” the stern makeup artist says, gluing the round tikka on the thick matha patti to my forehead. Cameras click as my mom and sisters pull the dupatta onto my shoulder and drape a chundari over my head.

The air is thick with emotion, and I hold one border in place over my chest while looking up at the loving women in my family.

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