Page 8 of The Holiday

From one corner of the restaurant, a group of men that Heather has just noticed are singing harmoniously. Her attention snags on them momentarily, and she almost forgets that Dave is on one knee and that there are other diners--locals and visitors--watching with dancing eyes as she becomes the center of this scene.

As the men who are singing come into focus, Heather realizes that they are members of The Seven Society, the "secret" group that Dave belongs to that's comprised of his fellow UVA grads. He'd been visiting Christmas Key with The Sevens the previous New Year's Eve when Heather and her friends from Shipwreck Key made the trip over for a little vacation.

One of The Sevens steps forward, hands spread wide as he begins to sing a solo, and Heather realizes that it's "Can't Help Falling in Love." Tears spill from her eyes as she puts one hand over her mouth.

"Dave..." she chokes out.

"Heather," he says, his voice husky. He is still on one knee. "You have made me so happy this past year, and I want you to know that my life will never be the same."

"Oh," she says. Heather still has one hand over her mouth, and she's trying desperately not to sob. Here she was, ready to suck it up and accept that maybe she felt one way about Dave while he felt another about her, only to find that he'd planned a big moment for her. He'd even arranged to have The Sevens here, and she knows that while their singing voices are lovely, the real sentiment behind having them on the island is to show her that he’s willing to bring all the different parts of his life together.

In fact, as Heather skims the restaurant, which suddenly seems much fuller than it had been when she'd gone to the restroom, she sees that Dave's adult children are there, along with his grandkids, and also all of her friends from book club. Another sob threatens to escape from her lips, but she turns back to him in wonder.

"I think you're special," Dave continues, looking up at her with eyes full of love. "You bring your unique, colorful outlook to everything you touch, and the way you can pick up a paintbrush and create magic still leaves me speechless. Your capacity for fun, kindness, and joy radiates from you no matter where you are, and I want to spend the rest of my life--no matter how long or short that is," he says, glancing around the room as people chuckle appreciatively at the comedic relief, "basking in the rays of sun that you take with you wherever you go."

Heather is speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. From just over Dave's left shoulder, she sees Ruby and Dexter sitting and watching expectantly. Heather has an out-of-body moment where she gets stuck on the fact that a former First Lady is there for her latest proposal. And then she spots Sunday and Banks sharing their table and she nearly faints: both a FirstandSecond Lady are there!

"I know we've both walked this path before with others," Dave is saying as Heather refocuses on him. "But I want to walk it with you, Heather Charleton-Bicks. I want you to consider becoming Heather Hutchens, and making me the happiest man on the planet." Dave pauses; he's looking right at her, and suddenly Heather forgets that anyone else is in the room. "Will you marry me, Heather?"

In less time than it takes to blink, Heather has crossed to where Dave is still kneeling. "Yes!" she squeals, dropping her purse and kneeling down in front of him so that they're eye-to-eye. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Dave slips the giant, sparkling diamond ring onto her left hand.

The entire restaurant breaks out in hoots, shouts, and applause. Several people jump to their feet, and the waitstaff of the Black Pearl beam at one another, serving trays tucked beneath one arm as they clap and whistle for the happy couple. Heather and Dave are regulars there, just as they are everywhere else on the island, and everyone who works at the Black Pearl knows them and is overjoyed for them.

The Sevens launch into a harmonized version of "Going to the Chapel" as Banks and Dexter step up to offer Heather and Dave their hands to hoist them up from their kneeling positions.

"Thanks, gents," Dave says with a laugh. "Thought I might have gotten myself stuck down there."

Dexter offers him a hand to shake, followed by Banks, then they retreat, leaving Heather to fall into the arms of her brand new fiancé.

"I had no idea you were about to..." She buries her face in his chest as The Sevens sing. "I thought you..." But Heather trails off again, unsure about how to vocalize her fears about the fact that she'd imagined Dave might not want to marry her.

"That's the whole point of a good surprise." Dave pulls her to him tightly and places a kiss on top of her head. "And honey, you looked shocked."

"I was!" Heather laughs. She holds out the hand that's now wearing a two-carat diamond and looks at the way it sparkles in the candlelight that fills the restaurant. "I am shocked."

"Then buckle up, baby, because I've got more."

Heather feels the blood drain from her face; what more could there be? "What is it?"

Dave clears his throat. "I was thinking we could get married on New Year's Eve."

"ThisNew Year's Eve?" Heather croaks.

With a laugh, Dave nods. "Yep. That marks exactly one year since we met, and--if you look around--I think you'll see that everyone is here. Your friends, my friends, my kids, my grandkids...I was banking on you saying yes to my proposal, so I got everyone down here for the holidays, and we've been planning a small, lovely ceremony. Do you think we can pull it off?"

Heather is so touched--so thoroughly thrilled that all of this is swirling around her--that she just nods, her eyes brimming with tears once again. "I do," she says, tipping her head up to him so that he can kiss her.

And so he does. As everyone in the restaurant looks on, Dave Hutchens places a single kiss on the lips of the woman who is about to become his second wife.

Marigold

Marigold Pim is in New York City the afternoon after Heather and Dave’s engagement at the Black Pearl. She’d left the island on a boat at dawn, getting to Destin in time for a direct flight to JFK. Now, at three o’clock, she’s been poked, prodded, primped, and prepped, and she’s standing on the set of a photo shoot for a luxury brand of purses.

“MARIGOLD PIM.” Jagger, a costume designer Marigold has known for decades, comes swooping into the cavernous space, wheeling a luggage rack covered by a white sheet. He stops dramatically, one hand on his still-narrow hip, groomed eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You have not aged a day, honey.”

Marigold grins. Jagger has always been over-the-top, and he was one of her favorite people on any photo shoot back when she was a full-time model. She walks over to him, throwing open her arms and embracing him carefully so as not to smudge her meticulous makeup or muss her wavy hair.

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