Page 23 of Marrying My Moth Lady

“I’ll give you a shoe,” I shout and hurl a stiletto at his face. He hits the deck with his arms over his head. I shouldn’t be satisfied when the shoe makes contact, and he squawks like an Eastern Screech Owl.

“What was that for?”

“I’m mad at you! You’re making fun of me!” I sound like a child to my ears, but I’ve dug my heels into this hill. I have no choice but to die on it. He will take my need for romance to heart or shove it up his behind.

“Okay, I give,” he says, raising to his full height. He wears a tuxedo, complete with orange carnation boutonniere. His wild hair is tamed by gel and slicked to the side like a black-and-white film star. He traded his usual brown plastic glasses forsleek wireframes. His dress shoes shine in the moonlight. “I resort to biting humor and teasing when I’m nervous. This is outside of my comfort zone…way left field…the outfield…in the neighboring ballpark…but I’m committed to this plan. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you to marry me.”

“I appreciate the upgrade in the packaging, but the inside still smells of rot,” I yell, with my other stiletto raised over my head.

“Please see what I’ve done before you dismiss me,” he says. He picks up the shoe I threw at him and dusts it off. Mud flakes stick to his dress pants. Something about him taking the time to dress up, hiking out here without getting dirty, only to brush dirt on himself to clean my shoe…moves me.

He’s trying…for me. Nobody else.

“I’ll be right down,” I say. By golly, his smile is handsome. This one reaches his eyes and brightens his face like I’m the sun. I dress in a plain, cotton shift and booties lickety split. It takes forever to poof my ponytail, so the bump rests between my antennae, but I can’t have flat hair when he’s wearing a tux. No time for fake lashes, so I settle for black mascara and a little blue eyeliner.Skip the lip gloss, lady—there will be smoochin’ tonight!

“Beautiful,” he says as I flutter down to the ground. “It’s a short walk, as I didn’t want tire tracks leading every Tom, Dick, and Harry to your door.”

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“I put a pin on my GPS app before I left your house the first time. I took what you said to heart and never lost faith we would see each other again.” He kisses my knuckles before tugging me westward by the hand.

We’re holding hands and strolling!

I keep my trap shut to memorize the details. The squeeze of his fingers provides safety. The brush of our palms and wrists creates a delicious zing of electricity. I step closer, so our arms brush. Well, I’ll be fried in oil! He bends his arm to place our joined hands over his heart. I’m treated to another dashing smile, which heats my cheeks and lowers my lashes.

Just when I think my heart will explode, the forest opens to where he’s parked his truck in a meadow. The bed is open and covered in glittery white fabric. Giant wildflower bouquets stand proud in pink ceramic vases in the corners. A paper banner says MARRY ME across his truck slider window. Below is a pile of pillows with their designs peeking through the white fabric. In the center of the truck bed is a small collapsible table, a cooler, and a single red rose.

Tears slide down my cheeks. My hands fly up to cover my gaping mouth.

“It looks like a picture on Pinterest!”

“Hopefully, the one I copied,” he says with a sheepish smile. His boyish blush warms me to my toes. “I didn’t know what you would like… I was lost.”

“You did mighty fine,” I say with a pat on his chest. I climb into the truck bed, kick off my shoes, and lift the rose to my nose. Its fragrance isn’t as sweet as the wildflowers, but I appreciate his including a symbol of romance even though he would prefer florists use native flowers in their natural flowering season. Every detail is for me…

“I covered strawberries with vegan chocolate I melted myself, so if it’s terribly bitter or just plain, terrible—” He offers me lumpy chocolates from the cooler.

“The tartness of the strawberries will come to the rescue,” I interrupt. I select a strawberry and a can of hard seltzer. “They will taste better because you made them with me in mind. You could’ve easily bought chocolate-covered strawberries that would have made me sick from the dairy. Taking the time to protect me…is my love language.”

“That’s what this wedding will be about—protecting you. I took your advice and got the mineral rights to the forest. After the wedding, I will direct the bulldozers…right out of business.” He makes a face when he pops a bitter chocolate strawberry into his mouth and chases the confection with a long pull on his beer bottle.

“And you get to keep your nonprofit,” I say, reaching for another strawberry. He pushes the cooler to me with a twist to his lips. I giggle at his revulsion to dark chocolate. “How will you fund your butterfly pollination sites without Carter Mining?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, pulling my feet onto his lap. He expertly runs his thumbs along the bottom while rolling my toes in his palms. “There are government grants and other companies to apply for funding. I wish the community was more involved, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Changing the culture from a mining town to a green community takes time,” I mumble. The alcohol has gone to my head, filling my brain with strawberry-scented bubbles. The rhythmic strokes of his hands on my feet lull me into a stupor. Not too deep a massage that hurts or ticklish wisps, his slender fingers loosen the knots I tied while cramming my toes into pointy shoes.

“Time and advertising that reaches them,” he murmurs as he ponders the problem. “In the meantime, we will conserve the forest. It will be there when the people come around.”

“How fast can you drive them away?” I say with a giggle around the over-sized bite in my mouth. He reaches over to swipe chocolate from the corner of my mouth. My panties melt when he sucks the liquid from his thumb.

“That’s why I disappeared for a few days. I wanted to return right away, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case everything unraveled. I brought my tablet with the marriage license paperwork. If you accept, you’ll add your fingerprint and send it to the clerk’s office. We could be married the same day as the filing, but technically have sixty days until it expires. Amber pulled some strings so we will fill out the marriage certificate before the ceremony with the same thumbprint identification deal.” Each word accompanies a broad stroke across the bottom of my feet.

“That’s fast,” I murmur. A shotgun wedding fits with Amber’s narrative and prevents the bulldozers from killing more trees. However, I want the anticipation of my big day—Amber’s big day. In this scenario, I’m Amber…until the papers are signed. Then I’m Ms. Horus…. “What is your last name?”

“Dr. Horus Mills,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mills? Mills? If I marry you, I’ll be Millie Mills! I thought Millie May Moth was bad!”

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