Page 100 of The Boyfriend List
"I did—" He pauses like he's racking his memory for our conversation. "Didn'tI?"
"No!" I flip my hair over my shoulder with my free hand. "You just said we were going on a date and to wear comfortable shoes."
I would prop my Keds-clad feet on the dashboard, but he jerks the steering wheel and turns into a parking lot. Or rather, a gravel-strewn piece of land without street lights or paving. Construction signs and caution tape litter the building next to it.
"London, I know I wanted to stop for four bathroom breaks today, but please don’t kill me in this abandoned construction site," I say as the car rumbles, jolting over the uneven ground. "We can work this out. I promise not to have any more coffee today."
London traces my knuckles with his thumb. "Gloria, I didn't bring you here to murder you."
"Okay, but just so you know, I'm an excellent axe-thrower."
"That’s why I didn’t bring an axe," he says with a chuckle before letting go of my hand and getting out of the car.
I let him open the door for me and take my hand to help me out of the car. Even though I'm not wearing anything fancy—I threw on jean shorts and a lacy camisole this morning—I appreciate his little chivalrous acts. "If this is a prank, you'll be the one getting murdered."
He grins. "It would be an honour to die at your hands."
I follow him to the trunk of the car, where he retrieves a wicker basket out of its hiding place—a big cooler hidden under a blanket—and holds it up with a grin.
Fading afternoon light is cast over everything we can see. I think we're in Napa based on the signs we passed. Orange and peach hues streak the fluffy clouds in the sky, while fields of grapevines and lush, rolling hills surround us. Past a couple trees is a wooden lattice threaded with ivy and string lights, which form a canopy above our heads. London hits a button on his phone, and faint strains of violin music start playing a cover of one of my favouriteSB19 songs, streaming through invisible speakers. A picnic table sits under it, covered with an orange checkered tablecloth. London sets down the wicker basket.
"Did you set this up?" I ask London as we walk toward the table.
"I did, with some help." He nods toward the construction signs behind the latticed area. "This is a winery location that Kostas has been scouting out. He asked me to come with you and see if the area was appropriately romantic. He’s hoping he can have couples come to do wine tastings and stuff."
My shoulders relax slightly from their hunched posture.
Our first anniversary was a few weeks ago. Surely, if he was going to propose, he would have done it then. Right?
"Dance with me, love," he says softly after setting up the food and drinks.
My fingers slide between his. He gently places a hand on my waist, and I rest my cheek against his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat. This is so far from that first time we danced in my apartment, when I was still pretending I could find the perfect guy who wasn’t him.
There could never be anyone so reassuring. So steadfast. My one constant.
After quitting McMann and Ma, I haven't seen London as often. But we make intentional time to be together, planning pottery-painting dates or karaoke or movie nights. We've been alternating between my favourite movies and his every Friday night.
The song ends. London lets go of my hand to place two fingers under my chin, lifting my face so I'm looking at him. He feathers the softest kiss on my lips. I sink into the sensation of being loved by him, closing my eyes.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the kiss is over. Before I can register what’s happening, London drops to one knee and pulls out a ring that sparkles under the twinkling lights strung above us.
"Gloria Romero, I've liked you since we did that biology lab together years ago," he says. "But I fell in love with you when you agreed to stay in thelibrary until midnight to help me with our assignment that was due the next day—even though you had already finished it the week before. Every day that I get to spend with you is a privilege and a surprise, because no matter how well I think I know you by now, you always catch me off guard. I want to spend all my days hearing your silly nicknames for me from random British towns, and there's no one I'd rather share the rest of my life with. You're beautiful, intelligent, kind, and selfless… And I love you. Will you marry me?"
The word is out of my mouth as quickly as the tears start streaming down my face. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you."
Before I know what I'm doing, I fling my arms around his neck and forget about the ring he's still holding. London laughs and catches me before we fall off-balance onto the hard ground. "You also have to take the ring, you know."
It's a gorgeous yellow, oval-cut diamond surrounded by sparkly leaf-shaped white gems. The ring looks like it was crafted from my wildest dreams and far beyond anything I could have let myself want.
I hold out my hand and let London slide the ring onto my finger. "I knew I should have given you my ring size."
He gently eases the metal band onto my finger, where it slides into place. A perfect fit. "I measured your finger when you fell asleep on the couch one time."
"Way to make yourself sound like a stalker."
“If stalking you is what got you to agree to marry me, I'd do it all over again."
"Technically, you did snoop through my private documents to get me to be your girlfriend…" I tease.
