Page 55 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
He nods. “To grow together.”
“Have adventures and make memories.”
“To always have a home to go to.”
I pump my fist. “Cheer them on when they play hockey.”
Then he adds, “Have someone to talk to about events and confetti and stuff.”
The corner of my lip lifts into a smile. “That too.”
“There are other reasons that we don’t even know about yet.”
“But is this real?”
“It feels real, Margo.”
He’s so close to saying it. “Please use your words, Beau.”
Taking a deep breath, he says, “I want this to be real.”
“Not a marriage of convenience?”
“It was a fake engagement, and I proposed a marriage of convenience, but I’d like the honor of making you my real wife.” He presents the ring.
These last months have gone by so fast, yet right now time doubles. It’s like when a storm moves off, lengthening the duration between cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning.
Beau holds the ring in his fingers between us. His steady presence, patience, and gaze burrow past my insecurities and into the secret chambers of my heart where I’m still whole. However, I’m afraid that if I expose that part I risk losing it too. It’s the final frontier. What’s still mine. I want to share those hidden places with someone, with him. I’m safe to let him in. But can I?
“The hard truth is we haven’t known each other very long. What if—? What don’t I know?” There’s more. I can sense it. I don’t want to pry it out of his hands—whatever he’s holding back, not the ring. It looks like the perfect bit.
“I told you about my superstitions and stuff.”
“You are so strong for overcoming that. Beau, you have mojo.”
“You have moxie.”
“My family thinks this is fake.” I don’t mean to belabor the matter, but is he just doing this because there’s a good chance Mrs. Gormely is watching and will report to my mother?
“Does that matter?”
“I’m worried there’s something you’re not telling me or this is all for show or?—”
“You’re overthinking it. I’m a simple man, Margo. What you see is what you get.”
“I like what I see, but?—”
He tucks the ring away. My stomach plummets.
Then I realize we’re already supposed to be engaged, so why would he stage a proposal? If this were fakey-fake, he could’ve just stuck with the napkin or given me a toy ring.
Still, I feel like he has a secret. Then again, so do I ... and it’s that I’m smitten. Maybe the feeling is mutual.
He starts walking toward the truck. “It’s late. Of course, there’s more to the story. I’ll tell you.”
“That sounds like an incomplete sentence.”
“I’ll tell you soon,” he adds, his slow pace suggesting he’s crestfallen as he nears the truck.
