Page 125 of The Situation
“Go left on the road!” she shouts.
I sprint down the driveway, my heart pounding. Perspiration gathers between my shoulder blades as I trek onto the road. I look to my right, then to my left.
“Where are you?” I ask, scanning every driveway until I spot the last car in the line. And, just in front of it, is my girl.
“Aurora!” I shout, my jog turning into a sprint. “Wait!”
She jumps, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes find mine.
Even from this distance, and in this situation, I can see her love for me. I can see the pain inflicted on her. I can see the rest of my life.
Somehow, someway.
“Hey.” I pant, stopping a few feet from her. “Carys said you were here.”
She’s beautiful in a pale blue dress that shows off her delicate shoulders. Her hair is piled on top of her head. There are bags beneath her eyes.
I want to touch her—to reach out and pull her close. But I don’t deserve that. I broke our trust.
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding her gaze. “I tried to call and apologize. Then, when you didn’t answer, I figured coming by your house wouldn’t be a good idea.”
She almost grins.
“I was wrong. Selfish. Childish. Mimi called me a brat.”
She bites her lip to keep from smiling.
“I have no right to tell you what to do, or to pressure you into doing anything,” I say. “No matter my intentions, it was wrong. And I will never do anything like that again.”
“Mimi called you a brat?”
“She did. And she was right.” I shrug. “I want you in whatever way you’ll consider letting me have you. I should’ve been more considerate of you, and I wasn’t, and I hate myself for it.”
“So what are you proposing?”
“Whatever you want. You call the shots. You’re in control.”
Her eyes soften.
“I want you to know that marriage is always on the table. Fifty years from now, it’ll still be there. But I won’t bring it up again,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you by making you think about terrible things. How stupid was I?”
“So no marriage?” she asks.
“I love you, Aurora Johnson. I’d rather have you in my life and arms and not be married, than not have you at all.”
She nods, her breaths coming in deeper. “Did you read your card?”
“What card?” I look down at my hand. “Oh, no. Carys shoved it at me, then hurled me toward the road.”
She fights a giggle. “Open it.”
The top of the envelope is tucked into the back. I free it and pull the card out of the sleeve. Aurora watches me nervously as I open the card.
Her handwriting fills up most of the blank space.
Happy birthday, Tate.
You’re impossible to shop for because you have everything a man could want. Well, except for two things.
