Page 137 of The Love You Fight For
It’s quiet. I walk through the kitchen, the office, and the back dining room, but there is no one here. It’s not until I step into the front where the bar is that my fingers start to tremble. Sitting on the bar top next to a yellow flower is Chris’s compass and his copy ofWalden.
The cabin.
The drive is long. Longer than usual. Every few minutes, I flick my eyes to the clock on the dashboard. Every few minutes I remind myself to stay calm. To drive responsibly. To not start freaking out.
But if the to-go cup of flowers and the cute scavenger hunt tell me anything, it’s that this is almost definitely, probably,hopefully, a possible proposal.
The man has romance in his blood, though.
He could have just planned a small weekend getaway for us. We’ve been working nonstop since the restaurant opened, and while we love it, Chris has mentioned several times recently that we should take a vacation.
I’m three hours into the four-hour drive when I finally break down and call Lennon. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey.” I can hear the smile in her tone.
“I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out, Lennon. Do you know anything?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and in the silence, I know that she knows. Whatever is happening, she knows.
“Take some deep breaths,” she says finally. “How are you feeling? Is it good or bad?”
“Good.” A giggle bubbles out of me, and I have to blink away tears. “It’s good. It’s a good feeling.”
She laughs with me.
“Good. Just drive safely. Do you want me to read to you?” A door opens and shuts on her end of the phone, and I hear something shuffling when she speaks again. “I’ve got some Robert Frost poems,On the Road, and...oh,Emma.”
“DefinitelyEmma.”
The final hour of the drive is better. I listen to Lennon read Jane Austen, and I do what she told me to do. I focus on my breathing. I drive safely. By the time I’m pulling onto the small gravel road that leads to the cabin, I’m almost calm.
I interrupt Lennon’s reading.
“Okay, I have to let you go. I’m here. I’ll call you later.”
“Love you. Tell me everything later.”
“Love you. Thanks, Len.”
“Always.”
She hangs up as I pull into the driveway. There’s no car out front, but I don’t take the time to check around the side of the cabin where we sometimes park. Instead, I just gather the cup of flowers, the coffee mug, the wrench, the paintbrush, the menu, the book and the compass into my arms and bolt inside. I don’t know if I even shut the door to the truck. I rush through every room of the small cabin and make sure it’s empty before heading out the back door and down to the lake.
The moment I see Chris on the dock with a bouquet of beautiful flowers, I start to run. Or jog, really. Awkwardly. I move as fast as I can in my sandals down the uneven path to the lake with my arms full, and when he smiles at me, I start to cry again.
I stop a few feet in front of him, and he chuckles.
“You brought all of that?”
He gestures to the items in my arms, and I shrug.
“I didn’t know if I’d need it.”
He closes the distance and trades me—the gorgeous bouquet for all of my scavenger hunt souvenirs—then sets the collection on thedock by his feet. When he rises again, his hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe at my tears.
“Hi, princess.”
His voice is a whisper as he searches my tear-filled eyes. I know what he finds. Excitement. Vulnerability. A hint of anxiety. Immense, endless, unconditional love.
