Page 75 of Saved By the Grump

I shake my head. "The doctor says I need to get you out of the house at least once a week. It’s vital for your mental health.”

She sighs and then nods. “Alright, fine.”

Her nerves die down a little once we get there, and due to the VIP tickets I nabbed, we're able to go right ahead of the line.

As we take our seats, I actually see her smile and excitement returning to her features.

Fifteen minutes in, after everyone is seated, the screen lowers.

“Guys," A voice blares out of the speakers. "Before the show starts we would like to give you something special.”

“It’s a trailer for another musical,” someone in the audience whispers, but they are quickly shushed before it starts.

It turns out to be a stop motion picture. I watch Delilah's face as it plays out. It begins with a woman bumping into a bright red mustang and damaging it. The couple argues on screen and then he drives her home. The door is barred from her entering and her roommate throws her things out the window. The man takes her to his home, a bright yellow cottage.

Delilah frowns.

But it’s only when the woman gets a job at a restaurant that Delilah gets it.

She gasps and then glances at me. "Is this..."

I shake my head with a smile and gesture to her to turn back to the screen. “Watch the whole thing."

Her mouth is still agape but she turns. She does almost as if in a trance, watching as the woman finds out she's pregnant. It glosses over the kidnapping and being saved from the bad guy.

And then it gets to the present day.

At the same time, I get down on my knee and open a ring box by the time the words flash on the screen, "Will you marry me, Red?”

She glances at me, then sees me and claps her hand over her mouth again.

I grin. “You gonna make an honest man out of me or what?"

She squeals and jumps into my arms, as a round of applause rings through the audience.

Epilogue

Delilah

“Ohmygosh,Ithink I’m going to throw up,” I say to April who is the only other person still in the dressing room, standing beside me with a wry look. Everyone else has gone out to sit in the church.

But my maid of honor is giving me words of encouragement.

It's nearly time for my grand entrance.

Which means it's a horrible time to be sick.

“No, you’re not,” she says, adjusting my veil. “You’re fine. Just take deep breaths.”

I do, but then my mind can’t seem to calm down.

“Is the dress too tight?” I ask.

“The dress is perfect. Are you kidding? You look like some kind of modern-day Jessica Rabbit.”

“Oh, stop,” I say, knowing that she’s flattering me. On the other hand, though, I analyze myself in the mirror once more. I do look good.

I don’t know where Oliver got the designer from, but the man had a French accent and claimed to have come from a long line of designers who dressed British Royalty. Which probably meant that he was very expensive, but Oliver wouldn’t hear it when I tried to tell him that it was too much for a wedding.

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