Oliver: You were right. There, are you happy?
Christian: Yes. And I suspect you are too. Happy, that is.
He’s right on that count. He’s completely right.
The car pulls over to the curb, and I thank the driver, then get out to meet Logan and Fitz for drinks. Summer’s teaching a kickboxing class at her gym now, but I’ll see her tonight when she comes home.
Since she lives with me now.
I open the door to Gin Joint, finding my mates quickly. They’re toasting to all sorts of good news.
I order a beer, then join them.
“So, we have loads to celebrate tonight,” I say.
“Yes, how good of you to grace us with your presence. Maybe you’ll have something to celebrate soon,” Logan deadpans.
“Maybe I will, but let’s start with you.”
Fitz raises a glass and stretches his free hand across the table to knock Logan on the shoulder. “To this cat finally getting on the apps. The ladies of New York had better watch out. They don’t even know what’s coming their way.”
Logan takes a drink. “Speaking of, remember that woman I told you guys about at lunch the other day?”
My ears prick. I know who he’s talking about. I also know what went down and it’s way more complicated than he ever expected. “The Snoopy lunchbox woman?” I ask just to make sure who we’re discussing.
“She’s the one,” Logan says, heavily. “Her name is Bryn, and she is the sexiest, most captivating, most off-limits woman I’ve ever met.”
“Did anything else happen since you and I last talked?” I ask.
“Yeah, stop holding out on me, bro,” Fitz says. “I want all the deets too.”
“It’s quite complicated,” I say, like a warning.
Logan scratches his jaw. “Crazy complicated,” he says, then catches Fitz up to speed on the details.
“Whoa. I do not envy you there, Logan. Good luck with that. It actually sounds mega complicated,” Fitz says.
“And you?” I ask Fitz. “What’s your news?”
“My little sister was just accepted into the art program of her dreams—in London. So I’ll be taking her over there in a few months, helping her get set up.”
“Say hello to the homeland for me. And don’t forget to check out The Magpie. Some of my mates over there were raving about it. It’s their favorite local bar.”
Fitz taps his temple. “I’ll file that away.”
“Supposedly, the bartenders are good-looking.”
He arches a brow. “Tell me more.”
I laugh. “You’ll have to figure out that part on your own.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone with an accent just like Oliver’s who’ll sweep you off your feet,” Logan chimes in.
Fitz laughs. “Not gonna lie—I do love a hot British accent. But getting swept off my feet? I don’t think so.”
I shrug. “It can happen to the best of us, mate. After all, tomorrow I’m going shopping.”
43
Oliver
A few weeks later
Another satisfying last meal is on the books.
We leave Melt My Heart on a Sunday afternoon and wander through Central Park, the afternoon sun warming our skin, the birds chirping.
“I’ve decided,” I announce as we walk along the path.
“And what did you decide?”
“The grilled cheese at Melt My Heart wins.”
She shoots me an oh really look. “What about that sandwich makes the cut?”
I drape an arm around her, loving that I can, that I have the freedom to touch her as we walk and talk. “It meets the most critical requirement. It says something about how I lived my life.”
“It says you loved carbs and cheese? Get in line. Me too.”
“Carbs and cheese are the hallmarks of a well-lived life.”
She laughs as we near the carousel. “Words to live by.”
The carnival music grows louder as the merry-go-round comes into view. “But in this case,” I say, returning to the reason we’re here, “I believe what it says is this.”
I stop, take her hand, and meet her gaze. “I hope it says that the grilled cheese sandwiches we just devoured are the last meal we’ll have before . . .”
I drop down to one knee, take her hand, and finish the thought. “Before you become my fiancée for real.”
She gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “Ollie.”
“Summer, I’ve been falling in love with you since I was seventeen, and I plan to keep falling in love with you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me? Because I would love for my best friend to become my wife.”
Her smile is worthy of a million social media posts. Of a thousand Instagram likes. Of all the BuzzFeed lists ever made.
But it’s just for me.
No cameras.
No pictures.
No Twitter.
And that’s how I want it to be, as the woman I love falls to her knees, throws her arms around me, and smothers me in kisses.
Well, I could get used to this.
When she breaks the kiss, she says, “Yes. In case that wasn’t clear—yes.”
I take out a box from my pocket, slide a diamond solitaire on her finger, and kiss the hell out of my very real fiancée.
