by Lili Valente
Colette is dying to work for Hearth Dreams, but we both agreed that a move to Portland isn’t what’s best for us right now, preferring to stay close to friends and family.
Rather than back out of the application process altogether, however, Colette pitched the owners a new idea—opening a second location here in Hidden Kill Bay. There are wealthy people all over this area and farther up the coast who can afford to pay big bucks for design, but they’re underserved by the current options. If you want old-fashioned beach chic, there are firms that do solid work, but no one catering to a more playful or modern aesthetic.
“Not yet.” Colette pushes into a seated position, brushing her windswept hair from her face as she gazes out at the sea. “But it’s almost the weekend. I’m not expecting anything until Monday at the earliest.”
“Makes sense,” I say, literally biting my tongue to keep from asking the other question swirling through my head.
We’ve agreed not to talk about that, for fear of jinxing things. A part of me wishes Colette would break down and take a test already—they have tests that can detect pregnancy before you even miss a period these days—but she insists on waiting until she’s at least two days late.
“I only want to be disappointed once,” she’d said, tucking the box away beneath the sink a few nights ago. “I want to be sure I can trust the result.”
Which means two more days.
If we make it until Sunday night with no Aunt Flow crashing the party, then Colette will take the test, and we’ll know for sure.
The suspense is fucking killing me.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this much. Not even when I was a kid, waiting around for the band’s first manager to call, praying we’d get the gig that would change the rest of our lives.
If only all my managers were as good as Devon, our first, and still one of our biggest fans.
“I forgot to tell you. Chip emailed again,” I say with a sigh. “He’s still threatening to sue for breach of contract.”
Colette rolls her eyes. “I looked at your contract. You were completely within your rights to terminate the agreement. He’s being crazy.”
“Agreed, but that might not stop him from suing.” I stretch out my legs, digging my toes into the warm sand. “I guess I should see about lawyering up next week.”
Colette’s lips turn down. “Not next week. It’s recording week. You need to focus on being creative and nothing else. Certainly not Chip the drip.”
“You’re right,” I say, flashing a hopeful grin her way. “Does this mean you’ve decided to come with me to Nashville? I’ll be able to concentrate on being creative so much better if I’m not missing you every night.”
She laughs. “You’re shameless.”
“I am. So come with me. We’ll have dinner together every night and spend Thursday sightseeing before we fly home.”
“But a last-minute plane ticket will be so expensive. Surely, we can make it four days without each other,” she says, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “And what about the mortgage paperwork and applications? I should stay here and get on top of that.”
“Or you could let me pay cash for our house when we find it,” I remind her.
She shakes her head. “No. I told you, I want us to be equal partners in everything, and that includes paying for our first home. I may not have a ton of savings—or a job,” she adds with a sigh, “but I have excellent credit.”
I grunt.
She laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s what supposed to mean?”
“The grunt.” She props her hands on her hips as she sits back on her heels. “I do have excellent credit. And one of these banks is going to wise up and realize they should loan me money any day now.”
I ease out of my chair and onto the blanket beside her. “I know you have excellent credit, and I would loan you money if I were a bank, but real banks are stupid. They have a long history of it. So why don’t we do this instead—I’ll pay for the house and you can write me an IOU for your half. Then you can pay it off when you have a job and money to spare, interest-free.”
She wrinkles her nose, but when I reach for her, she slides closer without hesitation. “That could take years. Maybe even decades.”
I shrug and kiss her temple. “I don’t care.”
“But your money could be earning interest instead. Or you could invest in rental property or something.”
“I’m not worried about it, Cee. I told you, money isn’t a big deal to me anymore. I just want to be with you and be happy.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m already happy. So happy.”
“Me, too,” I say, my heart racing faster as I realize this is it, the right moment, the perfect moment. It isn’t what I had planned—I was going to wait until dinner tonight with a brilliant August sunset and an acoustic version of the first song I wrote for Colette in my arsenal—but this feels so right.
And terrifying.
I know there’s a chance she’ll say no. A very real chance. She’s made no secret of the fact that her feelings about marriage are complicated and not particularly favorable.
But if she says no, I’ll bide my time and ask her again. I want to stand with her in front of all our family and friends and promise the rest of my life to her. More importantly, I want to know she’s legally protected and provided for in the event anything should happen to me.
Reaching into the beach bag, I take out my wallet. Colette glances down, her eyes going wide as I draw the plastic bag with the ring inside from behind two twenty-dollar bills.
Her hand flies to cover her mouth, her gaze darting between the ring and my face as I open the bag and drop it into my palm.
“I know how you feel about marriage,” I say, shifting onto one knee on the blanket while Colette sucks in a breath, and her eyes fill with tears. Happy tears, I hope, but I honestly can’t tell what’s going through her head. “But I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I don’t need years of dating to know that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Colette Claude Blanchet, you are everything I’ve ever dreamed of finding in a partner and so much more.”
“Zack,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t tell me to stop, so I push on, determined to prove to her how serious I am about this.
About her.
About spending every second of the rest of my life loving her.
“You are kind and funny and clever. And so beautiful.” I reach up, smoothing her hair from her forehead as I add, “Inside and out. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. And I know if I live a hundred years, I’ll wake up every morning grateful that I get to spend another day in your most excellent company.”
She swallows, and a tear spills down her cheek, making my chest ache.
“Happy tears or sad tears?” I ask, my voice rough. “I can’t see your lips, so I’m kind of flying blind here, baby.”
She laugh-sobs and drops her hand, revealing a megawatt Colette grin, the one that gives the sunshine a run for its money. “Happy. So happy,” she says, reaching for my empty hand and squeezing it tight. “I feel the same way. But we don’t have to get married to keep being the best part of each other’s day, forever and always.”
“True. But it will make the business of ensuring you and our baby are taken care of if I’m killed in a plane crash a whole lot easier.”
She blinks faster. “We don’t even know if we’re pregnant, Zack. You shouldn’t—”
“I don’t care,” I cut her off. “Even if we never have a baby or get to adopt a child together—if my life is cut short, I want everything I’ve worked to build thus far in your hands. I trust you to take care of my legacy and my unfinished business.”
“Unfinished business?” she echoes.
“Clearing my search history. Burning my diary from junior high. Burying the bad poetry in the backyard. The usual.”
“Same.” Colette laughs before
squeezing my fingers again. “I would do all those things. In a heartbeat. I have your back, and I always will, even if we never say ‘I do.’”
“I know you do,” I say, believing it. For Colette, a promise is as binding as any marriage, but sadly, that isn’t how the world works. “But knowing you’re my wife and you’ll have easy access to our money and property in the event of my death would give me peace. Should something happen, I don’t want to spend the last minutes of my life regretting not having my house in order.”
“I thought I was going to die in a car crash once,” Colette says softly. “If I had, my final thoughts would have been ‘shit, oh shit, oh shit.’ I was so disappointed in myself after. I wanted to have more meaningful last words, even if they were only in my head.”
I smile. “Me, too. And being your husband would help a lot with that.” I sigh, forcing an upbeat note into my voice, not wanting to pressure her into something that doesn’t feel right. “But if you’re not open to getting married, I can adjust my will. I haven’t talked to my estate planner yet, but hopefully, with the right paperwork, we can make sure you’ll have access to my money and the intellectual property and everything else, even if you aren’t my wife.”
“You’d do that?” she asks, her brow furrowing.
“I would. Your well-being is my first priority.” I bite my lip and shrug. “Would I also like to be your husband? Yeah, I would.” I laugh as I admit, “I guess I’m more of a romantic than I thought because seeing you in a white dress and all of the people we love gathered to help us celebrate sounds pretty awesome.” I shrug again before lifting her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to her soft skin. “But if that never happens, I’m okay with that, too. I’m still going to keep choosing you every day, no matter what.”
I start to tuck the ring away, but she stops me with gentle fingers on my wrist.
“Fernando asked me to marry him five times,” she says, drawing my hand into her lap and cradling it in both of hers. “And as much as I cared about him and thought I wanted to share my life with him, it was easy to say no. I thought that meant I just wasn’t a ‘getting married’ kind of girl. But now…” She presses her lips together, and I hold my breath. “Honestly, Zack, I’m dying to say yes, but—”
“Then say yes,” I jump in, making her laugh.
“Let me finish,” she says, laying a hand on my bare chest, her fingers cool against my sun-kissed skin. “I’m dying to say yes, but I can’t help feeling…” Tension tightens her features. “Well, like I’m the only one winning here.”
A scowl knits my forehead. “What? Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because I’m an out of work swimsuit designer with a couple thousand dollars in savings and no burning desire to do anything but have a family. Yes, I’d love to find a creatively fulfilling job, but I don’t have a fire in my belly about it. Meanwhile, you’re a famous rock star who’s done very well for himself and has a fire in his belly about almost everything. You’ve got big dreams and goals and visions for the future and…” She trails off, smiling fondly albeit a little sadly as she glances down at the blanket. “I guess I’m just worried that I’ll slow you down. And that you might come to resent me for it someday and regret jumping into this so quickly.”
“Look at me,” I command.
Her shoulders hunch, but finally, she lifts her chin. When her gaze locks with mine, I insist in a soft but firm voice, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I knew you’d say that, but…” Her breath rushes out. “I know you don’t judge me for any of those things, and I know we love each other, but what if we’re too different to make it work long term?”
“What if we’re just different enough?” I challenge. “Different enough to make the perfect team?” I watch her consider that for a moment before I add, “And as for the other stuff, I don’t know when people decided that having a family wasn’t as fiery a dream as having a career, but I don’t believe that. I see how passionate you are about becoming a mother.”
She gives a little nod, her eyes still fixed on mine, searching for answers I hope she finds. I want her to see and to know, without a doubt, that I’m as excited about her dreams—our dreams—as she is.
“And I don’t think my career is any better than anyone else’s,” I continue. “I love what I do, but at the end of the day, it’s just music. It’s entertainment. It’s not food or water or clean air or the trash taken away from the curb so that humanity doesn’t end up drowning in its own filth.”
Her lips quirk up at the edges. “Bless the garbage men?”
“Bless the garbage men. And the doctors and the nurses and the teachers and the cooks like Theo, who serve amazing food. And all the people raising good humans who are going to grow up and make the world a better place for all of us.”
Her eyes start to shine again. “I think it’s possible, don’t you? That we can learn from our mistakes and do better by our kids from now on?”
“I don’t know if everyone can,” I admit. I always want to be honest with her, even when it’s hard. “But I know you can.” I lean in, resting my forehead against hers as I whisper, “I believe in you, Cee. You can do anything you set your mind to. And your dreams are more than enough. You are more than enough. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and no matter what shape our forever takes, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She sniffs and grabs the hem of her sundress, lifting it to her face. “Now I’m really going to cry. Ugly, snotty cry. There’s no stopping it.”
“I don’t care.” Sliding the ring onto my little finger, I gather her into my lap, hugging her tight. “I like you snotty, and you couldn’t be ugly if you tried.”
Laughter bursts from her lips as she leans her head on my chest. “You haven’t seen me at my worst yet, buddy. Wait until January, when I’m pale and bloated from holiday feasting and recovering from a head cold. I’ll look like something the gravedigger forgot to bury.”
“Lies,” I murmur, rocking her back and forth, keeping watch on a seagull who is considering joining us on the blanket to investigate what goodies we might have hidden in our beach bag. “You’re always beautiful.”
“Even when I do this?” She lifts her head, her usually delicate features twisted into an unrecognizable grimace so terrible it sends the seagull flapping away with a startled squawk.
I burst out laughing.
“See?” She laughs with me, her smile banishing the momentary horror. “I have lots of those in my back pocket. We had monster face contests at summer camp, and I won every year.”
I shake my head. “Just when I think I’ve discovered all your hidden talents, you surprise me all over again.”
“Yeah, well, I have a lot to offer.” Her smile fades as her gaze softens. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Anytime.” I press a kiss to her forehead.
“So…how about next weekend, when you get back from Nashville?” she asks, slowly sliding the ring off my pinkie finger, making my heart thud harder. “A small ceremony? Just our nearest and dearest at the courthouse and cake at your grandparents’ place after?”
“How about tomorrow?” I ask, smiling so hard my jaw starts to hurt. “You and me at the courthouse before the barbecue at Kirby’s place?”
Her brows shoot up, but there’s excitement in her eyes as she says, “Tomorrow? Isn’t that crazy?”
“I don’t think so. It’s only a few days sooner than next week, and everyone we love is already going to be at the barbecue. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind swinging by the courthouse for a few minutes first.”
“A few minutes,” she echoes with a huff. “Clearly, you underestimate how many nice things I have to say about you. Because I will be writing my own vows, and they will be long. We’re only doing this one, so I need to leave everything on the field.”
“I love it when you leave everything on the field,” I say, pressing a long, sweet kiss to her lips.
“Oh, yeah?” she murmurs, smiling against my mouth. “I thought you loved it when I saved some energy for taking you home with me after the game.”
I hum in agreement. “Yes, I do. Promise you’ll always take me home?”
“I promise,” she whispers, and then she kisses me again, and all hope of keeping the front of my fitted swim trunks decent for the walk back to the car evaporates in a wave of longing.
But I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except getting Colette home and showing her how deeply, eternally grateful I am to see my ring on her finger.
Speaking of the ring…
I pull my lips from hers and take the ring from her hand. “Here, let’s see if it fits.”
She holds up her left hand, and I slide it onto her ring finger down to her knuckle, where it, unfortunately, gets stuck.
She frowns. “That’s weird. It looks like the right size.”
“I borrowed one of the rings from your jewelry box to have it sized,” I confess. “The one with the big blue stone.”
“Yeah, that still fits perfectly. Or at least it did last week,” she says, trying to ease the engagement ring down, but backing off when her skin goes white around her knuckle. “Weird. Maybe I’m puffy from the sun.” Her lips turn down. “Or other things that make you bloat. I swear, if I start my period on our wedding day, I’m going to be pissed.” She wags a warning finger at her mid-section. “You hear that, Aunt Flow? Hold off until Sunday, okay? Show me some mercy for once in your wretched existence.”
“I think she’ll listen. I wouldn’t cross a woman on her wedding day,” I say, holding out my palm for the ring. “Let’s run by the jewelry store on the way home. If we beg hard enough, I bet Maisy will put a rush on resizing it.”
“Oh, yes! And that way, I can get a ring for you, too!” she says, clapping her hands. “Perfect. Let’s go. Now that we’ve decided to pull the trigger on the crazy, we should hustle. Even a low-key wedding is no small feat to pull off in twenty-four hours. We’ll need to hit up the courthouse for a license this afternoon before it closes, check to make sure the justice of the peace is working tomorrow, call everyone and fill them in, and buy the biggest cake at the bakery.” She tips her palm back and forth. “Or maybe just the one with the most icing. I’ve been craving cake like crazy all day. I mean, that alone would almost be enough to convince me to get hitched.”
