The Unhoneymooners(86)

I laugh. “How do you know I’m making a face? You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t have to look at you to know you’re doing that derpy heart-eyes thing.”

I bend to whisper in her ear. “Maybe I’m making a face because I love you, and I like when you’re argumentative. I can show you just how much I like it when we get back to the hotel.”

“Get a room.” Ami shares a commiserating look with Lucas as he’s strapped into the pulley.

But then she turns and meets Olive’s gaze across the platform. I don’t need to understand secret twin telepathy to know that Ami isn’t just happy for her sister, she’s elated. Ami isn’t the only one who believes Olive deserves every bit of bliss this world has to offer. Seeing that tiny, salty woman crack up or melt or light up like a constellation gives me life.

Now I just have to get her to agree to marry me.

? ? ?

I THINK I’VE FOUND MY moment when four nights in, we’re given a sunset that’s so surreal it feels computer generated. The sky is this layered parfait of pastels; the sun seems reluctant to disappear entirely, and it’s one of those perfect progressions where we can watch it slowly diminish in size until it’s nothing but a tiny dot of light and then—poof. It’s gone.

It’s right then that I hold my phone up, snapping a selfie of Olive and me on the beach. The sky is a calming purple-blue. Her hair is blowing across her face, we’re both a little tipsy. Our feet are bare, toes digging in the warm sand, and the happiness in our expressions is palpable. It’s a great fucking photo.

I stare down at it, spinning a little inside. I’m so used to seeing our faces together, so used to how she fits against my shoulder. I love her eyes and her skin and her smile. I love our wild moments and our quiet ones. Love fighting and fucking and laughing with her. I love how easy we look side by side. I’ve spent the last few days agonizing over when to propose, but it occurs to me that this is when I do it: in this quiet space, where we’re just us, having a perfect night. Ami and Lucas are down the beach a ways, walking in the lapping waves, and so it feels like we have this little stretch of sand entirely to ourselves.

I turn to her; my heart is a thunder inside me. “Hey, you.”

She grins at the phone, taking it from me. “This is cute.”

“It is.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Caption this photo,” she says, oblivious to my internal mayhem, my mental preparation for one of the biggest moments of my life.

“Um . . .” I say, a little thrown but thinking as I try to play along.

And then she bursts out laughing. “Here’s one: ‘She said yes!’ ” She leans into me, cracking up. “Oh, my god, this is a good picture of us but this is exactly the kind of vacation photos people in Minnesota put on their mantel in shell-encrusted frames to remind themselves of the sunshine when we are in the deepest pit of winter.” She hands the phone back to me. “How many Minnesotans do you think get engaged on the beach? Eighty percent? Ninety?” Shaking her head, she grins at me. “What total—”

And then she stops, her gaze moving over my face. It feels like a tube of cotton has lodged itself in my throat. Olive claps a hand over her mouth as realization draws her eyes comically wide. “Oh. Shit. Oh, Ethan. Oh, shit.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You weren’t, were you? Am I that big an asshole?”

“I—but no. I don’t—it isn’t. Don’t worry.”

She gapes at me, eyes wide with panic as it becomes clear her sarcasm wasn’t that far off the mark. “I am such a dick that I’ve broken your brain.”

I don’t know whether to be amused by this destroyed attempt at proposing or bummed. It did seem like the perfect moment; I felt like we were on the same page and then—nope. Not even a little.

“Ethan, I’m so—”

“Ollie, it’s okay. You don’t know what I was going to say. You think you do, but you don’t.” Based off her unsure look, I add, “Trust me. It’s all good.”

I lean in, kissing her, trying to get her to let go with a gentle bite to her lower lip, a growl that has her softening beside me, opening her mouth to let me feel her. It escalates until we’re both a little out of breath, wanting to take it to the next place where clothes come off and bodies come together, but although it’s getting dark, it isn’t that dark or that empty out here on the beach.

When I pull back and smile at her like everything is fine, I can sense the skepticism lingering in her posture, how she holds herself carefully like she doesn’t want to make a wrong move. Even if Olive thinks I was going to propose, she still hasn’t said anything like I would say yes, you know or I was waiting for you to ask, so maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t manage to get the words out. I know that her view of marriage has been marred by her parents and by Ami and Dane, but I also like to think that I’ve changed her views on long-term commitment. I love her wildly. I want this—want to marry her—but I have to accept the reality that it isn’t what she wants, and we can live just as happily together forever without that ceremony binding us.

God, my brain is a blender all of a sudden.

She lays down in the sand, pulling me gently back so that she can curl on her side, her head to my chest. “I love you,” she says simply.