Page 64 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

ZACHARY

The door to Pacific Pete’s swung open, and a handsome stranger walked in before looking around hesitantly. I nodded to the bartender then turned to face the newcomer. He was the perfect age—about fifteen years older than me—and dressed in nice jeans and a slim-fitting shirt that showed off his shoulders. I gave him an appreciative head-to-toe examination.

The bar was mostly empty, with only the bartender and a couple of patrons at a table in the back. The music changed from Keith Urban singing about neon lights to Jimmy Buffett’s “Last Mango in Paris”.

The stranger grinned, and his tentative walk turned into a swagger as he approached the barstool next to me. “Is this seat taken?”

I shook my head. “Help yourself.”

The bartender, who’d told me his name was Gary, returned from his trip to the back office. He threw me a wink, then asked the stranger what he’d like to order.

After giving Gary a thunderous frown, no doubt for the wink, the guy asked for a beer. Then he turned to me. “Do you come here often?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “Um, no. This is my first time here. You?”

Gary slid the stranger’s beer over to him. After taking a sip, he replied, “I drop in once a year or so.” He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “But the view from my hotel room is a lot better than this one.”

I grinned, struggling not to laugh again. “Is that right? Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t put out until there’s a ring on my finger.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

I slid off the barstool, and just as the song came to an end, I dropped to one knee and held up the rings I’d hidden in my pocket. “Ford Pinkerton, will you marry me?”

His mouth dropped open, and he moved his hands erratically, like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cover his mouth or clasp them over his chest. Finally he gasped out, “ What? ”

I smiled gently. “Ford, I’m asking you to marry me. All you have to do is say yes or no.”

His eyes went even wider. “I don’t want to say no! I mean, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” He seemed frozen to the spot, a good foot away, staring as if he’d never seen anything as wonderful as me.

Still kneeling on the—mostly clean—floor, I reached out with my left hand, since I wasn’t using that one to hold the rings. He continued to gaze at me in wonder, but he did automatically give me his right hand. I stifled a chuckle. “Your left one, Ford. Give me your left hand so I can put the ring on it.”

He finally glanced down at our hands. “Oh, right!” He switched over and presented me with the left one. Our fingers were the same size, so I didn’t worry about which one I was putting on him. He held up his hand so the platinum band with the row of tiny diamonds caught the light. “Wow!” He spun around and showed his hand to the bartender. “We’re getting married!”

Gary grinned. “Congratulations! I bet your fiancé would like you to put the other ring on his hand too.”

Ford sucked in a breath and whirled back around. “Ohmygod! I—Zachary!” He dropped to his knees next to me and gave me an urgent kiss. “I love you so much! Where’s the ring?” He grabbed for my hands.

Fuck, I loved Ford more than anything. He reverently took the second ring from my palm and eased it over my finger. “Beautiful,” he breathed.

I kept hold of his hands as I stood, pulling him up with me.

He pulled me into a hug. “I can’t believe you proposed! I’m so happy. I can’t wait to be married!”

I did laugh then. “Let’s sit and talk about that.” I guided him back to his barstool.

“Congrats, guys!” Gary knocked once on the bar top and walked to the far end, probably to give us some privacy.

“Thanks, Gary!” I called after him.

Ford scowled. “How do you know his name?”

I rubbed his arm. “Because it seemed polite to ask when I tipped him a fifty to change the song right as you walked in.”

“Oh.” God, he was adorable.

I leaned over and kissed him. “Tomorrow’s Friday, and you remember we’re flying to Vegas, right?” We—okay I had heavily campaigned for it—had decided to celebrate our one-year dating anniversary by recreating mini versions of our respective trips from last year. We’d spent the first few days in Palm Springs, which had included spending three hours following Bike Tour Brennan around town learning about architecture. He was a lovely person, and I gave him a five-star review, but I wasn’t leaving him and Ford alone together this side of hell.

He nodded, picking up my hand to play with my ring as we talked.

“And you know how we’re going to the strip club tomorrow night like I did for Joel and Mateo’s bachelor party?”

He straightened up and slid around on the barstool to face me fully. “Yes?”

“Well, what if tomorrow night was our bachelor party? And then Saturday, what if we got married?”

His eyes became full of wonder again. “Really? I would love that.” Then his face fell. “But it’s Valentine’s Day. All the chapels will be booked.”

I grinned. “I made the reservation six months ago.” When a man like Ford comes into your life, you lock him down.

As I listed off all of our friends and family who were planning to join us, he stood up and lifted me off the barstool into a huge hug. “You’re the best. I’m so ready to be married to you.”

I finally got him to put me down so we could sit again. He said, “I’m not picky about the ceremony, but I feel like we should choose a Jimmy Buffett song to walk down the aisle to.” He sucked in a breath. “Oooh! We could use ‘Last Mango in Paris’ since it kind of brought us together!” Then his face fell. “But it’s not really romantic. How about ‘Come Monday’?”

I could feel my face heat up. “I, um, already picked one. But we can change it if you don’t like it!” I squeezed his hand.

He smiled. “As long as it’s not ‘Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw’, I’ll love it.”

Laughing, I shook my head. I still had that song as my ringtone, mostly because it irritated Ford. I cupped his cheek. “The one I picked, well, it’s not really romantic either, but it absolutely represents how I feel. It’s ‘I Have Found Me a Home’.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and his face scrunched up like he was trying not to cry. “Yes. Yes, that.” He pulled me into another hug. To help him get his emotions back under control, I whispered suggestions for all the dirty, dirty things I wanted him to do to me when we got back to our hotel room.

I couldn’t wait for the next stage of our adventure together.

Jimmy Buffett would approve.

Thank you for reading Last Mango in Palm Springs !