Page 45 of How Freaking Romantic

Eight Months Later

“This is bullshit.” I lift my phone higher, staring up at the illuminated screen. “What kind of hotel doesn’t have Wi-Fi?”

Behind him, Maggie is standing on top of the green-and-pink quilt covering the bed. She’s practically scaling the antique headboard in her ivory chiffon wedding dress, holding her own phone up near the ceiling. “Oh! I think I’ve got one bar! Yes! Wait… never mind.”

“Maybe if we walk down to the road?” Jillian interjects from the far side of the room. She’s holding her phone out the open window with one hand, while keeping the front of her green taffeta bridesmaid dress intact over her chest with the other.

“I’m not walking down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere,” I say, getting up on my tiptoes. “That’s the beginning of too many horror movies.”

“We’re in Vermont, not the middle of nowhere,” Travis interjects, phone still to his ear.

“Classic horror movie line.”

He shakes his head and curses under his breath. Josh must hear it on the other line because Travis murmurs, “No, not you.”

When Travis and Maggie told us they had decided to get married at a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont—the one they were modeling their own after—we were all thrilled, not only because the website made the place look idyllic, but because it was also within driving distance of the city.

Jillian was only too happy to get out of Boston and headed up with the happy couple to help set up, while Nathan and I left a few days early to stay with his parents in Great Barrington beforehand.

Contrary to popular belief (i.e. Travis’s opinion), Dan and Pat Asher love me, and after spending a week with them when they came to the city to visit Nathan this past summer, they were only too happy to host us.

And Pat is a fan of The Real Housewives , too, thank you very much.

The only one who isn’t here for the nuptials is Josh, but he had told us that he wouldn’t be able to come, long before the location was confirmed.

In addition to just starting a new job out in Sacramento, he’s also enrolled in an intensive outpatient program that requires him to attend meetings a few times each week.

He could have requested a few days off, but he knew it was better for his recovery if he didn’t.

When he told us, I think even Jillian was impressed.

Of course, I have no such consideration for my own mental health, because despite promising myself not to check the bar exam results that were supposedly sent out today, here I am, cursing every cell tower in New England as I try to connect with my email.

And like the incredible family they are, my friends are here with me for support.

And approved access to my inbox so I can exploit their data plans.

“Why would the bar association send out test results on a Saturday? Who does that?” I ask, reaching my phone a bit higher.

“Sociopaths,” Maggie whispers.

“Can we go downstairs and enjoy our wedding reception now?” Travis asks.

“No,” Maggie, Jillian, and I reply in unison.

The door to the room opens then, and we all turn as Nathan enters.

I take a moment to appreciate the view: the tuxedo that he apparently already had in his closet cuts a crisp line across his shoulders, his waist. He even brushed his hair before the ceremony.

That was hours ago, though, and now it is back to a disjointed mess atop his head.

He’s carrying two glasses of bourbon, and as he walks forward, he hands one to Travis.

I didn’t think it was possible for Travis to idolize him more, especially after they first met, when Nathan mentioned that he could get them box seats to a Rangers game, thanks to one of his former clients.

But from the awestruck look Travis gives Nathan now, the mouthed thank you as he cradles the drink in his hand, apparently, I was wrong.

“Any luck?” I ask, smiling hopefully as Nathan stops at my side, hooking one arm around my waist.

“The woman downstairs thinks they have a dial-up modem somewhere. She’s going to look in the barn.”

My smile flattens. He has the gall to look mildly amused.

“I wonder if anyone has ever tried to use dial-up with an iPhone,” Travis muses. Josh must answer because he sighs into the receiver. “It was a rhetorical question, dumbass.”

Nathan glances up at my phone’s screen. “How about you?”

“I can’t feel my arm anymore,” I answer.

“I can work with that,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his drink.

I turn enough to send him a sharp glare.

“Oh! I think I’ve got it!” Maggie yells from where she’s perched on the headboard. “Yes! Bea! I have two bars!”

“Don’t move!” Jillian shrieks, scrambling off the windowsill. She’s on the bed in an instant, standing beside Maggie and squinting up at the screen.

“Is it there?” Travis asks, leaning back to look up at them.

“Hold on, hold on,” Maggie says. “It’s reloading.”

Jillian lets out a strangled groan. “Oh my God, why am I so nervous? This is awful.”

I should go up there, too, squeeze between the two of them to open the email myself, but I can’t move. My legs are frozen in place as my heart leaps into an erratic staccato in my chest.

I look up at Nathan, panicked and wide-eyed. “Distract me.”

One corner of his lips turns up, as if he anticipated this.

“Distract you,” he repeats, like he’s mulling over the words.

I don’t reply; this is not the time to be cute.

His smile broadens, and then he reaches into his pocket. A moment later he pulls out a small box. A small velvet box. The kind you put jewelry in. The size you might get for a ring.

My heart stops. Time stops. For a moment, I don’t even breathe.

“What is that?” I whisper.

“Open it.”

“No.”

“Open it, Bea.”

My hand is shaking as I reach up and brush my fingers against the soft black velvet. I take it gently from his palm and test its weight in mine. It’s substantial enough that I know something is inside.

My gaze snaps back to his blue eyes. There’s a commotion happening around us—Jillian and Maggie arguing about the connection, Travis translating the scene for Josh—but right now the only thing I can concentrate on is the man with a wry grin on his lips standing in front of me.

Nathan nods to the box in my hand. I take a deep breath before clicking it open.

Inside is a key.

A mix of relief and confusion knits my brow. “What is this?”

“A key.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “A key to what?”

“My apartment.”

My pulse spikes and I’m not sure I even know how to breathe anymore. He takes the opportunity to take a step toward me, so close that I can feel his breath in my hair.

I blink. “What’s happening?”

“I’m about to ask you to move in with me.” His smile broadens so his dimple now teases his cheek.

“But…” I swallow. “Why?”

“Because I’m in love with you. And most of your stuff is there now anyway.”

I want to argue, but the statement is fair.

There has been a slow pilgrimage of my things over the past few months: a toothbrush, some books, a couple of drawers in the closet.

It wasn’t even a conscious choice, just the natural thing to do.

Nathan splits his time between the firm and Safe Harbor now—Marcie put him on the board of directors a few months ago, but he also does pro bono work when he has time—while I spend entirely too much of my week at Land and Associates, doing research for their latest class action lawsuit until I get my bar results.

We’re both so busy doing the things we’ve worked so hard to do that it only makes sense to simplify our time together.

It’s a good excuse, I tell myself. But it’s flimsy, because in reality, this is so much more than that.

I love waking up next to him in the morning.

I love arguing about movies and books and weekend plans.

I love how he knows when to push me and when to let me curl into the crook of his arm that seems made just for me.

I love this life we’ve built with one another, and I’m suddenly so worried that something as small as a key could throw it off-balance.

“But…” My voice trails off. “What if you get sick of me?”

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips as I scour my brain for the necessary words.

“You’re going to figure out that I eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon and how I’m awful when I get sick and that I paint my toenails on the floor without putting anything underneath so eventually you’ll have little spots of five different shades of red on the hardwood and… and…”

His smile returns. “I already know about the morning breath, Bea. We can only go up from here.”

I stare down at the key. The worry has dissolved and I’m waiting for fear to rise up and take its place. It doesn’t, though. There’s only the sound of my pulse in my ears and an eager giddiness growing in my chest.

My hand slowly rises to trace the key’s crooked edge. It looks so ordinary. Like any other key on any other ring in the city. But this one is mine.

“Move in with me, Bea,” he murmurs, his voice so deep it vibrates in my marrow. It’s warm and comfortable and safe. It’s home. Nathan is home.

I open my mouth to answer, to say yes and throw my arms around him, but I’m cut off as Maggie and Jillian scream.

“You did it, Bea!” Jillian squeals. My gaze darts across to where they’re both jumping up and down on the bed, Maggie’s glowing screen between them. “You did it!”

Together their cheers make a deafening sound that dissolves into laughter as Travis stands and joins in.

“She did it!” Travis yells into the phone. “Our girl’s a lawyer!”

I did it. I passed the bar.

I turn back to Nathan, expecting to see elation and surprise on his face, too. Instead, there’s just that same wry grin on his lips. A look that suggests he isn’t surprised at all. That he knew exactly what he was doing.

My mouth falls open. “Oh my God. Did you do this right now because you knew I would need a distraction?”

He shrugs one shoulder. A lazy admission of guilt.

I narrow my eyes at him. The anger is right there, ready to be wielded.

But it’s dwarfed by so much else now. Happiness, pride, contentment…

but most of all, love. A fierce and devastating love that I stoke and stir until it’s white-hot.

All-consuming. And I let it overwhelm me as I smile. “You’re such an asshole.”

He laughs, then leans down and kisses me, soft and lingering before pulling back just enough to whisper, “I love you, too.”