Page 72 of Next Season

We held hands as we drove the winding road into Elmwood and chatted idly about everything from the Stanley Cup games and the start of hockey camp in two weeks to what was in our refrigerator.

I slowed to a stop on the turn at Lake Norman and squeezed Riley’s hand before releasing it and pointing at the placid water visible through the grand trees along the border. “Just so you know…that’s where I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

Riley swiveled in his seat and flashed a radiant smile at me. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. And I’m pretty sure you’ll say yes. I’m old and I’m not as pretty as you, but I think you still like me.”

He launched himself over the console and crashed his mouth over mine. “I love you. You’re the most beautiful man in the whole fucking world and when you ask me to marry you, I’m a thousand percent sure I’ll say yes.”

“Je t’aime, Riley.” I breathed him in, then kissed his knuckles and steered toward home.

“Hey, you know what sounds kinda good right now?”

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “Don’t say it.”

“I’m totally gonna say it. Unless you can guess.”

“Tuna salad?”

Riley beamed. “Yeah. What d’ya say?”

“You got it. But let me also say…it really must be love, because why so much tuna? It’s not that good, is it?”

“It’s pretty good. And yeah…it’s definitely love.”

We shared a quick smile and chuckled softly, our gazes set toward the horizon, the town we loved, and the home we’d made there.

Someday we’d get engaged, married, and maybe even have children. We’d grow old together, celebrating season after season. And we wouldn’t worry about what came next.

We’d learned a long time ago to live in the moment and be grateful for now.

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