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Lyla

We just wrapped up our sunset review meeting of the latest Play It Forward Annual Tour event.

It was a smashing success, with more kids than we’ve ever seen and even more mentors than we knew what to do with—a rare and wonderful problem.

Everyone cleared out of the conference room as I finished writing a few notes to myself, but Josie lingers.

“Hey, Lyla,” she says, an anxious tick in her voice. “The, um, copier isn’t working.”

“Have you told Marcos about it?” I ask.

“He said to get you,” she says before biting her lip.

I’m not sure what I’m possibly going to do to the copy machine that Marcos couldn’t—but I set my notes aside and stride toward the supply closet. When I get there, the lights are off. I’m fumbling inside for the switch when the door closes behind me—and the lock clicks.

“Hey!” I shriek. My heart rate kicks up a few notches before some lights come on—but not the buzzing overhead fluorescent lights. The entire supply closet is lit up with LED candles and there before me, Drake materializes as if by magic.

“You scared me,” I say with a hand to my chest.

“I have that effect on people,” he says with a grin.

I laugh—something I’ve done a lot with Drake this past year. “What are you doing here?”

He takes my hand, pulling me closer. It smells strongly of fresh paper and toner in here—and now, it smells of Drake’s masculine scent. “What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice low and rumbly.

“Oh my gosh, are you proposing to me in a supply closet?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh.” I don’t do a very good job of hiding my disappointment—even though I’m not sure I actually want Drake to propose to me in the supply closet.

Who am I kidding? Drake Blythe can propose to me anywhere.

“I am not proposing to you in a supply closet,” he says again. “But I am starting to propose to you in a supply closet.”

I swallow, all my words getting stuck in my throat.

I should say something—I really should—but all of my thoughts have fallen out of my head like they just got tackled by the Dolphins’ defensive line.

“Um,” is all that comes out. And then, finally, I manage to squeak out: “Yes!” Then immediately clap a hand over my mouth.

Drake laughs again, threading my fingers with his. “I haven’t asked you anything yet, Red.”

“Right.” I inch closer to him until our toes are touching. “So, what are we doing in the supply closet?”

“Because, this was the place where I realized I was falling in love with you.”

I remember that night so clearly—it shows up in my dreams, too, from time to time. The craft disaster and the almost-kiss interrupted by Milo.

“I started to fall for you here too,” I whisper.

“I know.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “I’m irresistible.”

“And so humble.”

“That too.” He runs a thumb across my cheek. “I fell for your goodness, Lyla Smith. That beauty you were trying so hard to hide—I saw you so clearly that night. And I never looked back. I never will look back.”

“I fell for your vulnerability that night—how real you were. How real you are .”

Drake leans down, kissing my cheek before whispering in my ear, “This is about you, Lyla. Not about me. Will you let me make this about you?”

He tilts his head down toward me, his eyebrows raised—as if in a challenge.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay.” He knocks twice on the closet door and it unlocks. “Tonight, let me take you on a tour of Miami—all the places I fell for you. And let me tell you all the ways I love you, Lyla soon-to-be Blythe.”

I smile, my hands going to his chest, before saying, “I haven’t even said yes yet, Drake, and you’re already renaming me?”

“Actually, I believe you did say yes already,” he says with a wink.

We laugh as he leads me out of the Play It Forward office and into a waiting limo outside.

We drive around Miami—to the Improv and then to Ball and Chain, the Cuban restaurant where we danced the first night we met.

He takes me to the stadium and then, finally, to Vizcaya, where we had our first kiss.

The teal and white gazebo is lit by a hundred little candles, rose petals lining the pathway leading up to it.

The ocean breeze wraps around us, carrying the scent of sea salt and peace.

When we get there, Drake immediately gets down on one knee.

“I was going to tell you how I fell in love with your lips here—but I can’t wait a second longer to ask you to marry me. Lyla Smith, will you marry me?”

“I’ll always say yes to love, Drake.” I step toward him, running my fingers through his hair. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He stands up, spinning me around, before replaying our very first kiss. This time when he kisses me, it’s not a beginning or an end. It’s the middle of the best story I never saw coming.

The End

I hope you fell in love with Drake and Lyla. I had so much fun writing their story!