thirty-nine

GRIFFIN

Today’s the day I propose to my wife.

The jewelry shop called while I was in New York, and I rushed to pick up Mira’s engagement ring and our bands as soon as the team’s plane touched down.

I left the bands at home, but the little black velvet box containing her giant, sparkly diamond is burning a hole in my pocket as we wander around downtown Ann Arbor, trying to decide where to eat breakfast.

I’m not sure where or when or how I’m going to pop the question, but I’ll know when the time is right.

The stars will align, a chorus of fat little angel babies will sing, and a ray of sunlight will hit my sunshine, illuminating her beautiful face.

I’ll drop down onto one knee, tell her I love the shit out of her, and ask her to be my wife. On purpose, this time.

“That place looks cute,” Mira says, her teeth chattering as she points to a little cafe with a cinnamon bun painted on the window. Pulling her in close to my side to keep her warm in the frigid late-winter morning, I nod.

“Let’s do it.” It does look cute, but I also just want to get my girl out of the cold. Her adorable little nose is pink, and I can’t have her getting sick right before I propose. Or before her pitch to the university bigwigs tomorrow.

Not a single soul gives us more than a cursory glance when we enter the cafe, and I’m reminded of one of the reasons I enjoy traveling so much.

Outside of the Twin Cities, it’s unlikely anyone will recognize me.

It’s not like I get mobbed at home, but I get recognized enough that it feels like I can never fully relax.

Gotta be on at all times in case some random fan is taking a video or asks for an autograph.

It’s exhausting. Thank fuck I didn’t decide to be a movie star or something.

If it’s annoying to be recognized occasionally, I can only imagine how much it sucks to be bombarded constantly.

“Here you go,” the hostess says with a kind smile, motioning to a booth beside the window. It gives us the perfect view of Main Street’s storefronts and the fast-walking patrons trying to hustle so they can get out of the cold. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

Mira grins as she opens the menu. Her attention bounces between the laminated booklet in front of her and me. She’s fucking beautiful. I have to tell myself not to get down on one knee right here and now, because that’s just bacon sizzling on the grill in the kitchen, not angels singing.

“Everything looks so good. How am I supposed to choose?”

Who the hell says she has to choose? I’ll order everything on the menu, if that’s what she wants. “What are you torn between?”

“The lemon poppyseed pancakes with icing drizzle look amazing. But so does the cinnamon roll French toast.” She hums as she scans the menu, and I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it, but she keeps doing this excited little shimmy in her seat that has me grinning like a lovesick idiot.

“Oh, they have spicy biscuits and gravy. Yum.”

She’s still muttering to herself when the server stops at our table, introduces himself, and asks if we’d like coffee. He fills our mugs, and, noticing Mira is still studying the options, asks if we’d like another minute to decide.

“Nah,” I say, smiling. “We’ll take the lemon poppyseed pancakes, the cinnamon roll French toast, the biscuits and gravy, a spinach and mushroom omelet, and an order of bacon.”

The guy’s eyes go wide, and so do Mira’s.

I get it. It’s a lot of food. But I’m determined to make this the best day ever for my wife, which means she doesn’t have to choose between breakfast foods.

She can take two bites of each and ask for something different for all I care.

I have the money to order the whole menu, and I will if that makes her smile.

“Griffin, we don’t need all that.”

“We’ll take whatever we don’t finish to go,” I tell her. Then, looking at the server, I give him a little nod. “I think that’s it, man.”

He chuckles, promising it will be ready soon, and leaves me with my bride, who is staring at me with this soft expression that makes me go all gooey and shit.

“You didn’t have to order all of that. I would have decided, eventually.”

I chuckle at that, and her eyes dance with an answering mirth I love to see. “Maybe, but you’re cute when you’re indecisive. Plus, I’m totally planning on stealing bites from all of your food. My omelet doesn’t sound nearly as good as cinnamon roll French toast.”

When the food arrives, it fills the table until there’s barely any surface area left, and our server has to have a buddy help him carry an extra tray.

Mira giggles as they arrange it all, and I soak up the sound, memorizing the way her eyes crinkle in the corners, the way they sparkle, and the soft flush of her cheeks.

Every moment with her like this gets stored away in the part of my brain labeled never forget , so I can pull them up whenever we’re on the road and I can’t be with her.

“Oh my god,” she moans after taking a bite of the poppyseed pancakes. “This is so good. You have to try it.”

Before I can reach over and spear a forkful for myself, Mira holds out hers and offers me a bite. Leaning over the table, I meet her eyes and take the offered bite. She watches me expectantly, and I can’t help it—I close my eyes and groan, because holy shit, that’s good.

“Save those noises for the bedroom, hot stuff. All the ladies in the place are looking at you like you’re on the menu.”

I have to cover my mouth when I laugh, because she’s right. There are quite a few women staring at me with expressions ranging from curiosity to hunger to disgust. The disgust is coming from a little old lady with white hair and a kid sitting across from her who must be a granddaughter.

“Oops.” I widen my eyes at my wife, and soon we’re both laughing. Definitely not dropping to one knee now. Not with Nana over there throwing me the evil eye. That’s okay. I have all day.

“Wait, we’re going where?”

Mira’s eyes are wide as she turns her body to face me from the passenger seat of the rental car.

“The Creature Conservancy. It’s like a little zoo with a bunch of exotic animals. I scheduled a private tour, and guess what?”

“What?”

“We even get to pet some of the animals.”

My beautiful wife lets out a happy little squeal and does a shimmy in her seat.

The jewelry box in my pocket digs into my hip, begging to be pulled out.

Maybe this place will give me the right opportunity to propose.

I wonder if there are any monkeys that are trained?

Maybe one could bring the ring out to her?

Nah, that seems risky.

Mira has her phone out, telling me all about the animals we can expect to see when we park. She’s particularly excited that they have several sloths. Those weird little fuckers are pretty adorable. I’m excited to see the reindeer.

“Welcome to The Creature Conservancy,” a young guy, who appears to be in his early twenties, says when we step inside the large building.

He pushes his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze skimming right over me and landing squarely on my wife.

He offers her a lopsided smile and sticks out a hand.

“I’m Matt. I’ll be leading your tour today. ”

“Thanks, Matt.” I grab his hand and give it a firm shake, which makes Mira giggle. Her body vibrates against mine as I wrap an arm around her and pull her close. “I’m Griffin, and this is my wife, Mira.”

Mira sucks in a sharp little breath at being publicly introduced as my wife. And I get it. Saying it out loud was like a jolt of electricity zinging through my body. Holy shit, that felt good. And so does knowing I made my girl blush. She doesn’t shake Matt’s hand but offers him a little wave.

Poor Matt looks disappointed that Mira is married. Not that I blame him. Hell, I’d be disappointed, too, if I was him. But I’m not, thank god, and I get to make love to this goddess whenever I want. Sucks to suck.

“Right, well, if you’ll both follow me, we’ll start in our reptiles room.”

We follow our guide through the conservancy, stopping often so Mira can coo over some scaled, feathered, and furry creature or other.

We take tons of photos. She focuses on the animals, but I focus on her.

My camera roll is going to be filled with my wife by the time this trip is over.

We take selfies, and Matt takes several of us together in front of different enclosures.

I think one of my favorite moments is when we’re introduced to Scooter the warthog. The expression on Mira’s face is absolutely priceless.

“Oh my god, he’s so ugly he’s cute!” she cries when she sees the thing. He’s got little tufts of wild hair that stick out all over his head, long, curved tusks that jut from his mouth, and a body that’s covered in sparse, coarse hair, except for the dark mane along his back.

Ugly isn’t a strong enough word.

“You think that thing is cute?” How is it cute? Women are weird.

“Of course he is. Look at his lil’ snout.” She leans forward and coos at the thing like he’s some adorable little baby she wants to cuddle and kiss.

“He needs to trim his ear hair.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “A little manscaping could go a long way, dude.”

Cracking up, we barely hear anything our guide says about Scooter, too lost in each other. Just when I’m considering pulling the ring from my pocket, Scooter lifts his whip-like tail and lets one rip. I swear to god, it’s the longest, loudest fart I’ve ever heard.

Fucking warthog.

Okay, so that wasn’t the perfect moment. That’s fine. The next thing we’re going to do is feed a few macaws. That’ll be romantic. I’ll propose then.

The macaws are much larger than I thought they’d be. They’re beautiful—a feathery rainbow of colors with long tails and sharp beaks—but they also freak me out a bit. Their little clawed feet are creepy, and their talons pinch when they perch on my arm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mira coos to the gentle bird she holds.

The creature preens under her praise and leans into each soft touch she gives as she runs the side of her fingers down its neck and chest. I can relate.

There’s really nothing better than being stroked by Mira someday-she’ll-agree-to-change-her-last-name Graves.

The rainbow dinosaur gently plucks a blueberry out of Mira’s palm, eating it as daintily as a bird can.

Mine pecks at my watch, ignoring the berries in my palm entirely. The damn thing manages to catch an arm hair in its sharp beak. “Motherfucker. You little shit!”

Matt, the guide, snickers behind his hand. The dude’s lucky I’m a nice guy, because if I wasn’t, he wouldn’t be getting a tip for that shit. “Looks like Spike is feeling a bit feisty today. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” I grumble, tucking my watch beneath my shirt sleeve. Turning my attention to the feathered fiend, I glare at him. “Do you want these berries or not? I guarantee they taste better than my watch.”

Spike side-eyes me but seems to listen. He bends down to snatch a berry from my palm, keeping one beady little eye on me the whole time.

“You have to pet him,” Mira says. “Look at mine. She likes it.”

“Right. Just pet the mini raptor with rainbow feathers. Whose idea was this, anyway?”

The bright, tinkling laugh I get in response makes dealing with this rude bird worthwhile. As long as Mira’s happy, I’m happy. And judging by the massive smile she’s sporting and the sparkle in her eyes, Mira is very happy.

“All right, buddy. Time to shoo. I think this is the moment.” I drop the last two blueberries from my hand and flap my arm, trying to get the bird to fly away while I reach for the ring in my right pocket.

Spike, the little shit, squawks with displeasure as he flaps his wings and launches off my arm. Indignant at my treatment, Spike grabs at my hair with his beak before flying above my head, circling me. I ignore him, my fingers clutched around the little velvet box, and take a step toward my wife.

Spike circles again, and just as I’m about to get down on one knee, the feathered bastard squawks again, then shits on my head.

On. My. Head.

“Sonofabitch,” I growl, letting go of the ring box in my pocket. I’m not proposing to my wife with a glop of parrot shit dripping down the side of my face. No way in hell. That is a story that would never die, and I’d never live it down.

“Oh!” Mira covers her mouth, her wide green eyes tracking the slow drip of the bird shit as it streaks down my temple and onto my cheek. “Oh, no.”

Matt chuckles, unable to contain it this time, but to his credit, he hurries over to a table off to the side of the room and grabs a package of wet wipes. Holding them out to me, he winces when he sees my expression. “You know, they say it’s good luck to be pooped on by a bird?”

Yeah. It’s great fucking luck, Matt. Great fucking luck.

Taking the wipes from him, Mira hurries over to me and wipes the slop off my face. She cleans my skin with another wipe before grabbing a third and cleaning the mess out of my hair. Her sassy lips twitch with suppressed laughter the entire time.

“Think this is funny, wife?”

She shakes her head. Little liar. She can’t even say the word no because she has her lips pressed so tightly together to keep the laughter at bay. It’s a battle she finally loses with a little giggle snort that turns into full-bellied laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she says, gasping between bouts of laughter. “It’s just, you should have seen your face.” She makes her eyes go wide, her jaw drops open, and her top lip curls as she imitates what I must have looked like when I got shat on.

“Keep laughing, baby, and I’ll spank that luscious ass later.”

It doesn’t make her laughter stop, but it does make a pretty pink flush work up from her chest, all the way to the tips of her ears.

So I didn’t find the perfect moment to propose today. But I did learn that my wife seems turned on by the idea of being spanked, so it’s not a total loss.

I keep that little tidbit of information locked away for later while our guide leads us out of the bird enclosure and toward the sloths, Mira’s fingers intertwined with mine, a massive smile on her beautiful face.

The ring continues to burn a hole in my pocket.