Page 141 of Things I Overshared
His voice is low and quiet as his eyes rake over me again. “Yes, but I didn’t factor inyoursurprises.”
“Oh, buddy, they are worth the wait. C’mon, let’s go do whatever it is!” I say. He squeezes my hand and smiles wide again, a sight that still absolutely demolishes me. I’m staring at him, because I can, when I note the street outside. “Your surprise is at the office?”
“Just have to pick something up quickly. Come on,” he says, sounding grumpy again.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound light and breezy. I don’t care if we have to stop ten times, but I do care about what’s going on with his mood. He leads me into the elevator, and we ride up to the Canton Cards offices without so much as a stolen kiss or an ass squeeze, which is odd. My man is a fan of sneaky PDA. Big fan. Huge. So, I’m starting to get a little freaked out.
Hating myself, but doing it anyway, I think through every moment of the last couple days like an insecure teen. I did stay away to take care of my hair and spray tan, but that was just a day and a half. What could have spooked him in such a short time? Maybe my dress is too much? Or too revealing? He did get onto me about my cleavage because it was not an all-female event, but he was joking. He was joking, right?
I look up at him and fear the worst. I had casually talked about my wedding in the past week, but Skye is getting married soon! It’s only natural! And I said it in a someday, eventually, far-off kind of way. I think.Shit.It’s got to be that. The elevator chime interrupts the race my thoughts are taking straight down to rock bottom.
“Damn, I forgot something in the car. There’s a gift for you in my office. Go get it, and I’ll be right behind you,” he says, looking white and clammy.
“I’ll go with you?” I say, really asking himwhat the hell is going on here?
He gives me a small smile. “Trust me, Angel. In my office, you can’t miss it. I’ll be right there.”
“Okayyy . . .” He dropped the T-word on me. Trust is big for us—trusting each other not to hide or shrink, but rather to say what we mean and mean what we say. So I start walking slowly but with a quick glare back at him so he knows thatI knowsomething is definitely up.
The elevator doors start to close on him, so I hurry to his office, a place that has been . . . well . . . redeemed. We rewrote all our pre-trip memories with new ones—on the desk, up against the door, right in front of the windows. I shake my head out of the gutter as I reach the door. I push down on the handle and look to the desk as the door opens, expecting a velvet box.
And I scream. Or maybe sob? I cry out.
In front of me is the cutest, fluffiest, smooshiest golden retriever puppy I have ever seen. He waddles up to me with a tiny bark, and I’m already crying.
“Em!” I yell, but I’m unable to turn away from the cuteness explosion in front of me. He has a huge yellow bow on his collar, which I see when I scoop to pick him up. The collar is chunky and weird, leading me to ask my new best friend a million slurred questions in an obnoxiously high dogmom voice. Finally, I blink the tears away enough to make it out. The collar has big chunky letter charms on it.
r • i • n • g
I let out another scream/sob/wail combination.
The O, in what I realize is the name Ringo, is a blinding, pavé diamond–crusted engagement ring with the biggest yellow diamond—the biggest diamond, period—that I’ve ever seen. I turn toward the door, but Emerson is already there, stepping toward me.
“You got me a dog?” I cry, the words spilling out before my brain even registers what is happening.
Emerson chuckles and mumbles, “Got us a dog, hopefully?” He reaches toward the collar with shaking hands. Or I’m shaking and his hands are fine. He tugs, and the ring pulls free as he gets down on one knee. Oh. We’re definitely both shaking.
“Holy crap, is this real? Is this happening? And a dog too at the same time? Did you look at my dog breed spreadsheet? They say Goldens will follow you around all—”
“Angel?” Emerson says, smiling but also pleading with me.
“Right, sorry,” I say with a loud, unattractive snort, because I am already snot-crying all over myself.
“Samantha Canton . . .” His voice cracks. “Beautiful, unbelievable light of my life. I love you desperately. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!”
He collapses with relief as he puts the ring on my finger, and I pull him up to kiss him like I’ve never kissed him before, even with Ringo, which I suddenly remember is the name of the Beatles drummer and feel a new rush of emotion, smashed between the two of us. Emerson lets out a sigh that sounds a lot like a cry. I pull away and look up into his frosty blue irises. “Were you really worried I’d say no?”
“It’s soon. I’m ready, but I was afraid—”
“I’m ready, Em. I’m ready.” I kiss him again and feel the loss when he abruptly pulls away. He looks down at me and Ringo with so much love, I think I might combust from joy. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “Emerson?”
Instead of answering me, he just smirks and pulls back to open his office door. He motions for me to join him, eager to get home, I’m sure. I smile wide, also excited to take Ringo home and start our newly engaged life. I can’t help but hop a little bit on my way out of his door.
Which is why I almost fall over when everyone we know and love screams “Congratulations!” at me from the hallway of our offices, and the lobby, and even back in conference room, it looks like. All four of my sisters are up front smiling wide. Susan is crying, Skye is almost crying, though she’d deny it, and Dad and even Grandpa are here. Adam, Matthew, Emerson’s entire family; Evelyn is crying too, and all our coworkers, friends. Everyone. A sea of people, for us. Then I realize not really for us—this is for me.
I am ugly crying again. I turn to look back at Emerson as someone takes Ringo from my arms. Music plays over the sound system, my London playlist, I think, and the hum of conversation grows loud around us. I step back toward him, and he steps forward and wraps his arms around me. When he does, every other sight and sound blur away.
“Really? I can’t . . . I mean . . . a dog? And all our people? So many people! And the ring—I didn’t even tell you how much I love it! Em, this . . . this is all too much!”
“For you, Angel, it’s not nearly enough.”
THE END