Page 133 of Through the Storms

“Hold on.” Oakley leapt from the bed and rushed to her dresser. She opened her sock drawer and rummaged around in the back.

Lana craned her neck. “What’re you looking for?”

Oakley pulled out a tattered pair of socks.

Lana groaned. “I still can’t believe you insist on keeping your lucky pair of gym socks.”

Oakley gasped and put her hand on her chest in feigned indignation. “How could I part with the socks I wore on my first tornado chase?”

Lana rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you were finally going to throw the damned things away.”

“Never!” Oakley carried the socks toward the bed.

“They’re shoved so far in the back of the drawer. I’m surprised you even remembered them.”

“Oh, I remember them, and I knew you would never touch them.”

Lana eyed Oakley suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

Oakley grabbed Lana’s robe off the floor and handed it to her. “Um, could you put this on and sit here?” Oakley patted the side of the bed.

“This is a first. You don’t want me naked?”

Oakley gave Lana an exaggerated eyebrow wriggle. “Tempting, but somehow, I think you wouldn’t approve.” Oakley chuckled. “Although it would make a great story.”

“Approve of what?” Lana slid on her robe, even more confused by Oakley’s odd behavior. It would be just like Oakley to make a grand gesture of presenting Lana with her gross old socks. Lana’s heart warmed. If symbolically it was Oakley’s way of making a commitment, then Lana would accept it. She moved to the side of the bed and dangled her feet off the side.

Oakley dropped to her knee in front of Lana.

Lana held out her foot.

Oakley paused for a second and then laughed. “You’re not getting my socks.” Gently, she pushed Lana’s foot down. “Could you let me do this? I’m terrified enough as it is.”

Lana frowned as Oakley fumbled with the socks and pulled something out of one of the openings.

Oakley held up a ring box and opened it. A flash of green caught Lana’s eye.

“Lana Monroe, will you marry me?” Oakley said as she looked up at Lana.

“What?” Lana’s gaze shifted between the ring and Oakley’s face.

“Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?” Panic had begun to wash over Oakley’s face.

“But…” Lana pointed. “Where did that come from?”

“My sock drawer.” Oakley pointed over her shoulder. “You just saw me take it out.”

“But…when…how?” Lana needed to form complete sentences, but her words escaped her. None of this made sense.

Oakley sheepishly looked down at the floor. “Uh, about two years.”

“You’ve had that ring in your sock for two years?” Lana’s voice rose.

“Uh-huh. I knew you’d never touch my lucky socks.”

Lana stared for several seconds, and then she laughed. “You’ve got that right. You know me too well. But two years? Why?”

“I was waiting for the right time.”