One Summer Isn't Enough (Summer, #4)

chapter 6

CONRAD

I'll be honest: for about 90% of Belly's 'honest review' on which peach she liked better, I totally wasn't paying attention. Hearing her say, "That peach was perfect for that particular period in time: it was tart and tangy and refreshing. But for now, this peach is perfect in its own way," was all I needed to get all mushy and remember how damn lucky I got in the love lottery.

Even now, as we're walking back to the Jeep and Belly's talking my ear off about what other foods she wants to try while we're here, I can't help smile at the sight of her hair flying in every direction, her t-shirt rippling with the wind, her beautiful smile and excited hand movements all coming together into her.

We get into the car and Belly makes me continue my nap in the passenger seat while she drives the rest of the three-hour journey from the airport to our hotel. Which is more than fine with me, because she has no idea how hot she looks when she's in control of the car, all confident in her driving skills. It reminds me of how far we've both come from who we were about a decade ago. We've come from the angry little boy and frantic, confused teenage girl to two adults who have their life planned out together, and I love that she's a reminder of our journey here.

She turns our playlist back on and lets it play softly in the background, with one of her favorite Motown girl-group songs coming on. I play with her right hand's fingers while she steers with her left hand, and she smiles as she sees me slowly drifting off to sleep. This exact moment reminds me of one of the best days of my life: when I asked her to marry me.

We had been 'officially' dating for about two years by then, so she was 25 and I was 27 (and a quarter). Honestly, I had known from the day I saw her again at her graduation that no matter what happened, she was the one for me; she always had been. And if it wasn't her, then I was okay with spending the rest of my life alone, being a workaholic.

She had begun working at a small publishing company in San Diego, and she was staying in an apartment about ten minutes from work. I was finishing out med school and had started to look into residencies near where Belly was working, because as much as I loved getting to see her more often than before, I hated that we were so far apart.

Belly didn't actually want to work in publishing, though. Her real dream was owning a successful Etsy shop where she sold her own creations. I thought it was a great idea; not only had she always been super creative and kind of a visionary (Exhibit A: Jere's obsession with her specialty slurpee), but it was what she seemed really passionate about. She had graduated college with a degree in marketing in hopes of launching her own business right after she graduated, but Lauren, ever the reasonable one, advised her to build up some savings first so that she had a safety net to fall back on if things didn't exactly work out.

Anyways, Belly was in San Diego and I was in Stanford, so it was roughly a 9-hour drive back and forth. And it killed me, because that meant we only got to see each other during breaks and occasionally the long weekends. We would FaceTime every night and tell each other about our day and just goof off, but it wasn't the same as feeling her against me in person.

So near her birthday weekend, on which she had taken two days off at my insistence, we planned to meet up at the beach house and spend a full day and one night together, and then drive to Lauren's so Belly could visit her mom. I told Belly to be at the beach house by 1 pm, and that that was when I would be arriving there, too, but I was lying. I had started the drive hours before she did so I got there about three hours earlier, and I started to prep. I put lilies in a vase, since they were her favorite flower, and I opened the windows since she loved the summer breeze making the curtains flow. I lit these little tea candles and placed them all around the house, and hung up these little string lights around the kitchen. Lastly, I wiped my sweaty-ass hands on my shorts, checked my hair, and made sure that the little ring box was stowed safely in my pocket.

When she finally got to the house, the first thing I heard was the sound of her car's engine turning off as she pulled into the driveway. She got out and looked around in confusion, registering that I was already inside and was clearly the one responsible for the tea candles lining the entrance.

When she walked in, I looked up from the book I was pretending to read and smiled. She dropped her bag on the kitchen counter and ran over to the couch, snuggling in next to me. I tossed the book aside (I cannot for the life of me remember what the title was), and wrapped my arms around her, pushing my mouth against hers the second she was close enough. She sighed those beautiful sighs that she does when we have moments like this after a long period of time, and my heart felt like it was going to explode.

She pulled away first, asking, "When did you get here?'

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to mask the feelings of nervousness and giddiness that were probably written all over my face. "Not long before you did," I replied nonchalantly. "Probably a half hour earlier, so I decided to clean up a bit."

She looks around with a wondrous smile and sees my 'cleaning' before turning back and winding her arms around my neck. "Conrad Fisher, you cannot lie to me. How long have you actually been hard at work making this place look like my Pinterest dream?" She quirked an eyebrow as she waited for a response, but her amused smile didn't move.

I leaned forward and blew a raspberry into her neck, one of the surefire spots where she's always been ticklish. She squealed and fell back onto the couch, laughing while trying to fight off my intruding hands. A few minutes of play-fighting later, with both of us breathless from laughing, she nuzzled my nose with hers and said, "Distraction method was both a fail and a success."

I rolled my eyes and replied, "Okay, fine. Three hours, okay? I got here at 11." I turned my head ever-so-slightly to see that the afternoon sun was out; it would be perfect timing if we went out now and I performed...the deed.

I pulled her up to stand with me and said, "Okay, I answered your question. But now I have a bajillion questions for you, so how does a walk down the beach before lunch sound?"

She tapped her chin as if contemplating the offer, and then, with a childish gleam in her eye, quickly said, "Race you there," before sprinting out the front door, sans footwear.

We had been walking for about five minutes, our fingers intertwined as Belly swung them between us, admiring the peacefulness of having the beach basically to ourselves. She turned to me, noticing how quiet I was, and asked, "Conrad, what's the matter?"

I put on a somewhat-convincing smile, shaking my head. "Nothing. You're just beautiful."

To this, she rolled her eyes and buried her face behind her hands. Now or never, Con. Let's do this. Clearing my throat, I stopped our stroll and turned her so that she was facing towards me. Looking straight at her, I said in a shaky voice, "Belly. I've loved you for as long as I can remember–even when I didn't show it, even when I was being an asshole, I've always loved you." Belly's eyes started to get wider and even tear up a little, so I saw that as a green light and kept going. "You're the only girl for me. If it's not you, it's not anyone. My mom knew that from the very beginning, and I'm so, so grateful to both you and her that you both waited so long for it to finally hit me. And now that it has, I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you. So," I paused, taking a deep breath, "will you marry me, Isabel Conklin?"