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

chapter 7

BELLY

Conrad is fast asleep next to me, and I'm tapping my thumb lightly on the steering wheel to the beat of the new Harry Styles song playing softly in the background. We've driven about half the journey to our resort, but I don't mind the long drive. Everything about Hawaii in the summer, from the light breeze playing in the wind to beautiful scenery all around me, makes life feel so much more beautiful in the moment.

Well, I mean. So does the man currently fast asleep next to me. But that's a whole other story.

All of a sudden, in his sleep, Conrad smiles and murmurs, "Marry...me."

I look over and smile. Just like how other people talk in their sleep because they're dreaming, Conrad talks in his sleep because he's reliving a certain cherished memory. I remember the first time I discovered that he did this: he had been murmuring, "Not this tux, Mom...no, she doesn't like roses..." before nodding off again. It had been about two in the morning and I was half-asleep, so I didn't think too much of it and went back to sleep. However, when I asked him about it in the morning, he looked down, his cheeks tinted red, and admitted, "I don't really dream normal dreams. My brain kind of replays certain memories that have stuck through the years." He looked really embarrassed about it, but I thought that was so neat. I put my hand on his cheek and said, "Hey. Why are you embarrassed? I think that's so cool."

He rolled his eyes and said with a playful smile, "Belly, you think anything out of the ordinary is cool."

I gave him a little grin and dramatically flipped my hair over my shoulder. "I have acquired taste." When he laughed, I said, "Last night, you were saying something about a tux and a girl who doesn't like roses." I paused to gauge his reaction, and his cheeks turned slightly more pink. Not sensing any hostility, I continued. "Who were you talking about?"

Conrad is a little hard to decipher when it comes to Susannah. Sometimes he's more than okay with talking about her, reminiscing about the fond memories associated with her and Cousins, but sometimes he gets a little closed-off. I always let it go, because she was so special to him.

Surprisingly enough, he grins. "That was probably about when I asked my mom about what I should wear to your prom." Seeing my grin, he continues, "I texted her to ask if you had a favorite flower that I should bring for your corsage. She wasn't telling me, because she knew I would be an ass to you if I actually went, so she eventually just suggested I get you roses instead. But I knew you didn't like roses because they were so generic."

It's moments like this when he makes me feel so good inside. Like all of those years, when I thought I was the only one who spent all year thinking of him, he was thinking about me, too. He took the time to take note of these little things, and that always makes me feel like the luckiest girl alive.

As I continue the drive, my mind drifts back to the day that Conrad is probably dreaming about: the day he proposed to me.

He had decorated the beach house in the most beautiful way, with glowing string lights lining the kitchen and tea candles lining the driveway and stairs. Susannah would've been proud.

When he suggested we go for a walk around the beach before lunch, I wasn't even a little bit suspicious. When he's at Cousins, he likes to spend as much time as possible on the beach, whether that be surfing, eating lunch out back, or, as he suggested that day, taking long walks down the shore.

So we were just walking down the beach, as we had done so many times before, me swinging our hands between us, but this time, he looked like he was working hard to contain this nervous energy within himself. He's always had kind of a bad habit of keeping his bad feelings tucked inside of him instead of letting me help him get over them, so I was a little scared, if I was being honest. I didn't want him to go back down the same road that he had wandered down the summer I turned 16.

I tentatively asked him what was wrong, and he smiled a small, unconvincing smile and shook his head, claiming it was nothing. So I let it go, and we walked for a bit more before he abruptly stopped and turned towards me, taking a deep breath. And, I swear, my heart almost stopped. For some weird, inverted reason, I thought he was about to break up with me. Which, in hindsight, didn't make much sense, considering how he had decorated the whole house before I got there. But we won't delve into my fight-or-flight responses.

Anyways, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, so full of love and raw emotion, and asked me, "Will you marry me, Isabel Conklin," my heart just about burst.

It took me a few seconds to process what he had just asked me. I blinked and said, "What?"
A real, Conrad-esque smile crept across his face at my reaction. "I said," he repeated as he slowly got down on one knee, pulling out a small, blue Tiffany's box from his khaki pocket, "Will you do me the great honor of marrying me, Isabel Conklin?"

My hands involuntarily shot up to cover my gaping mouth, while also trying to wipe away the tears streaming from my eyes and the gasps falling from my mouth, all without me registering what the absolute hell was going on. Conrad Fisher, the one boy I spent basically my entire life loving and yearning for, was asking me to marry him.

I reached down and cupped his face with my hands before leaning down to kiss him. I pressed my lips against his with the hope that I could convey how much love and feeling I held for him at the moment, how much more I loved him for making this special moment so impossibly perfect for me. When we parted, I said tearfully, "Yes, I'll marry you, Con." I paused to (unsuccessfully) wipe the tears from my cheeks before continuing, "After all, I go where you go."

The way his eyes just melted when I said that is a look that I will never, not even when I'm old and gray and have to take dementia medication (is that a thing?), forget. He laughed and slipped the ring out of the box, sliding it onto my left ring finger with shaking hands. The fact that he remembered that I hated wearing jewelry on my right hand because, being right-handed, that was the hand I used to do practically everything, made me cry a little more. Not helping.

When the ring was on my finger, he stood up and tucked the box back into his pocket, pulling me in and pressing his lips against mine again. This kiss was deep and passionate: he tangled his fingers in my hair and pressed his other hand into my back, taking everything that I had to give. It was the kind of kiss that made me melt into his hands, and in the moment, I would have done absolutely anything he said. Just to make him kiss me again like he was doing now.

Pulling away, he whispered breathlessly, "You have just made me the happiest man in the world."

When I responded saying, "And the same goes for you, Mr. Fisher," he grinned like a little boy and scooped me up into his arms and marched us right back down to the beach house, all while ignoring my surprised shrieks and screams.

After all this time, Susannah's words still managed to come true like magic: "When you least expect it to, everything works out perfectly."