Quinn
My boots crunch against the soft blanket of snow covering the ground as I walk across the Harvard campus. I just finished an exam and am confident I have aced it. I've come a long way since what Cash and I call "the incident." My head's healed, my strength is back, and Cash has been my rock through everything.
After Daniela's arrest, I decided not to press charges. Instead, I asked that she be professionally treated for her grief and any other mental health issues she may have developed. She was sent back by U.S. immigration to Thompson, Newfoundland, where she spent a few months in the mental health ward and continues to attend therapy. Once she was released, Anna and Jake, Cash's long-time friends, took her in. Cash still tries to keep in contact with Daniela, calling her every few weeks to ensure she is doing well. Recently, she told Cash she had started teaching dance classes again. I was happy to hear things were looking up for her. I do wish the best for Daniela.
I wrap my scarf around my neck and flip up the hood on my jacket to try and keep warm. It's cold even for December in Boston. I make it onto the T and grab a seat near the door. I can't wait to get home.
Cash is on the road with the Boston Hackers. He's killing it in the pros. I haven't seen him in a few weeks. We FaceTime every night, and I watch his games on TV, but it's not the same as having him here with me. We've texted a few times today, just brief exchanges of "how ya doing" and "I miss you" and not much else. He's oddly elusive but probably tired from all the travelling. I'm dying to see him. Hold him. Kiss him. Make love to him. I'm picking him up at the airport in a few hours.
It's pretty dark when I step out of the subway station. We live in the Jamaican Plan neighbourhood, where the housing stock combines grand, old Victorians, triple-deckers and single-family homes. The sprawling green space characterizes the historic area, and the Jamaica Pond is a focal point for locals. It is perfect for jogging and, of course, dog walking Bexley.
I pass the usual coffee shops, restaurants and stores, enjoying every moment of this beautiful city we've made our home. As I walk up the steps to our townhouse, I anticipate the warm taste of Cash's skin on my tongue. His hands weaving into my hair as I work his boxers down his hips. I even fantasize about the desperate relief I will see in his eyes when I pick him up at the airport—because he missed me. I'll probably melt instantly from his touch.
Counting the minutes until I see him, I push open the front door into a dark, empty foyer. I flick the light switch in the dark foyer, but nothing happens. That's weird. The lightbulb must be burnt out. I place my school bag on the floor, slide off my jacket, and kick off my snow-dusted boots.
"Bexley?" I call out, padding forward in my bare feet
Strange. Usually, she's jumping up on me as soon as I walk through the door.
A soft glow crawls across the floorboards as I round the corner. I freeze in my tracks when I step into the living room. Candles consume the entire living space. Like they would on an episode of The Bachelor, they cover the coffee table, fireplace mantel, floor, end tables, and bookcases. EVERYWHERE. I look down when I feel my toes brush against velvety rose petals sprinkled all over the floor. I'm in awe. I take a cautious step forward and see a brown box tied with pink ribbon on the table. On the top of the box, I spot words in black marker in Cash's familiar messy handwriting: OPEN ME.
What the heck is going on?
I pick up the package with trembling fingers, pulling it onto the couch. I tear through the brown paper wrapping and pink ribbon to reveal an old shoebox with a note on top.
Mittens, in you, I found a love I never believed could be real, or I'd be so lucky to have. I can't remember how I ever lived without you.
My heart races as my mind tries to figure out if this means what I think it does. Inside the shoebox is a single pink-frosted cupcake and another note.
I wooed you once. And I plan on wooing you the rest of our lives if you'll have me.
I glance toward the corner of our kitchen, where I see dozens more cupcakes on the countertop. They're shaped into a giant pink heart. I reached for my cell to call Cash, but then the doorbell rang, and I rushed to answer the door.
"Nadia?" I cock my head and eye the box she's holding in her arms.
"Don't ask questions. Just accept the box." She holds the package out.
I grab it as confusion skates through my head. "Seriously, what's going on?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." Nadia gives me a big smile. "Now close the door in my face and open that box."
"Okay..." I answer slowly before leaving her outside and returning to my seat on the couch. I tear through the same brown paper wrapping to reveal another box with a note.
You are my best friend, my lucky charm, and my very own personal cheerleader. I can't believe how lucky I am to share my life with you every day.
I open the lid to reveal seven individually framed photos. The first two are the Men's Health magazine photos of us. The third is the beautiful family photo from the Sports Times magazine interview with Lyndsey and Louis. He knows how much I love this photo. He chose some of my favourites of us together: the day we got the keys to our home, fishing in Newfoundland, and sitting on the beach in Santa Anna. I pull out the last frame, only to have the photo take my breath away. It's a photo of Cash leaning over the penalty box glass at the Bexley Bruisers game and me staring up at him wearing a pair of white wool mittens—the first time we met. It's an aerial shot, clearly taken by a fan or the media. But how the hell did he manage to get this?
I hear the sound of the doorbell ringing again and jump from the sofa. I find Nadia still standing outside with another package in tow. "Nadia, seriously. What's going on?"
"I told you. I'm not at liberty to say." She shoves the small box at me, and this time she steps inside.
I sink on the bench in the entryway, peeling the wrapping back.
Your passion and drive are my everyday inspiration. You taught me to believe in myself like I believe in you.
Inside is a key with a note attached to it.
You are so incredibly talented. Enjoy this room to grow and build your business—third door on the left.
I bolt up the stairs, put the key into the lock, and push open the third bedroom door we've been using as a makeshift storage room. When I step inside, my heart catches in my throat. Tears spill from my eyes. He's transformed the room into a jewelry studio. How the hell did he do this without me knowing? There is a work table, unlimited storage, an idea board, and room for all my tools and equipment.
A quick knock on the bedroom door, and I don't even attempt to wipe my eyes before I turn around.
"Me again," Nadia says with a smile.
"Nadia, what the hell is going on?" I nervously laugh with the tears still rolling.
"Close your eyes," she demands.
I laugh out loud. "And why should I trust you?"
"Because I'm your friend." She grins. "Now close them."
I roll my eyes before I squeeze them shut. Nadia held my hand and guided me out of the room, down the hall, and into another room.
"Don't open your eyes yet," she warns.
"Okay."
I can hear her unlatch the balcony doors. Without opening my eyes, I know I am standing in our bedroom.
"One last thing," Nadia says. "Open your eyes and take these." She's holding a pair of white wool mittens.
I laugh. "Now, why would I need these?" I slide them into my back pocket, skeptical.
She nudges me toward the balcony doors. "Out you go."
When she slips away, closing the bedroom door behind her, I walk toward the balcony overlooking our backyard. My mouth opens as I eye the ground below.
WILL YOU MARRY ME? is written in the snow. The letters are so giant you could see them from space.
I spin around, tears falling from my eyes.
Cash is bent on one knee, holding out a tiny black box with a gorgeous vintage glistening ring inside it. "I feel like everything in my life has led me to you. My choices, my heartbreaks, my regrets. Everything. You loved me when I couldn't even love myself. You make me a better man, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." The sound of his voice melts through my every pore. "You are my everything, Quinn. Will you—"
"Yes!"
"Manners, Mittens," he says, his trademark dimples flashing, "Yes, what?"
"Yes! Please! I will so marry you!" I'm shaking, trembling as I take the last few steps to him over the span of what feels like a million rapid-fire heartbeats.
He slips the gorgeous three-carat diamond ring onto my finger.
"Quinn..." He looks up at me as I step so close I can see the pulse in his throat. "I love you so much." He stands and reaches forward, gripping my waist. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."
"I love you too." I lick my lips and then bite the lower one. "I can't wait either."
He kisses my forehead and reaches into my back pocket, pulling out the mittens Nadia gave me. He slides them on my hands, covering my sparkly new diamond ring.
The room falls quiet, and with a little smile, his lips pull into a kissable curve. And just like when we met at the arena, he's successfully taken my breath away.
"I love all the candles. The notes. The cupcakes. The photos. The jewelry studio. The proposal." I gush, looking up at him. "How did you manage to do all this without me knowing?"
He holds me at arm's length to look down at my face. "During exams, you're the most focused person I know. You're oblivious to everything except studying. It was easy."
Laughing, I agree with a nod. "You know me too well."
"I should hope so. I'm your fiancé and soon to be your husband."
"I like the sound of that...my husband." I kiss him, a glancing touch across his lips. I mean it to be small, but his mouth opens, and the sound that escapes is a moan.
It's the sexiest sound I've ever heard him make because it's so raw. In an instant, his tongue is sliding over my lips, my teeth, my tongue, and his hungry growly noises are filling my head. He slides his hands down my body and presses his palm to the front of my jeans. Under his touch, I melt, needing him so much it feels like a match has been lit beneath my skin.
He's staring right at my face, straight into my eyes. Our faces are close enough to share a breath, back and forth. He lifts his chin slightly, and he's kissing me, and it's so intense somehow, but I can't look away. I've never felt this for as long as we've been together, like a burst of insatiable love and this overwhelming moment of clarity and peace that he is my forever. This feeling is so much more significant than ever before.
"You're my forever," I tell him.
He smiles. "And you're mine."
Our crazy love hits me in a burst: I'm engaged to Cash.
We are two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other. We chose each other. And we will always choose each other over and over again. Without pauses. Without a doubt. In a heartbeat.
"I've got one more surprise." He brings my hands together and kisses the top of my mittens.
Laughing, I go up on my tippy toes and kiss his throat. He smells like shampoo; the spicy smell I can't forget in a million years is cinnamon and honey. He takes a step back and lifts his shirt, revealing his abdomen and ribcage, with the words AMOUR PARFAIT and two dates below inked into his skin. I groan at the sight of his bare skin, golden and smooth.
He runs his palms from my hips to my breasts and back again, pulling me forward into him. "The first date is the day we met. The second one is when I asked you to be my wife today." He points to a spot below the second tattoo. "And this is where I'll add our wedding date."
"I love it," I say into the warm skin of his chest. I run my fingers along the words AMOUR PARFAIT and look at him. "What does that mean?" I ask.
He smirks, showcasing his lickable dimples. "'Perfect love.' Because you make my life perfect."