“You don’t believe me?”
I shake my head. I guess I do believe him, though, since I’ve thought about it every day as well.
"I have proof," he says, pushing up from the couch and getting to his feet. He quickly jogs over to his computer bag, which is sitting by the front door.
Butterflies dance around in my stomach as I sit up, running my fingers through my tousled hair, anticipating what his proof might be. They multiply when he walks back toward me with a nervous smile.
“Let’s see this proof,” I say, standing up from the couch as he approaches.
He swallows. “I’ve had this for three months,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black, velvet box.
“Oh,” I say breathily, reaching a finger out and touching the soft material of the case. It’s real proof. I thought he was going to show me a text he sent to his mom or something. But this is the real thing.
He snatches it back like I was about to grab it, and we both laugh.
“You’ve had it for three months?”
“Yes, but I’ve been looking for nearly a year.”
“You have?”
He nods. “I had different plans for this,” he admits, looking down at the box in his hand before he bends down on one knee in front of me.
I start to tear up. I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t even mean to say that I was thinking about marrying Briggs; it just came out, and now here he is in front of me, about to propose.
“Wait, what were the plans?” I ask, wanting to know what he had in mind for this moment.
“I was thinking of doing it on the beach under the stars,” he says, looking up at me.
“On a sleeping bag with Keith’s binoculars?” I ask, remembering that night almost a year and a half ago.
“Yes,” he says.
“Well, what if I want that? The whole stars-and-beach thing?” I ask him.
“You want to wait?” he asks, standing back up.
I nibble on my bottom lip. I so badly want to see what’s in that box. I mean, I know what it is, but I want to see what he picked out. I want to see it and then I want to say yes and put it on my left hand and never take it off. But I also want what Briggs has envisioned.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I want what you were planning.”
“Okay,” he says, putting the velvet box back into his pocket.
“Don’t make me wait too long,” I say.
“I’ll do my best,” he promises, before pulling me in for a kiss.
Briggs
I do have to make Presley wait longer than I’d intended, but by the time she’s finished filming and is settled in her house on the island, we have a week of on-and-off rain. This isn’t uncommon for December, but it’s not conducive to a night on the beach under the stars.
When things finally align—the weather is good, and we’re both available—I enlist Scout to help me bring Presley to the beach, which she is more than happy to do.
“I’ve always wanted a sister. And especially one who can introduce me to Timothée Chalamet,” she says before I shoo her off to go get Presley.
It takes Scout a bit longer than I was anticipating, which gives me enough time to work up a bunch of nervous energy. But when I see Presley walking toward me, a smile on her face, all my anxiety falls away.
“Hello there,” she says as she walks up to me. I’m standing at the edge of the setup I’ve put together—the beach blanket with the sleeping bags on top. I’ve placed lanterns around to give us some light and I’ve also thrown some rose petals on top of the bedding, as well as some on the sand around us. My mom sent me with a basket of goodies, some snacks, and some champagne and glasses to celebrate.
That is, if Presley says yes. Which I’m pretty sure she will. But who knows, maybe she’s changed her mind in the last six weeks.
“Hi,” I say, now feeling slightly nervous that we might not be on the same wavelength. I grab her by the hand, giving it a little squeeze.
“So,” she says, looking around at my setup. “What’s all this for?” She gives me a broad smile.
“Well, I thought we could sleep under the stars again,” I say. “With no paparazzi this time.”
“Are you sure?”
I shrug. “I’m never sure about that.”
“It comes with the job,” she says.
We haven’t seen much of the paps around here, not for a while. But you never know.
“So, you have me here, on the beach,” she says, the smile on her face morphing into something more coy. “What do you plan to do next?”
I grin, any nervous feelings I had dissipating.
