“Fine. I didn’t think it would work.”
“So, then what happened? How did we overcome it?”
“Um, I got offered a role on a network show. The pilot did well, except one of the girls they’d originally cast annoyed test viewers. Now, they want me. They know it will be a hit. It means I’ll be living in LA, where they’re filming.” She pauses. “Honestly, Carter, I don’t know if I should take it or not. It would mean not modeling as much. Not traveling as much.”
“It depends on what you want out of your life,” I say simply even though the thought of us being in the same city together tugs at my heart and I want her to do that more than anything—for both of us.
She closes her eyes. When she opens them, they are filled with tears. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Carter. The story is that when I came back to LA—”
“How long have you been here?” I ask, wondering why she never reached out.
“Uh, it’s been about two months,” she says quietly, one tear falling from the corner of her eye.
“And you didn’t tell me?” I reply, feeling like I just got a blow to the gut.
She drops the piece of hair, and I focus on it as it slowly untwists, unraveling, like my life did that night.
“I … just … well, you told me I wasn’t the girl for you.”
I try not to show the hurt in my eyes, but I’m sure it’s there.
“So, then,” she finally says, “over the last two months, we rekindled things and had a whirlwind romance, and you asked me to marry you last weekend.”
“And how did I do it?”
“I’m not sure,” she says.
“You mean to tell me that you’ve never pictured yourself getting engaged or what it might be like?”
“If I’m being honest, yes, I have.” She hesitates, brushing her hair back off her face. “Realistically, I didn’t think for a second it was going to happen, but I will admit that I did imagine what it would be like if you proposed at my party. The clock striking midnight. Confetti raining down on us. You on one knee. A kiss that symbolized more than a year of being together.”
I swallow hard, my insides churning, my heart racing. She actually imagined me proposing? And more importantly, she would have said yes.
She waves her hand through the air in front of her, quickly dismissing the thought. “Crazy, right? Anyway, last weekend, I was at a charity golf event and wine auction in Half Moon Bay. The hotel I stayed at sits up on a cliff overlooking the ocean.”
“I’m familiar with that hotel,” I tell her, but she barely pauses, like she’s lost in the memory.
“There is a walking path around the golf course and the grounds. I went for a jog, and it was almost sunset by the time I was getting back. There’s this wooden bridge. When you walk down it, it’s like you’re away from the world in some enchanted forest. There’s water running underneath it and a small waterfall. The sunset was turning the trees a golden color. The moment felt almost magical.” She closes her eyes and lets out a sad sigh. “I stopped and took a picture of it. When I saw how beautiful the photo turned out, the thought crossed my mind that it would be the perfect place for someone to propose.” She grabs her phone and shows me the photo she took. The dreamy look quickly leaves her face.
“Gorgeous,” I say more to her than the picture. Because she is more beautiful than I even remember.
“So, let’s go with that. You took me up there for the weekend and proposed at sunset. We can even show them this photo.”
“Wouldn’t we have taken a selfie after we got engaged?”
“Uh, we did, but then your phone died. You hadn’t backed it up in a few days, and we lost the photos.”
“I would never do that. My phone is never allowed to get below fifty percent.”
“Fine. I lost our engagement photos because I’m an idiot.”
“Sounds fair,” I say, raising my eyebrows and giving her a smirk. “And why didn’t we tell them?”
“Because we wanted to do it in person, I would assume.”
“Were you surprised?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were you surprised I’d asked you? Had you expected it? Had you picked out the ring? Had we picked it out together? Had I chosen it myself?” I ask.
“I don’t know, okay?” she says, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Fuck, Carter, you’re stressing me the fuck out, and I’m already stressed enough about this whole thing! You think it was easy for me to show up at your door after what you said to me?”
I don’t answer her. I get up and walk away—just toward the galley, but still. I know I’m being a bit of a dick. I also know that I deserve to be, but at the same time, I don’t like seeing her upset.
I know. I know. I should be mad at her. She should be mad at me.
This situation is ridiculous.
Preposterous.
Crazy.
But I’ve done crazy things in the name of love before.
In the fifth grade, I punched Jimmy Tipton in the mouth because he’d tried to hold my girlfriend’s hand. Instead of going to get ice cream with me, she comforted the boy who was lying on the ground, bleeding.
In high school, I almost missed the state playoffs because my girlfriend was having a meltdown over her newly dyed hair.
In college, I once stood outside a girl’s dorm, playing music to get her back.
I’ve always been passionate—about both girls and football. Since I got hurt, I turned that passion into getting the best deals for the athletes who allow me to be their agent.
Women were just a fun distraction.
Until I met Vale.
And did something crazy again.
Chloe had been right. It was a disaster.
And now, in retrospect, it upsets me to think that in my attempt to surprise her, I made her think I didn’t care.
I also shouldn’t have walked away.
Which is why I’m about to do something crazy again.
I pour us each a tequila on the rocks. The good stuff. Top-shelf añejo served with an orange slice, sprinkled with cinnamon.
As I do, I remember another moment in our relationship. Well, non-moment. I invited her on my family’s yearly trip to Palmilla, but she said she didn’t want to intrude on family time. When I pressed her on it, she told me she would come after her Costa Rica shoot but ended up bailing. Something about a last minute photo shoot.
I hadn’t been seeing anyone else, but I didn’t know if she was, even though we talked every day.
For someone who prides himself on being upfront with his clients, I realize that I was playing it way too cool with this girl.
I set a tequila down in front of her. “You look like you could use this.”
“Is this the stuff you like? The stuff you always drink with your family in Palmilla?”
“You remember that?”
She nods slowly. “I remember the disappointment in your voice when I told you I wasn’t coming.”
“Was there really a last-minute shoot?”
She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling and holds up her hands in supposed defeat. “Going on your family trip felt like a big commitment.”
“And now, here I am, engaged to you and off to meet yours,” I quip.