Chapter Twenty-Four
Dean
Six Months Later
I paced in Emilia’s flower shop, wringing my hands within the other. My heart had been beating wildly for days, and it felt like I was about to be thrown into a heart attack. Hayden had tried his best to talk me through how something like this went and Tristan volunteered to come down and try to calm me down face-to-face.
“You’re going to be fine. You’ve got this,” he said.
“Two dozen blush roses for the nervous wreck!” Emilia exclaimed.
“Holy shit, they’re beautiful,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
“I told you she was the best,” Tristan said.
“You have to say that. You go home with me every night,” Emilia said.
“But it’s the truth,” he said. “You run the best florist shop in the entire city.”
“You really do,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”
“A full recount over a very nice bottle of wine once all of this goes down,” Emilia said.
“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of me paying you,” I said.
“It’s not every day my best friend gets engaged,” she said with a smile. “I even attached the ring to the bouquet. A good bottle of wine and the two of you coming over for dinner very soon is what I expect as payment.”
“Thank you so much,” I said as I took the roses from her. “I promise we’ll get something on the books soon.”
“We better! That’s a gorgeous ring you bought. I want to see how it looks on Ivy’s finger!” she exclaimed.
I waved to her and Tristan before I showed myself out of the florist shop.
I signaled a cab to take me to The High Line. I had plans to meet Ivy there in an hour. It only seemed fitting, since it was the place we first met. It was in full bloom this time of the year and had a beautiful view of the city from its rooftop. I rode in the back of the cab and rehearsed my speech in my head, hoping it would be enough to convince her to say ‘yes’.
To convince her that I loved her the way I said I did.
It had been six months since I’d brought her home from the hospital, and in that time a lot had changed. I got moved from the midnight E.R. shift to the morning E.R. shift, so I was no longer working weird hours. Which meant that whenever Ivy traveled for her work, our schedules synced up a little better for us to talk while she was abroad. But no matter where we were or what we were doing, Sunday evenings were always for us. Whether we sat on the couch and stared at a wall or whether we went out and had lavish dinners, we always made sure Sunday evenings were scheduled specifically to be together.
Even if we were called into work, we made it a point to keep in as much contact as we could throughout the course of that evening.
“Sir?”
The cab driver’s voice ripped me from my thoughts.
“Sorry. Must’ve zoned out.”
“I’m sure she’ll say ‘yes’,” he said with a smile.
“What?” I asked.
“The ring around the roses. I can see it.”
“You think she’ll like it?” I asked.
“My wife would.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Twelve years, and I wouldn’t trade any of it. It’s hard work. Constant work. But worth it.”
“Any advice for a man about to propose?”
The cab driver turned around to face me and locked his eyes with mine.
“Be honest,” he said. “That’s all you ever can do in any relationship. Be honest with her about where you stand and what you expect, so when she says ‘yes’ she knows exactly what she’s getting into.”
I paid the cab driver and tipped him well for his advice before I made my way inside.
I walked slowly through the narrow building, my mind conjuring the first time I’d ever seen her. She was standing off in a corner beside that staircase in a seductive pair of shorts and heels that flexed her legs perfectly. But even from the beginning, it was her hair that caught my eye. I was drawn to her the instant I’d seen her, and even now I was drawn to her ghost.
I found myself standing by the staircase, staring into a phantom memory of her.
I closed my eyes and shook away the memory. This encounter wasn’t about memories. It was about a future that had yet to be carved out. I drew in a deep breath and made my way up the steps, clutching the roses as tightly as I could. The ring bounced against my skin, taunting me in my venture as I made my way to the garden where her fashion show had taken place. I walked to the edge of the building and looked out over the city, taking in the view as I stood there.
I slid my free hand into my pocket as the wind brushed against my face.
Six months had changed a lot about our lives. Ivy was back to traveling and her memory had finally healed. No more forgetful moments other than what everyone else experiences on a regular basis. I rarely spent time at my apartment any longer. There were days where I’d get off shifts and go straight to her place. My toothbrush was there. Some of my scrubs were there. I even had a pair of shoes and a suit there, just in case.
Ivy constantly teased me on paying rent for a place I hardly stayed at, and that was the statement that got my mind turning.
The statement that had brought me to this very moment.
“Dean?”
I whipped around at the sound of her voice. Ivy looked spectacular. She was in a leopard-printed summer dress that whipped around her ankles and fell down the long lines of her body. Her blonde and green hair was pulled back into a low-lying bun and her lips were a crimson red I wanted her to mark my body in. Her eyes widened at the roses and I handed them to her, watching as she took in their scent.
“Oh, these could only have come from one person,” she said.
“Emilia does have the best roses in the city,” I said.
“Oh my gosh, they-- mmm-- they smell divine, Dean.”
I watched the ring dance along her skin, the wind whipping it around as she buried her face into the flowers. I stood there, waiting for her to notice it. Her eyes were closed and a massive smile peeled across her cheeks. My heart slammed so hard against my chest I thought my sternum was going to bust. And part of me wanted to undo the ring from the bow and hold it up to her.
But I wanted her to find it on her own.
I wanted her to carve out this moment for herself.
Her brow furrowed and I readied myself. I bent my knees as she turned the roses around and looked down at the stem. The beautiful ring came into view for her and her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped open and tears welled in her eyes, and I knew I had her.
I sank down to one knee and slipped my hands from my pockets as she gasped.
“Ivy?”
Her eyes panned over to mine as she pulled the ring from its little bow.
“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
“Living life with someone doesn’t mean buying a house. It doesn’t mean getting married, and it doesn’t even mean having children. It means being there with things get tough. Or being there when you don’t want to be. Even when we can’t stand each other and even when we can’t look at one another. I love you, Ivy. And loving you means reaching for you even when I don’t want to touch you. Telling you I love you even if I don’t like you. Supporting you, even when you don’t support me. Because my love for you isn’t contingent, Ivy. It isn’t concrete. What I feel for you is fluid, and I have no reason for it. It comes with absolutely no strings. No requirements from you. And I’ll never expect them.”
“Strings are for business anyway,” she said with a grin.
“And transactions,” I said. “And favors.”
She giggled as a tear fell down her cheek.
“Love is none of those things. It isn’t business and it isn’t work. It isn’t painful to love you. For me? It’s a state of mind. A state of being. An unselfish, unconditional resolve. Because love isn’t gracious, and it isn’t kind. But it is forgiving and very recognizable.”
“So long as you allow it to be,” Ivy said with a whisper.
I stood from my feet and took her hands within mine. The roses sat in the crook of her arm, and for a split second I imagined our child lying there. Nestled against her body and resting against her curves. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and saw the rest of my life in them. My future. A story that had yet to be written. I saw it being etched behind the fire of her stare, and I plucked the ring from between her fingers and held it just beyond her left hand.
“That’s what you’ll get if you marry me,” I said.
“Ask,” Ivy said. “Ask me, Dean.”
“Ivy Breckenridge. Will you marry me?”
She smiled broadly as she thrust her hand forward, slipping the ring effortlessly onto her finger.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
I threw my arms around her and picked her up. I spun her around as the breeze of the city wrapped us up in its grasp. She giggled into my neck and I flooded her skin with kisses. I held her as tightly as I could to my body before I set her back down onto her feet. I cupped her cheek and smoothed my thumb along her flushed skin. I caught another tear that fell from her eye and slipped down her face. My eyes danced between hers. I memorized everything about the moment. Because when our children asked how we met and my sons ask me how I proposed to their mother, I didn’t want to leave out one single detail from the story.
“I love you,” I said as I brought her lips to mine.
“I love you too,” she whispered against them.
And as the city faded into the background and her warmth swept over my body, the roses fell to the ground. Her arms snaked around my neck and my hands fell against her body, sweeping along the curves that would morph with her pregnancies. Change with every child. A body that would become a temple to the life we lived with one another. A body I would trace with my tongue every night so I could memorize the story written upon its pages.
Just like the story I’d read to her in the hospital.
Just like the story she heard from the depths of her darkness.