New York City is grueling any day of the week, but it’s totally brutal when you’re prepping to host Saturday Night Live. The minute I touch down at JFK airport, I’m getting e-mails and calls from the writers about sketches and jokes and whether or not I can sing or dance or tap dance. The host of SNL gets in deep with the writers and cast. I’ll be sitting in on pitch sessions and have to be available to test out ideas. I might even get to write a skit if I want. It’s exhausting.

It’s also one of the most fucking amazing things I’ve ever gotten to do. And I’ve gotten to do it twice now. I’m a lucky man.

It would be more amazing if Jenna could be here with me, but this life is a lot of watching each other do cool shit from afar.

By day two I have been hunkered down inside the offices at Thirty Rock for what feels like a month, but it’s just Wednesday, late afternoon. Things are going well so far. We’ve got a solid cold open down and enough sketches to take into the first pitch session to the executive producers tomorrow. That means I may actually get out of the building before ten tonight. Not that I know what I’ll do with myself once I’m free. Every hour I spend away from Jenna makes me realize how much I want to be with her every second of the day. I’m making a total fool of myself with these writers because all my suggestions for skits involve Janner, and I spend all my free time on my phone with her. I’m probably coming off like a real lovesick dickhead.

Well, that’s because I am a real lovesick dickhead.

We break for dinner way earlier than usual, which means six pm instead of eight-thirty. I head into the cafeteria to make a plate and see if anyone is talking about an evening plan. The writers will probably hang to work but there will be cast or crew members that will probably invite me out for a drink. I should go just so I don’t end up back at my hotel watching crap TV.

Still, I’m not really in the mood for going out. I miss my girlfriend, and that makes me shitty company. Besides, if I just head to my room, maybe we can Skype, or watch the same movie while we chat on the phone.

I run into Kevin, the line producer, en route to the sushi station. They don’t skimp at SNL, which is always nice. “Hey, man,” he says, “Any interest in a beer? Some of us are hitting the club.”

I consider it for a moment, wondering if I ought to just go and stop mooning around. “Nah, thanks, though. I’m going to get back to the hotel early tonight so I can make sure I talk to my girlfriend before I hit the sack.”

“Girlfriends,” Kevin says. “They’re good with those short leashes.”

I smile and shrug, but I’m not complaining about my leash.

Then he asks, “So you and Jenna Stahl are officially back together?”

He has to ask because I haven’t specified that fact. I now realize that I’ve talked about Janner, but I haven’t said anything about Jenna and I being a couple again. And I really shouldn’t, not without talking to her, seeing as I was the one who said we should take it slowly as far as the public goes.

I’m so caught off guard that I respond by bumbling, “Well, I don’t…we just…ten years ago we were…you know…everyone knows, but now. I don’t know. We’re figuring it out.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Kevin replies with a very confused look on his face. And then he slips away.

I don’t blame the guy.

I instantly realize how dumb I look and sound, and more importantly feel. Why the fuck have I been keeping things so wait and see with Jenna when I know how I feel? We’ve said we loved each other. I’ve loved her years before we arrived on that film set together. And now I’m going to play games? This is exactly the kind of bullshit that ruined my relationship with Jenna the first time around, and I don’t want to do that shit anymore. I don’t want to wait and see.

I want to put a ring on it.

Holy shit. I want to marry Jenna!

The minute I allow myself to think that massive thought, another idea pops into my head. I look down at my watch. It’s just after seven. I do a quick Google search to find out if I can make it where I now know I need to go ASAP.

Yep. Still open.

And then I walk right up to the director and say, “I need to run an errand. I’ll be back.” I don’t wait for a reply. I’m playing that diva actor card I hate, but it’s totally worth it.

Fifteen minutes later I’m standing in front of the diamond engagement rings display at Tiffany & Co. on Fifth Avenue. It’s the flagship store, the one from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of Jenna’s favorite movies of all time. For our first Halloween together she went as Holly Golightly in her sexy white button down shirt and eye mask get-up, and I was Paul Varjak in a vintage suit Jenna snagged for me at a costume shop. That night Jenna had said, with a wink, “If I ever get engaged I want it to be with a diamond from Tiffany’s. The real one.”

She probably never thought it would take ten years, but better late than never. Especially if you have the chance to get it just right.

“Tell me what you’re looking for, sir,” the shop girl says to me. She’s young, maybe twenty-five, and has the kind of trendy style that makes me think she’s up on her magazine reading. And that makes me think she knows Jenna Stahl.

And probably me.

“Hi,” I say, deciding to just lay it all out there. “I’m Tanner James.”

“I know,” she says with a smile. “It’s an honor to have you in, Mr. James.”

I’m relieved that she’s a professional and not fangirling the way some people do when they meet me.  “Tanner, please.”

“What are you shopping for today?”

“An engagement ring,” I say, and her face lights up.

“For Jenna?” she whispers.

Damn. I’m suddenly worried about the paparazzi. About this salesgirl letting word slip about what I’m doing. Just my luck, TMI would blow my proposal before I got a chance to pop the question.

The girl in front of me seems to sense my concern. “Don’t worry, Mr. James. Uh, Tanner. I would never tell anyone about anything you purchase or who it’s for. Not only would I lose my job, but I also wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Thank you.” I have a feeling she’s telling the truth, but I’m not going to throw all my faith in the stranger—I’ve been burned before. I realize it doesn’t matter, though. Jenna knows not to believe anything TMI says anymore. It will still be a surprise.

So though I don’t say Jenna’s name, I don’t correct the salesgirl. “Do you think you could help me find something just right for her?” I ask.

“Oh, I know I can.” Immediately, she starts opening cases and pulling out rings.

It only takes us twenty minutes to find the perfect option. The third ring Jessica, the shop girl, tries on is a vintage-inspired stunner called The Audrey.

“Boom,” I say. “That’s the one.” The perfect ring for my perfect girl.

“Yep,” she replies. “That’s the one. I just showed it to you third and not first because people are weird about buying the first thing they see. I guess it just takes some people a little longer to decide on things.”

“Story of my life,” I say.

The look on her face tells me she knows exactly what I mean.

I start to walk back to Thirty Rock with a little Tiffany blue bag in my hands and what I’m sure is a dumb-in-love look on my face. Two blocks in I realize I should probably hide the bag, as well as my smile, in case any paparazzi are lingering on Fifth Avenue. I definitely want to surprise Jenna, and the longer I take to propose, the harder it will be to keep it secret. Besides, I don’t think I can sit on this for very long. I want to do it soon after I’m back in LA. And I want to get back to LA as fast as humanly possible.

The next morning, I call my agent’s office and have them change my flight from Monday to first thing Sunday morning. There’s a six am flight out of JFK that will get me into LAX at nine AM. Jenna lives fifteen minutes from the airport, which means I can get to her before she’s even out of her pajamas.

If I’m lucky and she’s having a lazy morning, I can just slip right into bed next to her for some wake-up sex. I’m dying for it after a week away from her, and I know she’s got to be too.

With a ring purchased and a decision made about our future, I’m more anxious to get done with this trip than ever. The next few days seem to move like molasses, but finally, it’s Saturday night. I text Jenna before we go live, and she shoots back a sweet good luck message along with some dirty talk that boosts my ego and helps me feel confident when the cameras start to roll. I’m sure it’s partly because of her that the show goes off without a hitch.

After we wrap, Jenna texts me another message telling me how good the show was. I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to let on that I’m coming home early. Plus there’s the after party to go to. I send her a quick text back, telling her I love her, then I head over to the club.

The cast stays out until three in the morning, and I grab my luggage from the hotel and go straight to the airport after that. I’m going to be tired when I get home, but I’m going to be with Jenna, and if I have to spend all day in bed, well, so be it. Though, with her in bed with me, I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll be catching up on.

She’s all I think about as I sit on the five and a half hour flight back home. About touching her, being inside her. And then about more serious things, like our future together and about popping the question. The diamond in my pocket feels bulky and I can’t stop patting my hand over my jacket to make sure it’s still there—no way was I leaving it in my luggage, out of my sight. The longer I wear it, though, the more I long to see her wearing it.

I should just do it now. Why would I wait, anyway? To make it more special? What’s more special than a total surprise?

By the time I land, I’ve made up my mind. It’s happening today, the minute I walk in the door.

I work on my proposal speech in the cab over to her house. I change it a million times because there are so many things I want to say to her. Too many things. I decide I’ll tell her that this is coming ten years too late, but that I’m glad we’ve had all the time to become better people for each other, me especially. I consider stopping to get some flowers, but I’m dying to get there before Jenna even steps foot out of bed so I abandon that and tell the cab to drive like hell. I’m holding the ring box in my hand for the whole car ride.

I’m ready.

I step out of the cab and take a deep breath. It’s nine-thirty am. This is it. I’ve never felt so sure of anything.

Jenna gave me a key when we got back to LA from Vancouver, so I let myself in as quietly as possible. She’ll hear me if she’s already up, so my plan is to just pivot to a proposal out on the patio. But I don’t hear a sound as I enter; she’s still asleep.

Perfect.

I carefully put my bags down in the foyer and take another deep breath. For a second I wonder if this is the right decision. Not because I don’t want to propose, but because I want it to be the right proposal. Will Jenna be mad that I’m doing it without talking about it first? I said we were taking it a day at a time. Should I warn her first? Hint around? Should it be more special?

Maybe I should call her and tell her I’m coming in early, then meet her for dinner at Joe’s in Venice tonight. That might be a more romantic location. Is this the way our engagement story should go?

My gut says yes.

All the best parts of our relationship have been driven by instinct. The moment we first met, the night we first slept together, and the entire way we got back together this time. Our story is driven by impulse, which makes this proposal the perfect way to cap it off.  

That means it’s show time.

I tiptoe through the living room and into the hallway. Still no sound. I slip the ring box into my pocket and head into the bedroom. She must be sleeping. I decide I’ll crawl into bed beside her and slip the ring on her finger while she’s still out. Jenna sleeps like the dead, so I’m sure I can do it without her waking up. Then I’ll see how long it takes for her to notice the diamond on her hand.

God, I’m so excited, it’s going to be hard not to wake her up myself.

Mostly, I just can’t wait to see my sweet girl’s sleeping face when I push the door open.

But that’s not what greets me on the other side.

The first thing I see is a man’s face. A total stranger. He’s sound asleep on my side of the bed. Shirtless. His arm draped across the body in the bed next to him.

I’m thrown.

Then I’m spinning.

Then I’m speechless.

And then, I’m seeing red.

“Who the fuck is this?” I yell.

He wakes up startled, as does Jenna, who I now see is the body next to him, dressed in the same blue nighty set she used to woo me into her hotel bed so many times in Vancouver.

If it’s possible for physical steam to come out of a man’s ears like in the cartoons, then someone ought to see if that’s happening to me right now. I want to shred this place apart. I want to punch a hole right through a wall. I want to kick this guy’s ass and ask questions later. Deal with details later.

Like the detail of my fucking broken heart.

“I’m Walter,” the guy says, sitting up, his eyes blinking with sleep.

I’d almost forgotten that I’d asked, but that name immediately hits my ears. I know it. I’ve heard it before.

I’ve heard it from Jenna’s own mouth, I realize.

Walter? Who is Walter?

Then it hits me—Walter is the name of the guy that Jenna claimed was not her boyfriend. The name of the guy she was talking to on the phone when I was outside her trailer that day. The name of the guy she said I love you to.

So then what the fuck is Walter doing in her bed right now?

I might regret what I’ll do if I find out that answer. So I don’t stay to find out. Instead I turn around, walk back down the hallway, through the living room and directly out the front door.