“Did you know that the worker bees can make a queen bee by taking any larvae and feeding it exclusively royal jelly,” Marina says.

“Actually, I did know that,” Scooby says smugly. “Did you know that honey is the only food that contains all the substances necessary to sustain life, including water?”

“Yes,” Marina says. “Everyone knows that.”

Naomi puts up her hand and then raises the hand of Steve, the guy she’s currently dating and super into crazy PDA with. “Actually, we didn’t know that. In fact, I never know what the fuck you guys are always going on about.”

“Hey, watch your language in front of the child,” I tell them, covering Noah’s ears.

Noah pulls away from me. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” I mimic him.

“Guys,” Jane says. “Behave.”

“Bee-have you mean,” I say and wag my brows at Marina.

But despite the ever-persistent bee joke that I’m always dropping in her presence, I’m actually nervous as fuck.

Today is a celebration. Noah, me, Jane (who is visiting for a few weeks at my request), her boyfriend Ryan, Naomi, Steve, Scooby and Marina are all gathered on Venice Beach, blankets and towels and coolers spread out in the sand.

We’re here to celebrate Marina’s new book.

That’s right. I’m no longer the only writer in the house. After I mentioned Marina and her beekeeping business to my editor, Abigail, she started Instagram stalking her. Once Marina’s online bee courses started taking off, then she ended up grabbing the attention of another publisher who wanted to capitalize on it.

Naturally, with one book out with me (and another on the way), Abigail wanted to keep the power couple in the family. She outbid the other publisher and Marina’s book: Palm Trees & Honey Bees: A Girl’s Guide to Beekeeping is coming out next week.

It hasn’t been without some challenges. For one, Marina hates the title and insists that the book is meant for everyone and that “girls” don’t beekeep any differently than men. But it’s gimmicky and catching people’s attention and since Marina’s long-term goals are for bees to take over the world, then whatever gets people interested in keeping them and saving them is good enough for her.

Later, we’ll head over to Irvine and have a smaller party over at Marina’s Aunt Margaret’s. Her father has been more or less sober for a year now and has his own apartment right down the street. He even has Pickles with him again.

I say, “more or less,” sober because even after three months at the treatment center and four months living in a group home with other recovering addicts, Mr. Owens still had a slip up and fell off the wagon. We all know it happens. Luckily it wasn’t anything big, just a few beers when he shouldn’t have, and ever since then he’s been doing brilliant.

Which makes Marina happy, and honestly, that’s all that matters.

But I’m about to see if things could somehow get even better.

Because things can always get better.

You see, the whole book celebration on the beach was my idea. It was my idea to fly Jane out here. It was my idea to bring Noah. I would have brought my mother too but ever since she left Daryl and is applying to adopt Noah, she’s been working around the clock at her new job.

There’s a reason we’re all gathered here together and it’s not just to celebrate the book.

It’s to, hopefully (fuck, hopefully) celebrate something else.

I clear my throat and poke Marina in the shoulder.

“Hey, you know what people don’t know about?” I ask her. “Your waggle dance.”

She laughs. “It’s not my waggle dance. It’s how the bees communicate time and distance to each other.”

“This oughta be good,” Naomi says under her breath. “Always heard about this infamous dance.”

“Why don’t you do it,” I tell her. “Give us a show.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m curious. You’ve never shown it to me.”

This is not true but I don’t think she cares.

She sighs but she’s smiling. “Okay.” She gets up to her feet and tugs down at the hems of her jean shorts before she claps her hands together and addresses her friends. “So, the waggle dance is a dance that all bees do to communicate where nectar and water sources are. It’s basically a figure eight pattern, except when they cross over the middle of the two circles or curves, they waggle back and forth. The longer the waggle in the middle, the greater the distance it is to the food source. It also takes in the angle of the sun. In this way, the bees are able to tell each other where—”

“Just get on with it,” Jane says. “I thought we’d escape this party without any more bee shit.”

“Fine!”

So, she starts doing the waggle dance. It’s epically cute, especially the waggle part where she’s waving her butt in circles, her smile big and joyous, not caring what she looks like, her blonde hair flying around.

When she comes to a stop, she’s breathless. Gorgeous. In her element, which is right where I want her. She takes a bow and everyone claps.

And I crawl over to her on my knees and reach up with my hand to grab hers.

“Marina,” I say to her, smiling though my tone is serious.

She stares down at me, grinning, looking a bit confused. “What? You asked me to.”

“I know,” I tell her, “but I just wanted to see your smile, that’s all.”

“Awwww,” Noah says.

“I also wanted you to get to your feet. So, I could be on my knees.”

Someone gasps. Jane, I think.

I prop one leg up so I’m down on just one knee now, holding onto her hand.

My heart is beating a mile a minute in my chest.

I reach into the pocket of my cargo shorts and my hands close around something cold and small.

The contents of the Altoids tin that Barbara gave me a year ago.

I ended up opening it the next morning after I woke up in Marina’s bed. She was in a deep sleep and her floor was covered with my poetry about her. I knew then what I’d always known.

It was her.

It was always her.

My kind of weirdo.

And I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.

I had opened the tin and saw an engagement ring inside, gold with emeralds and diamonds in the shape of a sun.

Of course, I had to visit Barbara after that because I didn’t want to take her engagement ring.

She insisted I keep it and propose to Marina when I was ready. She also told me it wasn’t Cooper’s ring but from one of her other husband’s that didn’t work out, so I shouldn’t feel bad about taking it. She said it would do much better the second time around. I fucking hope so.

And now I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a while but with Marina’s book coming out and the fact that we just put money down on a fixer upper beach house outside of Laguna, I was waiting for everything to calm down.

I was waiting for now.

“Marina,” I say, holding her hand tighter as I stare up at her. “A long time ago you told me that all you wanted was love. That you wanted someone to fall asleep with at night. That you wanted marriage and babies and everything that came with it. You told me you wanted to find your flower.”

“Oh my god,” she says softly, her big, blue eyes brimming with tears already.

“Marina, my bumble bee, my sweet girl…I’m that flower. And you’re mine. I’m your weirdo. And you’re mine. I’m messed up and complicated and you’re messed up and complicated and together we’re better than we ever are alone.” I take in a deep breath. “I know it’s been a long, strange journey for us but I wouldn’t have it any other way because it’s led to this moment right here. It’s led to a whole new chapter in a whole new story. At least, it will…if you say yes.”

She gasps.

I open my fist and take the ring and I hold it out in front of her ring finger, choking back on tears. “Marina, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She blinks, tears falling, stares. Then she says, “Don’t you mean bee-coming your wife?” She laughs at her own joke. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

Joy.

This is joy.

My hands are trembling as I slip on the ring and then I’m getting to my feet and I’m holding her face in my hands and I’m kissing her and she’s kissing me and I couldn’t ever ask for anything more than this.

This.

My woman.

My person.

My future.

My everything.

Everyone else gets to their feet, clapping and cheering and then Scooby comes in and embraces the both of us and then Noah does the same and then everyone else comes over to the huddle and pretty soon Marina and I are enveloped in the middle of a rather suffocating group hug.

“Is this what it’s like to be in a murder ball?” I ask Marina, my mouth against hers. “Or is it cuddle death?”

She laughs. “I’m fine with either one.”

“What’s a murder ball?” Noah asks from somewhere in this ball of people.

“Don’t get her started!” Jane yells, muffled.

“You’re so lucky,” Marina whispers to me, pulling back as much as she’s able to, her nose brushing against mine. “You get to hear about this stuff for the rest of your life.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I tell her. Then pause. “You better bee-lieve it.”

Someone groans. Someone laughs.

My heart it sings.