Page 69 of Flint
She makes a sound that’s half laugh and half strangled cry. “Flint.”
“Keep goin’.”
She turns the pages. She has not given these sketches much thought since the day she drew them. She keeps flipping through until she gets to the last one. The last page isn’t her drawing. It’s mine.
“I haven’t drawn a thing since I was twelve years old. But for you, I gave it my best shot, foxy.”
She stares down at the two stick figures. One large stick figure in a Sons cut and a janky beard. I drew a smaller stick figure with a round belly and long hair. They’re holding hands. Behind them, a small square house with a lemon tree next to it.
Underneath the stick figures, in my blocky handwriting: Jules. Marry me. Sincerely, Flint.
She starts laughing. In fact, she’s laughing and crying at the same time. The folder on her lap shakes merrily. She ends up pressing one hand over her belly and the other over her mouth, as if to stifle her laughs. I love seeing her like this.
“Flint. You drew for me.”
“I tried to draw. There’s a difference, I’m afraid.”
“You drew our little growing family. And you signed it sincerely.”
“I wanted you to know I was sincere and thought this would be a clever way of lettin’ you know.”
“This is absolutely the best proposal you could have given me. I love everything about this, including the keepsake.”
“I hope and pray that means you’re sayin’ yes, sweetheart.”
“I’m definitely saying yes. Now, get the ring out of your pocket. I’ve been dying to see it.”
“How did you know I have a ring in my pocket?”
“You’ve been touching your pocket every five minutes for two weeks. I’ve been wondering what you had in there. Now that you’ve proposed, I realize it could only be one thing.”
“My clever old lady. You’re fuckin’ amazin’.”
“I know. Now, let me see my ring.”
Taking the box out of my pocket, I open it. The ring is a simple band of platinum with a single round stone set flat, the kind of ring that will glide across the paper when my woman is sketching, working, or running her hand across her man’s stomach in the middle of the night.
“I picked it out by myself at a shop in town because I knew exactly what you would want and I didn’t want to ask anyone.”
“You made another great choice, babe. This is the ring I never knew I wanted. Perfect for me.”
Hearing her praise my choice hits me right in the fuckin’ feels.
I pull the ring out of the box and ask one more time to make it official, “Will you marry me?”
She looks up at me with the most radiant smile on her face. “Yes. I’d be honored to marry you.”
“We’re gonna have the best family ever,” I tell her confidently.
She carefully slides her sketches back into the leather folder and responds, “Everyone thinks they have the best family, babe.”
Frowning, I explain, “But we really have the best one. Trust me on that.”
She leans over and right before she kisses me, she says, “You’re like a dog with a bone sometimes, babe. I like that about you.”
I realize for a brief moment that she’s saying she likes my stubborn streak. Since not many people do, I take that as a win. Then I get lost in the kisses she’s offering me because I’m greedy that way.
When she murmurs for me to take her inside, I suspect she might want more than my lips. So, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her up to the bedroom while she drops delicate kisses along the side of my neck. Kicking the door shut behind us, I drop her onto the bed. She reaches out to lay her leather folder on the bedside table with my ring gleaming on her finger.
