Page 28 of The Last Road Trip

The waiter appears at the stern and sets a wooden board filled with cheese on the table before us. There’s also a small cluster of purple grapes, sliced sweet bread and a handful of crackers. He refills our champagne and retreats.

I eat a piece of sweet bread with the soft cheese and gaze at the water. It’s an unbelievably gorgeous night. The moon is low and bright on the eastern horizon. The waves against the boat are soothing, as is the soft rocking they make. Somewhere in the dark to our left, a buoy bell sounds.

Kwemby turns toward me in his seat. I feel the shift in his posture before I turn to look at him. The air changes between us.

“I’ve been in love with you for thirty years,” he says. My fingers tighten in the folds of the wool blanket, my chest locking tight around a breath I can’t quite release.

He continues, “I’ve tried not to push. I wanted to wait until I was sure you were choosing me and not looking for a rebound.”

He stops. Reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re the one,” he says. “That’s all. You always have been. Every second I’ve waited for you was a second worth it.”

He brings out the ring. It’s a simple gold band with a small cluster of deep blue sapphires set close together.

He takes my hand in both of his. He doesn’t slide off the bench or go down on one knee for performance, he just holds my hand, his thumbs resting across my knuckles, and looks at me. The dry texture of his palms combined with the ring pressing against both of our palms as he holds my hand, sends a steady heat straight up my wrist.

“Marry me,” he says.

My hands have gone still. I’m noticing the raw emotion on his face. How this moment is equally important for both of us.

“Yes,” I breathe out. “It should have always been you. Yes.”

He lets go of my hand to slide the ring onto my finger. Then, when he leans in, his lips meet mine softly at first before deepening the pressure. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb resting steady against my jawline to hold me close. My fingers bunch into his shirt as I kiss him back, losing the chill of the bay breeze to the heat of his mouth.

Unexpectedly, fireworks detonate overhead. They’re only a few hundred feet away above the water, white, gold and red. The sound cracks across the water. A second follows before the first has fully faded. Then a third, trailing red in long arcs.

“Did you do this, too?” I ask.

“Yes. I told the captain to signal if you said yes.” He points at a small platform across the water, safely inland a few feet. “See there? That’s our firework man.”

I wave, though I doubt our firework man can see me from here. Kwemby laughs before taking my hand in his. The fireworks keep coming.

Chapter 18

Harriet

Kwemby proposed last week, and I’m already deep in wedding planning. Since our story has now been thirty-two years in the making, we’re eager for a short engagement to finally call us husband and wife.

And since we’re aiming for a short engagement, we’re planning at every chance we get, including during Kwemby’s downtime at work. That’s where I am now. The Tempora Springs diner has the same floor plan as every diner Kwemby has walked into and saved. Like the rest, it has vinyl booths and four-top tables, and a long counter with chrome-based stools. Today two of them are occupied, one of which is a man in a trucker hat nursing his coffee with both hands.

I come through that door at eleven on the dot with a folder of printed venue photos tucked under my arm. Eleven is a good time. It’s in between the breakfast and lunch rush.

Kwemby is halfway down the counter when he sees me. He says something to the woman at the register, crosses the floor in six strides, and takes my free hand in his.

“Back booth,” he says, already turning. “Jolene’s on today. She’ll get your coffee.”

Jolene is the Tempora Spring’s version of Merle’s Connie.

“And a piece of pie, if there’s any left from this morning,” I say, wanting something sweet.

He glances back. “There is. I made sure.”

Then he’s through the door marked STAFF ONLY, and I’m sitting at the back booth with my folder. I’m here to work on wedding plans near Kwemby. Thankfully, the Tempora Springs diner is only about half an hour from my place, so it’s no big deal. I also invited my girls to help. This will be our afternoon.

Jolene appears before I’ve finished pulling the venue photos out. She’s older than Kwemby’s Merle’s waitress by a decade. One of the things I love about my future husband is how he keeps the original staff. If they’re valuable to the location, he even gives them raises and listens to their input.

“Coffee?” Jolene asks.