Page 59 of The False Flat
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Everyone looks good in candlelight.”
He reached across the table for my hand. His hands were solid, manly, capable, the hands of a smooth five.
“I don’t like seeing you like this, and I think I can fix it.”
“Oh?” I acted surprised, thankful again that Aurora had told me what was coming.
“I golfed with a finance buddy of mine today. He owes me a favor.” He paused for effect. “What would you say if I told you I got you a job at Hedge International?”
“Hedge International?” I leaned forward. Hedge International was a dream job. “They’re huge.” And there were never job postings; positions were filled within hours of becoming available.
Hedge International.
“You’re gonna be their newest planner. See what I can do for you? Did your mom tell you about the house?”
“That the two of you found?” I nodded, still reeling over Hedge International. “Yeah, she told me.”
He pulled up pictures. Posh. Beautiful. Elegant. The perfect living space to go with the perfect working space.
“I can’t wait for you to see it. Everything is falling into place. The job. The house.”
Falling into place.
I studied him . . . his mouth, the slight dimple in his chin, the husky notes of his laughter. He was a catch and had a life already set up for me. No more struggle, no more weird, confusing feelings to get tied up in.
We ate, talked about the house, the job, timelines, but the whole time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was essentially solving all my problems, giving me exactly what I’d been looking for. So why wasn’t I excited?
When dessert arrived, Chad leaned over his chocolate torte with a single strawberry fanned on top, intense as I’d ever seen him, and grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers with a look of confidence on his face, like he was touching something that was already his.
A quiet numbness settled under each stitch of this lovely evening frock.
“When you find something that’s right, you hold on to it. You do what you have to do to get it. Sometimes you have to go through people and experiences to figure out what you truly want and need, but when you find it, you know.”
His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes, eyes that reflected the room and all the tiny lights around us so they sparkled. He continued to talk about the future, our common interests, aligned goals, practical next steps forward.
His hand slipped from mine, and he slid to the floor, onto one knee between me and the fireplace. I suddenly wished I were on the patio outside, surrounded by plants—anything to give me a little more oxygen because I couldn’t breathe, hadn’t seen this coming. I searched the room for anything I could fashion into a crude bicycle.
“Penelope Auberge, will you marry me?”
Time stopped.
And my mind ticked off all the reasons to say yes:
Chad was handsome.
He was taller than me, even in heels.
He was intelligent.
He didn’t want kids.
He didn’t ask too many questions.
A future with him would be oblivious to my past.
I could have an instant life, job, house, and husband.
