Page 115 of Smoke and Roses

I love you, he mouths. In daylight. Just like he promised.

I put my hand over the half of a cheap gold heart on my chest and mouth it back.

After the toast, after Rob picks Cassia up and spins her around and nearly takes out the cake table, there’s dancing on the wood floor under the lights. Novak dances with every grandmother in Eden. Devin dances with Betsy Morris, who leads.

At the edge of the lights, Nate Folsom is sitting on a hay bale with his dog. An hour ago he asked me for the name of that shop on 25th Street. I wrote it on a napkin and folded it twice, and he tucked it in his shirt pocket.

Travis finds me by the cake table. He takes my cup out of my hand, and of course it’s coffee, and sets it down. Then he holds out his hand.

“I don’t dance,” he says.

“I know.”

“I’m going to dance with you anyway.”

He pulls me out onto the floor. He’s terrible at it. He steps on my feet twice, and I don’t mind one bit. I put my head on his chest, and he holds me there, and we sway under the lights while the sun goes down outside the big doors and turns the old snow gold.

“Lindsey,” he says, after a while.

“Mm.”

“I talked to Hank.”

“About what?”

“About asking you something.” His heart is pounding under my cheek. “He said I had to ask Danielle first. And Carol. And your grandma, but since she’s gone, he said to ask Marlene.”

I lift my head off his chest.

He’s looking down at me in the gold light with that look of his, quiet and stunned and full.

“Travis,” I whisper.

“Not today,” he says. “Today’s theirs.” The corner of his mouth tips up. “But I asked all of them. They all said yes. Marlene cried.”

I grab a fistful of his shirt.

“So you know,” he says, “it’s coming. Someday soon. Probably at five-fifteen in the morning, in the kitchen, with Dolly Parton on.” He brushes my hair off my face. “I’m not going to wait for a sunset. Or a song. Or anything special.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” he says. “There isn’t a right moment. There’s just the one where you open your mouth.”

I stare at him. “Cassia,” I say. “Cassia told you that.”

“Cassia told everybody that.” He grins. “She’s pushy.”

I laugh and put my arms around his neck. He picks me up off the floor the way he picked me up in the meadow and spins me around once under the lights. Somewhere behind us, Rob yells, “Every inch!” and everybody cheers.

He sets me down and takes his time kissing me, right in front of everybody.

Five-fifteen, I think. Someday soon. In our kitchen.

I can’t wait to hear how it ends.