I, on the other hand, have been ready since the night before I deployed.

I keep my eyes on Riley and speak to the clerk, “Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” she responds calmly. She already knows what I’m about to ask.

“Can you pull out the rings and slowly run your finger over them?”

“Sure,” she says again. Same calm from earlier. Riley though—she’s everything but calm. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her mouth parted, her eyes—still locked on mine—filling with tears. God, she’s beautiful.

“Take a look,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, her teeth now clamped around her bottom lip.

“Please, Riley.”

She takes a breath, and then another, before looking down at the rings.

I smile, her hand still in mine, my gaze focused on her.

“Okay,” I order the clerk. “Start moving when you’re ready.”

I watch Riley’s eyes move slowly from side to side, tears still falling and rolling down her cheeks. I don’t wipe them away. I’m too focused on watching her—her lips as they tremble, her chest as it rises and falls, rises and falls. I watch her breaths leave her, loud but even, her eyes still moving. Then, suddenly, they freeze. Her eyes widen, her breath catches.

“Stop,” I tell the clerk, watching Riley’s shoulders tense, her gaze still locked on the rings. “Go back.”

Riley gasps, her hand covering her mouth.

“That one,” I say, not bothering to look at the ring yet. “Can we have that one?”

Slowly, Riley’s eyes trail from the ring to me—tears flowing, lips shaking. “What are you doing, Dylan?”

I shrug.

From the corner of my eye, I see the clerk holding out the ring. Carefully, I take it from her and lift Riley’s hand at the same time.

With shaky hands and bated breaths, I find the strength I need to tear my gaze away from Riley’s and look down at the ring. It’s gold with a single diamond in the center.

It’s simple.

It’s perfect.

Just like her.

Without a word, I get down on one knee and place the ring on her finger, hearing her sobs above me. Then I reach into my pocket, pull out a marker, uncap it with my teeth, and press the tip to her arm. I look up at her to see her already watching me. Not my hands, but my face—her own contorted with a held in cry. I take a mental picture of the moment right before we pass The Turning Point.

I sniff back my emotions and look down at her arm, my hands still shaking, making it almost impossible to write my intentions. I glance up at her, she hasn’t taken her eyes off me.

Then I mark her with the words I’d been planning for months.

Marry me, Riley Hudson?

Riley

Every girl thinks of this moment. The one where the man of your dreams is kneeling in front of you, declaring his love for eternity, hoping to share every single piece of his future as one.

Occasionally, you’ll hear a song on the radio and think, “That’s my wedding song” or you’ll see images of dresses or rings online and go “I’d want something like that.”

Some even go as far as making stupid Pinterest boards about the perfect moment, the perfect day.

They plan their future, their kids, their house, their lives entwined for eternity.

But as Dylan kneels in front of me, his hands shaking along with his shoulders as he looks up, pleading with me for an answer to the question he’s written on my arm—words I have yet to see—I don’t think about the future.

I think about the past.

I think about what I’ve done in my life that deemed me so lucky that he’s offering me his world. Forever.

I think about us—wondering how it is we got here.

I remember the day our paths collided—him in a fit of rage and me drowning in grief.

And I remember every single day since.

I look down at the boy I love—staring into his eyes—eyes locked on mine… eyes slowly losing confidence.

He’s Here.

Now.

Forever.

And even though I’ve thought about this moment, dreamed about it, picked out the song and the dress and even created a hidden Pinterest board—nothing, and I mean nothing could’ve prepared me for the emotions that come with it.

The tears.

The surprise mixed with expectation.

But most of all the love.

The love as it wraps around me, suffocating me, drowning me in the best way possible and then forcing its way through my entire body and out my mouth in a single word: “Yes.”

Sixty-One

Riley

My mom was there, in the store, standing behind me watching it all go down.

Obviously I’d been too wrapped up in the moment to realize it. It wasn’t until she squealed that I finally turned around and came to.

After her gushing over the ring, and the proposal, Dylan offered to take us both out for lunch to celebrate. It was on the drive to the restaurant when Dylan told me that he had it all planned out.

Turns out Dylan had asked her permission one night when they’d both been up to get a water. Apparently, so Dylan says, she cried more than I did. In fact, she wouldn’t stop crying. She told him about how much she loved me and him and us together, and that she couldn’t be happier—more proud of the man I would one day marry.

Mom and I have a lot in common, it seems, because I love all those things too. About as much as I love her.

He’d gone to the store the day before and spoken to the clerk about his plans and paid for whatever ring I would’ve chosen. He did have a budget, he admitted, but the clerk was more than willing to change things around in the display to accommodate his needs.

“You were that certain?” I ask now, smiling over at him behind the steering wheel.

He glances at me quickly before returning to the road, his smile matching mine. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, Riley Hudson.”

I look down at the ring on my finger, then the words scrawled across my arm. An arm I plan on never washing. Ever.

When I tell him that, he pushes me away. “You’re gross,” he mumbles, but he’s laughing.

So am I.

We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant he knows is my favorite and after stepping out, he opens my door and takes my hand. “My lady,” he says, bowing his head while helping me out. “Wait. Can I say my fiancée? Lady doesn’t seem to do you justice anymore.”

I nod as I jump out. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll allow it?” he asks sarcastically, leading me with his hand on the small of my back. “Riley, I hate to break it to you but I’m going to be your husband soon. Your allowance doesn’t mean shit anymore. I say, you do,” he jokes.

I don’t have time to retort before we step through the entrance, the maître de nodding as she welcomes him. “We have you set up in the back room, Mr. Banks.”

“Why do we have the back room?” I whisper, walking behind her as she leads us to room.

He dips his head, his voice a whisper against my ear. “Because fucking you in front of all these people would be probably frowned upon.”

“Dylan!” I elbow his gut.

He winces in pain, right before a chuckle bubbles out him.