I stop, eyes wide, looking around as I take in a garden’s worth of red roses. “Oh…fucking hell.”
Vases cover every surface of the kitchen—the counters, the stove, the island. There are more stacked on the dining table. Only one little spot remains cleared away at the end of the table. Tess has prepared my usual game day breakfast bowl of steel cut oats with fresh berries. I just have to add the hot water.
“Tess!” I shout, listening for sounds of her somewhere in the house. She’s probably hiding around the corner, snickering into her hand. “Tess!”
But the house is dead quiet.
I huff, turning back to my breakfast. There’s a red envelope resting next to my bowl. I snatch it up. She drew a heart on the front with a letter R inside it. I pull out the card and as soon as I open it, the chorus of Taylor Swift’s “All of the Girls You Loved Before” starts playing.
Damn it. She knows that’s my favorite Swift song. I call it my ‘Tess Song.’ On a dare, I even sang it to her during karaoke night a few months ago.
I drop the card and pull my phone out of my pajama pants pocket. I call her, one hand on my hip, glaring at my breakfast. The phone rings and rings as the musical card continues to play.
She doesn’t answer.
“Fuck!” I shout at literally no one. “I am marrying you so fucking hard! Don’t even test me!”
Thirty minutes later, Jake and Caleb drag me out of the house for our game day morning beach walk. I tried to tell them what was happening, but Jake wasn’t having it. He’s almost as bad as Mars when it comes to game day rituals.
We stop by the coffee shop on the way. Colby, my favorite barista, passes me my grande iced tea. She’s got the perfect tattoo-to-piercing ratio to know you’re always going to get a quality product.
“Here you go, Ryan,” she chimes. “And hey, guys, good luck tonight!”
“Thanks, Colby Like the Cheese,” Jake teases, taking his coffee from her. It’s their little joke. That’s how she introduced herself on her first day here. Now it’s all he calls her.
I lead the way outside where Sanford is waiting with the dog. Jake hands his husband his coffee, and then we all make our way over to the beach.
“So, she’s dodging your calls?” says Jake, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah.”
“But she left you a garden of roses and singing cards and phone alarms?”
“Yeah,” I say again.
“Dude, you’re so getting proposed to tonight,” Sanford teases.
I pause, stupid smile on my face. “What? Oh god, do you really think so?”
Sanny just shrugs, flipping his aviators down onto his face. “Well, she’s already home, so she’s gotta go big. What’s bigger than seeing ‘Will you marry me?’ in the flashing lights of the jumbotron?”
“Dude, the guys are gonna lose it,” Jake laughs. “You will never, ever live this down.”
I smirk, glancing from him to Sanford. “I have that stupid beach puppy look on my face, don’t I?”
They both nod.
“Yeah, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Sanny says.
“You’re embarrassing us,” Jake corrects.
I don’t even care. I flip my sunglasses down, too, taking a sip of my iced tea.
Sanford and the dog lead the way down to the beach, and we take it slow, just strolling along the surf in our bare feet. It’s barely a half-mile between our houses, so Tess and I walk down most mornings, meeting the Prices at the coffee shop on the way.
Then we all pound the sand back in the direction of our house. The Prices drop us off, the guys usually steal some fruit, and then they make their way home. Everyone gets to walk “the circle” as we call it.
The beach is busy for a Saturday morning in February, but the weather has been so great this week. It’s sunny and clear, with a good surf. Lots of people are out riding the waves. We pass a small group of women doing yoga and a young couple making out on their tie-dyed beach blanket.
Poseidon zigs and zags all around, chasing the ball we take turns throwing for him. I think I’ve just about convinced Tess to let us get a dog.
“Oh, shit,” Sanny laughs.
I pause, tennis ball in hand, Poseidon dancing at my feet. “What?”
He’s standing in the surf, water lapping his bare feet, looking up in the sky.
“No way,” Jake cries, one hand over his eyes. “Dude, that is so fucking cool. Marry her or I will.”
“You’re already married, asshole,” Caleb says.
“Technicality,” Jake says with a distracted wave of his hand. “Besides, you’ve never given me a message in skywriting before.”
Heart racing, I shade my eyes with my hand, peering up into the sky. One of those little red prop planes is flying past, right along the coastline, trailing a big white banner behind it. “Oh my god. What does it say?”
“It says ‘Marry me, Ryan,’” Sanny replies.
I slow turn to face them, my smile fading to a frown. “You two are in on all of this, aren’t you?”
“No,” Sanny says as Jake laughs and says, “Duh.”
Sanford elbows him and they bicker as I look back up at the plane. The words on the banner are in big, bold black letters, but with the fluttering, it’s sorta hard for me to read. Just in case, Tess made sure the guys would be here to read it with me.
I smile. My girl thinks of everything.
In the past year, I’ve come out to the team about my dyslexia. They were super cool about it. Not that I expected any different. I’ve never felt so at home with a team like I do with the Rays. They’re my brothers, my family.
The only real hurdle was Poppy. She cried and told me I was brave and then I had to talk her down for three whole days because she wanted me to do a big literacy campaign with the local public schools. It’s not a never, I assured her. Just a no for now.
I may be a tough guy out on the ice, but my dyslexia is still a vulnerability I don’t like sharing. The guys all get it. Tess definitely gets it. Maybe some day I’ll put my face on a dyslexia poster. But for now, I’ll stick with the stupid billboard out by the airport.
Jake watches me with a big grin. “Dude, this is fucking romantic. Please tell me you’re saying yes.”
Oh, I’m saying yes. It’s been a long road for both of us to feel truly ready, but I’m marrying the fuck out of that woman.
I just have to find her first.
I get back to the house, and Tess’s car is still gone. I don’t even have to go in to know she’s not home. She’s not nearly finished torturing me today, I just know it. But if this night doesn’t end in a proposal, she’s gonna be sleeping in a tent on the porch.
I mean, I’ll sleep in it too, because I’m not leaving my woman out in the wild where animals could get her. But I have to prove a point, so tent camping it is.
God, I am a whipped fucking asshole.
I smirk, letting myself into the house. I’ve only got about forty-five minutes before I have to leave for the arena. I hurry through my routines, passing my kitchen full of roses. I shower, shave, and do some stretches while I have a snack.
Meanwhile, Tess maintains total radio silence.
I slip into my suit and head down to the laundry room where I keep my gear bag. I retrofitted a shower and hang-up area for all my stuff. It keeps it from stinking up the rest of our stuff in the main closets.
I grab my backpack, ready to stuff my workout gear, a change of underwear, and some fresh socks inside. I pull the zipper and my eyes immediately narrow. There’s something tucked into the front pocket. I widen the zipper and tug out a blue file folder. Flipping it open, I peer down at a legal-looking document. It’s an application of some kind, with spots for your name, address, and phone number. It’s been filled out in blue pen. My heart thrums as I work through the first few lines.
“Oh my god.” Tears sting my eyes as I trace my finger along the lines, stopping when I see my last name: L-A-N-G-L-E-Y.