Sweet Cheeks(119)

“I told you, we’re not getting a puppy. I don’t need a trial run with you, Ships. I know you’re good for it whenever we decide to raise something together.”

I laugh out loud as he holds me steady when I stumble. “You mean like a sea turtle?”

“If you want to learn how to lay an egg, then be my guest. We can do sea turtles but I was thinking something more along the lines of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl someday.”

“Oh. Okay.” There he goes melting my heart and leaving me speechless. The man has a way of doing that on a continual basis.

And I’m definitely not complaining.

“A few more feet.”

“Okay.” I count ten steps and wonder how many more are his definition of few since the suspense of whatever he’s up to is killing me. And as soon as I think it, he directs me to stop.

“Right here,” he says softly, almost as if he’s trying really hard to concentrate like he sometimes does when running lines. “You ready?”

I chuckle. Suddenly nervous. Was that his hands just shaking?

“Yes.”

The heat of his body leaves mine. “You can look now.”

I slowly pull off the black scarf and when I do, the sight before me takes my breath away. My mouth falls open, my eyes grow wide, and my head moves from side to side so I can take in my surroundings.

It’s so perfect, so everything, that it takes me a few moments to breathe it all in.

We’re at the base of the tree house, it’s dusk, and Mason jars hang from the tree branches with votive candles lit inside them. Fairy lights twinkle within the tree’s foliage, and are also lighting up the long wispy grass field beyond it. There are flowers too. My mother’s favorite—hydrangeas in their various colors—overflowing from galvanized and patina canisters adorned with lace and burlap bows. It’s stunning.

I’m overwhelmed and in awe and when I turn around again, I’m teary. Ryder, DeeDee, Hayes’s mom, and other mutual friends from Santa Barbara and Los Angeles are here too.

It’s like my brain is so overwhelmed by this breathtaking spectacle of perfection, that I can process the where and the what, but only after I take in the whole of the picture, can I finally process the why.

This isn’t a surprise birthday party. Not in the least.

My hand flies to my mouth. My eyes widen and flood with tears as realization hits when I look back to Hayes in front of me. How did he know this was my dream?

Because he knows me inside and out.

Always has.

Now, he always will.

“What did you do, Hayes?” My words come out in a hushed whisper.

His smile widens. It has a hint of nerves to it but the look in his eyes suggests the nerves are the good kind. The this matters kind.

He glances to the unfamiliar woman off to my right and when she nods at him, the absolute adoration in his expression as he steps closer to me causes goosebumps to erupt across my skin. He reaches out and takes my hand.

“Surprise,” he whispers as every single part of me falls head over heels in love with him all over again.

“Is this what I think . . .?” My voice fades off as I look around us again. Meet the eyes of Ryder who steps up beside Hayes and hands him something, smile so full of love and pride I know the answer to my question immediately.

“I have the stage, Ships. You know how we actors like to hog the spotlight.”

My laugh is instantaneous. My hands tremble in disbelief, and my mind tries to wrap around what he pulled off.

“I tried to think of when I first fell in love with you, Saylor. I thought maybe it was that first day I knocked on your door, asking if Ryder was home, and you peered at me from behind your glasses with a princess crown on your head, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shell on your back, and your mom’s high heels that were five sizes too big on your feet.

“But then I remembered that time in junior high when we ditched school and headed out to the lake. You were the only girl who would climb the tree with us and jump off the top branch into the lake without a second thought. The other guys thought it was so cool you’d do that, and I remember thinking how proud I was that you were with me.

“Or that time in high school when Nick Ramos kept bragging how a girl would never pitch well enough to strike him out. How you asked Ryd and me to teach you how to throw a knuckle ball so you could shut him up. How your dad let us stay out way past when the streetlight came on so we could practice. And how when Nick whiffed on that third strike—where you made that baseball dance to the plate—the entire bleachers roared as you put him in his place.”

I stare at Hayes. The memories I forgot coming back to me. And I’m so overwhelmed that I can do nothing more than stand mesmerized and listen.