Page 136 of Fumbled Into Love

I frown and all three of them laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Henry says, “We got this. We’ll be done setting everything up with time to spare.”

They all wear confident smiles, but as I glance down at my list and the shopping carts, I have little faith that it will all get done in time.

There’ssomuch to do topull this off.

I’ve never been loud or flashy. I shy away from the limelight and only tolerate it because it comes with the territory of being a professional athlete.

But I’ve heard the way Nathalie speaks of grand gestures of love and intense declarations in rainstorms.

She wants the loud love and I want to try to give that to her, in the way that I can.

“Why don’t we divide and conquer?” Jack takes the list from my shaky hands. “Declan, you need to get a scrapbook, tape, and stickers. Henry, you’re responsible for the glitter glue, bracelet string, and helping Declan pick out the stickers. Deon and I will tackle the storage boxes and shelves. Got it?”

Their heads bob and a small weight is lifted from my shoulders as Jack takes over. I can’t lead right now, not when I’m ready to crawl out of my skin with nerves.

Declan extends a hand, hovering between us. “True love on three?”

Henry’s hand falls on top of Declan’s, then Jack’s, and finally, I place my trembling hand over the other three.

We break the huddle with a loud, “True love!” and disperse through the craft store to collect everything we need for my grand gesture. A small, elderly lady gives me an odd smile as I follow Jack, clearly hearing our huddle and I smile sheepishly as I run away.

I only hope that we can get it done in time.

“Who has the best handwriting?”

The glitter glue and stockings sit dauntingly on the counter. I haven’t been able to tame the small tremor in my hand and if I try to write with glitter glue right now, it will turn into a disaster.

I already had scrapbook duty taken away when I couldn’t write a word without questioning if it was in a straight line or if the photo was taped evenly in the center.

“I can do it,” Declan offers, “You work on adding the stickers to the scrapbook.”

We trade places and I pick up where Declan left off, adding Christmas stickers around the photo of Nathalie and me in front of the Christmas tree and Gordie batting at my foot mid-photo.

Declan huffs when he notices that I’m placing them around the page to test the locations before I put them on, but gracefully, he says nothing, allowing me to freak out over the placement of stickers.

I want this moment to be unforgettable. I want Nathalie to understand how deeply I love her and I don’t want to fumble over my words or show her a dinky scrapbook.

It needs to be perfect.

No pressure at all.

I’m halfway through adding the hearts and arrows to a blank page when Henry groans from the garage.

“My arms are starting to hurt.”

“I’m almost done.” I can hear the laugh in Jack’s voice.

“How does someone have so much shit?” Henry’s head pokes into the house. “These boxes are fucking heavy. Are you sure you want to haul these in and out for every holiday?”

His tone is light and I shake my head.

If this goes well, and fuck, I hope it does, then I’ll proudly become Nathalie’s decoration helper for the rest of our lives. I’ll haul in her gigantic boxes and let her sit on my shoulder to reach the top of the tree.

“If she’ll let me.”

Jack returns from the garage, a slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He pulls a few beers out of the fridge and passes them around.

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