Page 154 of Fumbled Into Love

She loves the scrapbook as much as I do.

As we exit the gift shop, I finally take a full breath, reveling in the crisp June air. Nathalie holds my hand as we walk down a boulevard, trees on either side of the path.

Nathalie’s hair shines in the summer sun, the strands the color of freshly brewed coffee. I love her hair, running my fingers through it, gently unknotting the tangles, how her eyes lull closed in bliss.

We sit down on a bench, silently watching people pass and her head falls on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, though the words come out a bit choppy. “This is more than I could have ever imagined.”

She squeezes my thigh and rests her hand there as she leans against me.

The rays of the sun filter through the trees, birds chirp and pieces of conversation fill the air as Parisians pass by, going about their day.

The normalcy of it all reminds me how lucky I am to have found Nathalie in a world with so many people.

Maybe it’s the realization that I need to hold onto what I’ve found, or maybe it’s the way the weight of her head on my shoulder is the most comforting thing in the world, whatever it is, it allows the practiced words to fall from my lips.

“Will you marry me?”

Nathalie’s head jerks up, banging into mine and sending me reeling as she launches from the bench.

Her eyes are wide as saucers as she stands in front of me.

“What did you say?”

“I—”

No. No. No.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This moment was supposed to be magical and romantic. A proposal beneath the Eiffel Tower when the lights turn on, sparkling in the background as I bend down on one knee and ask her to marry me.

Not on a random park bench in the middle of Paris with zero lead-up.

“Deon.” Nathalie’s voice cuts through the panic and as our eyes meet, tears begin to brim behind her glasses. “No takesies backsies.”

Her bag dangles in her grip, the top of the macaron box peaking out beside the books she bought from a small vendor on the Seine.

With shaky fingers, I pull out the small pouch and undo the laces. I fumble to pull out the ring, the small gold band tiny in my grip.

A pear-shaped green sapphire sits in the center, surrounded by small diamonds, set on the band. On the inside, the wordspinky promiseare engraved into the band, a declaration to her.

A sacred oath to love her for the rest of our lives.

“Nathalie…” I clear my throat, ready to run through the speech I practiced with Declan to make sure it was perfect.

“No. Stop.”

Nathalie holds up a palm and my stomach plummets, tears springing to my eyes.

Is she rejecting me?

“N-No?” My voice crack on the terrible word, but she’s not looking at me,she’s frantically digging through her bag, heaving things out and onto the Paris streets. She quickly opens the macarons and shoves a pink one in my mouth, which is agape in horror.

The strawberry flavor bursts on my tongue, but it quickly turns bitter as she ruffles through her bag while I’m mid-proposal.

This is not how I expected this to go.

Nothing ever seems to happen how I expect it.

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