Page 160 of From Nowhere

His usual smart-ass expression vanishes, replaced with a sincere smile that guys rarely give to each other. “I’m happy for you.”

I nod several times. “Thanks.”

“A Sunday drive?” Maren says when I climb into my Rover.

I slip on my sunglasses. “Nothing beats a Sunday drive,” I say as Debbie starts right up. “My parents used to take Sunday drives before my mom lost most of her sight and my dad traded the great outdoors for a barstool. I remember my mom rolling down the window, tipping her head back, eyes closed, and smiling as the wind hit her face and played in her hair.” I pull out of the driveway.

“Let’s pick up your mom.”

I glance at Maren. “Seriously?”

She shrugs. “I haven’t met her. She doesn’t have to see well to feel the breeze on her face and hair.”

“You want to meet my mom today? Now?”

“You said it: one day at a time. I want to meet your mom and tell her how in love I am with her son and how much I adore her granddaughter beyond words. Then I want to meet your sister Jenny and her husband. And we should take Lola to a tearoom in London for her birthday. I might even know a rich guy with a jet who’d happily loan it to us.”

I focus on the vibration beneath me and the hum of the wind and tires. But I don’t smile. “I feel like you’re trying to outwoo me again. So impatient.”

She bites her bottom lip when I shoot her a sidelong glance.

“For the next few hours, you’re mine. All mine. I know a place where we can park and get naked in the back seat. Then I’ll show you my secret spot to pick huckleberries. And then we’ll pick up my momand Lola for dinner. After that, we’ll take a sunset drive before returning my mom to her place. Jenny’s pregnant and due to have her first child in a few months, so we’ll see her after the baby arrives. And as for London, well, you’ve left me speechless on that one.”

Maren sighs. “I’m not done with physical therapy, but we can still get naked. Huckleberries sound pretty serious. I think they trump wildflowers.” She narrows her eyes. “And when are you and Lola moving in with me?”

I shrug. “I think it will happen when you marry me.”

She freezes. I don’t turn my head, but through the corner of my eye, I can see her holding stone still. I take great pride in her reaction.

“You, uh, you’re ...” She clears her throat. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No.” I pull off the road into a parking area at a trailhead. “I’m not asking you to marry me.” I put my Rover inpark, unbuckle, and angle my body to face hers. “But you are stealing all the moments. Saying I love you first. Asking me to move in with you. Suggesting you meet my mom and sister. London for Lola’s birthday. You got the cat my daughter wanted. And you were the one to ride with her in a car for the first time in over two years.”

Maren deflates with a tiny wince.

“So I’m calling dibs on this. Okay? Dibs on proposing. I’m not proposing today. It’s not on tomorrow’s agenda either. ButIwill be the one to propose. You have to give me something. So, for once, I need you to sit back, let me do the wooing, and let me decide when the epic moment will happen. Are you capable of that?”

Still, she keeps her gaze out the front window while slowly nodding and rolling her lips between her teeth. It does little to hide her amusement. So either she’s silently mocking me or suppressing her excitement.

She grips the fixed door handle, squeezing it so tightly her knuckles are white. “We’re getting married,” she whispers, but it’s tight, like air squeezing out of an innertube, shaking her whole body.

I pull a Lola and roll my eyes. “It’s possible. Maybe. Someday. One never knows.”

“Ozzy—”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” I grin while grabbing her face and kissing her.

Epilogue

During October, Maren and I take short flights around Montana on the weekends, where I’m reminded flying will always be part of who she is.

And Lola finds a new passion.

“I’m going to be a pilot just like Maren,” she says, taking both our hands while we walk to the hangar after a day trip to Bozeman.

“Why not a mechanic?” I ask.

“Ew, you have dirty fingernails. Maren wears pretty polish.”

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