Page 82 of Ghost's Obsession

Being with Heather makes me feel like a teenager in love for the first time. We talk and are all smiles with one another. Sorting out her ex has enabled us to be carefree again. Our lives can be whatever we want them to be moving forward. She’s a joy to be with. My chest is full of fear and love and hope. I wanther with a burning passion, but sometimes I question if I really deserve her.

After so many disappointments with women ghosting me, I thought I’d buried the part of me that wanted a happily ever after. Somehow this woman dug it up, dusted it off, and made me crave it again.

The mystery meal turned out to be fancy lemon chicken in a delicious sauce. When the waiter comes to collect our empty plates, I give him a nod.

He sees it but doesn’t react. He just turns and disappears like we planned. I stopped by this place two days ago and tipped the waiter way too much money to make sure everything went smoothly. The dessert, the timing, the ring, everything. Now that my plan is in motion, I’m feeling excited and anxious. And I’m sweating under my collar just a bit.

Across from me, Heather’s laughing about something Brittany texted—something about Queenie trying to rehome a rooster with emotional issues. Queenie is a trip, and I should be laughing too. But my fingers are tapping against my thigh.

My jaw’s tight. I’m nodding, but I’m not really in the chicken loop right now. I’m stuck inside the moment that hasn’t happened yet.

Then her eyes narrow on me, and her head tilts slightly. Her expression turns from amused to assessing. “Okay. What’s going on?”

Panic surges through my brain and I croak out, “Whatever do you mean, my sweet?”

“You’re acting weird and twitchy.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t even laugh about Queenie’s therapy rooster.”

“It isn’t all that funny, ya know?”

She puts down her phone onto the table and says, “What are you talking about? It’s objectively hilarious.”

She leans forward a little, fingers brushing the stem of her wine glass. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I want to blurt out my proposal right then and there, but I don’t. I’m bad for crowding her, sticking to close and wanting too much too soon. She’s always been a good sport about it, but I promised myself I’d do this right. The way she deserves. My lady deserves something classy, thoughtful, and executed with care. I don’t want to do this fast. I want to do this right.

She’s earned every goddamn minute of being shown how important she is to me. So, I breathe through it. And lie through my teeth.

“Just hungry, I guess.”

She snorts a laugh. “You just ate, remember?”

Damn. I did just eat. I stare at her and try to look innocent, praying that damn waiter comes back soon. Suddenly, the lights dim just a little. Soft music hums under the clatter of silverware and low conversation. The server returns, moving like a man with a mission, which he is.

He sets down a small white plate in front of Heather. On it is a delicate glass dome, and under that is a beautiful spun-glass rose, pale pink and gold. Nestled in the center of the petals is my grandmother’s ring. I knew my lady wouldn’t want it plopped in the middle of a sticky dessert.

Heather notices the ring right away, and her breath catches. She doesn’t touch it. Instead, she just stares. Her eyes are wide and disbelieving when she looks up at me. “You did this?” she says breathlessly.

I nod, reaching across the table. Wrapping one hand around the top of the dome, I lift it up, and the sound of it lifting—nothing more than a tiny clink of glass on porcelain—echoes louder than it should.

After I set it aside, I speak. “This was the ring my great-grandfather bought for my great-grandmother. When my grandmother died, it was passed down to me.”

I pick up the ring and hold it up, so it sparkles in the light. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find the woman of my dreams.” Taking her hand, I slide the ring onto her finger. “But then I met you. And suddenly, I knew you were the one woman I couldn’t live without.”

We both realize the ring fits like it was custom made for her finger. That’s a stroke of pure luck. She’s not breathing. I can tell by the way her chest lifts just once, shallow and shocked, then doesn’t move at all. The ring is on her finger. My hand is wrapped around hers, but she’s frozen.

Her mouth opens a bit, but no words come out. My proposal can’t be this much of a shock, I think to myself. Her eyes begin to tear up and I find myself praying those are happy tears. She’s staring at me like I just turned her whole damn world upside down. Which I guess I did without meaning to.

But now I’m sitting across from her, trying to discern her expression. All I can think of is maybe I asked too soon. Maybe I read her wrong. My jaw clenches, but I don’t move. I can barely breathe.

My stomach knots. I haven’t felt this kind of fear since the day Grime put a knife to her throat and told me I couldn’t reach her in time. This feels like that, only with a different edge to it.

Then her eyes lift to mine. She states sincerely, her voice a mere whisper, “I would’ve married you the night you kicked in that warehouse door.”

I bring her hand to my lips and seal the ring onto her finger with a kiss. The relief I feel in my chest is profound.

---