Page 115 of Someone to Have
“My sister and Rhett helped with the illustrations. I’m shit at drawing.”
“I can’t believe this. How did you…”
“I used your key to get in here and swap out the pages. I’ll put the others back, of course. This is a temporary installation. Just for you.”
“I love it,” she says, the affection in her voice warming my heart.
“I don’t know that I’m much better at writing than drawing, but…”
She throws her arms around me buries her face against my neck, breathing me in like she's trying to memorize this moment. But we haven’t even gotten to the good part. Or so I hope.
“I love it so much,” she says. “I loveyouso much.”
“Okay, but you need to keep reading,” I say then add silently, so I don’t lose my nerve. This time I make sure to keep my mouth shut so I don’t blurt those words as well.
She reads each page slowly, her hand finding mine and squeezing tighter with every step. The morning sun filters through the pine trees, casting soft shadows across the path. I watch her face as she takes in each word, the way she bites that lower lip when she's fighting back emotion. At frame three, she laughs out loud.
“You remembered the Pop-Tart night?”
“I remember everything.”
By frame eight, her eyes are sparkling with tears. “You really don’t mind that I can’t cook?”
“Burnt eggs are my favorite.”
She shakes her head. “Said no one ever.” But I can see how much fun she’s having with it, and my nerves settle the tiniest bit.
At frame nine, she uses the sleeve of her sweatshirt to swipe at her cheeks. “You really didn't shave for three weeks straight.”
“Playoff beard tradition. You said you understood.”
“I did understand. I didn't say I enjoyed kissing sandpaper.”
“Hey, the team made it to state finals. That beard was good luck.”
“And the lucky underwear?”
“We don't talk about the lucky underwear.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I still can't believe I put up with that.” She's still smiling as we approach frame eleven but stills completely as she reads it.
“You became my home.” I don’t need to look at the frame. The words are etched on my heart. “My safe place. My everything.”
Her voice is barely a whisper now. “Eric...”
“One more.”
We walk the final few steps together, and when we reach frame twelve, I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs. Taylor reads the words aloud, her voice shaking.
“So here I am, asking you to be my forever—will you marry me, Tinkerbell?”
She turns to face me, and I'm already dropping to one knee, pulling the ring box from my pocket. The morning light catches the diamond, and her hands fly to cover her mouth.
“Taylor,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “You became my home the moment the first time you flipped me the bird in Tony’s.”
“That’s not romantic,” she whispers with a watery laugh.
“It’s real, sweetheart. You and I are real. Will you marry me so our story never ends?”
