Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Silas
January
“But it’s so cold out,” Betsy whines as she laces her barely used running shoes.
She’s been joining me on the occasional run over the last few months as the weather cooled off, but today I enticed her to go with me on a hike instead.
Okay, calling it a hike is generous. North Mississippi doesn’t have anything to climb.
Today’s adventure is more of a nature walk, which is perfect for what I have planned.
“It’s gonna hit mid-fifties. That’s not cold,” I scoff, fidgeting with the house key. I need to calm down or she’ll suspect something. It’s incredibly hard to pull one over on Betsy thanks to her suspicious nature.
“Do you have any of those hand-warmer things?” She stands, looking cute as ever in black leggings with a white stripe down the sides, a dark gray puffer jacket, a scarf in light pink Nana knitted for her, and her hair up on the top of her head.
She did some sort of wing on her eyes with black eyeliner.
“You know people use those in the snow, right?” I point out the window of my house. “There’s bright sun and no wind today. Hardly hand-warmer-worthy.”
I know this because I’ve been watching the weather reports all week planning today’s outing. Betsy snuggles into my side with a sigh.
“Fine. For you I’ll brave the great outdoors.”
I grin over her head, stupidly giddy every day when I wake up, knowing she’s by my side.
She still lives with Nana, but frequently finds herself over at my place.
Thankfully, the two houses are only a five-minute drive apart.
Deuce has been giving me shit about the perma-grin I’ve been sporting ever since Betsy and I got back together.
Then again, he’s never fallen in love, so he has no idea the joy it brings.
“And I love you for it, storm cloud.” I kiss the top of her head and then steer us toward the front door.
I wince as I get the door shut and turn to head for the trail across the street from my house.
There’s a diamond engagement ring jammed in my sock and it’s currently digging into my ankle.
Betsy would have absolutely noticed if I had a ring box in my pocket, so I’ll endure the chafing of my ankle to surprise her.
She never did cash that ten-thousand-dollar bonus check, so I put those funds toward a gorgeous engagement ring.
I just want her to have that money in some way or another.
The trees have all lost their leaves, just barren sticks awaiting springtime to look lively again.
The grassy yards of my neighbors have turned a dormant light brown, mostly hidden under the pile of fallen leaves.
Pine straw covers every single flower bed.
Birds are chirping and, despite what Betsy says about it, the chill air makes me feel alive.
“I think I can see my breath,” Betsy murmurs as we hit the trailhead and enter the forested greenway that has been preserved instead of developed into housing.
I roll my eyes and snag her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold, but she’s being dramatic. “You complain about the heat and humidity. I figured you’d love the cold winters.”
Betsy grins up at me. “I do love them. I just like to complain when you force me to engage in physical activity.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Oh, really? All physical activity?”
Her ears go pink, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or remembering how heavy she was breathing in my bed last night.
The path comes to a Y and I steer us toward the left, which heads down to a manmade lake.
Betsy chatters on about a lady who came into the boutique yesterday and asked if we sold our clothing online.
That’s something Betsy’s been looking into, but we haven’t pulled the trigger on it yet.
“She said she uses this particular platform on her website to sell her artwork. Said she’d walk me through it if I wanted her to.
” Betsy leaps over a stick and then walks backward, which makes me nervous.
She’s adventurous but doesn’t always have the coordination to back it up.
Case in point: diving through my rack of clothing the first day I met her.
“I think I want her to!”
I smile and then turn her back around to face forward just in time to navigate a hole in the dirt without twisting an ankle.
“I think that’s a great idea. Gives us time to get it up and running before the fall busy season hits again.
If it works out, we may have to hire another employee just for online fulfillment. ”
We make it around a bend and get our first visual of the pond. Not a soul is at the wooden dock, which is perfect. Betsy doesn’t like an audience, especially once she sees what we’re about to do.
“Hey, what’s all that?” Betsy points to an elaborate setup that’s taken me days to get right, let alone the weeks it took to build the damn thing with my father’s help.
Yeah, that’s right, he and I have had a bit of a rekindling of our relationship. We’ll never see eye to eye, and I’ll never forget that he cheated on Mama, but I can accept that he’s human. He ain’t perfect, and neither am I. That doesn’t preclude us from having a relationship though.
“Football season is over for our Angels, but I thought we could keep the competitive spirit alive.” I grab her hand again and race her toward the game.
She laughs trailing behind me, running as fast as she can to keep up. I stop when I get to the trough of footballs. Four wooden stations are set up twenty feet away from the trough. Each of the stations has a hoop in front of it.
“What the hell is all this?” Betsy shields her eyes with her hand.
I grab a football and hand it to her. “You mean, what the heaven is all this?”
She rolls her eyes at me, but takes the football, folding it into her palm the way I’ve showed her, fingers on the laces.
It’s taken quite a bit of practice to show her how to throw the football, but I haven’t given up on her.
She can’t live here in the South and not know how to throw a dang football. It’s just not natural.
I wave toward the stations. “You have thirty footballs in front of you.”
Betsy’s mouth drops open.
She’s so dang cute. Honestly, why am I making her jump through hoops when I want to drop to my knee and beg her to marry me right freaking now? Oh yeah, that’s right. I want to make this memorable for her. You only get engaged once and I want it to be special.
“Four stations. You’ll start with station one, throwing the football. If you get it through the hoop, you get a prize. And you get to move on to station two. And so on, until you get the ultimate prize after station four.”
Betsy’s gaze comes back to me, eyes twinkling in the morning sunshine. She slowly runs the tip of the football down my chest. “Is the ultimate prize you taking off those gray sweatpants and letting me have my way with you?”
I grit my teeth and stay focused. “Not quite.”
“Oh, sorry. That wasn’t very Southernly of me.” Betsy drawls in an over-the-top accent. “You can take a girl to the South but you can’t make her Southern.”
I grip her hips and push her toward the trough of footballs. If she keeps being sassy, I’m liable to push her into the copse of trees behind us and give her exactly what she wants.
“Just save all that fire for your throwing arm, huh?”
Betsy rolls her bottom lip into a pout but quickly embraces the challenge in front of her.
There’s very little in life that Betsy can’t do once she sets her mind to it.
She rotates her right arm a few times in an exaggerated warmup, then eyes the first hoop.
She gets her feet set, cocks her elbow back, and lets the first ball fly.
It hits the side of the hoop and falls to the ground.
“Ah, man,” she whines, already grabbing another ball. I heave a relieved sigh that the station is holding up okay. The first time Dad and I tried it out, the football broke the hula hoop. We had to reinforce everything, which took an extra day of construction.
Betsy throws again and this time the football goes right through the hoop and hits the bullseye behind it.
Exactly as I rigged the station, confetti sprays up into the air and rains down on station number one, along with everything in a fifty-yard radius.
Betsy squeals, jumping around in the confetti, a few pieces lodging themselves in her hair.
“This is awesome!” she yells, grabbing another football and shifting to line up with station number two. “How come no one else is doing this? Is this some sort of new city park initiative? I freaking love it!”
“Just throw the ball, stormy,” I groan. Of course Betsy’s going to have questions. I just need her to get through station number four and all her questions will be answered.
She throws and misses entirely. She throws another one and that one hits the edge of the hoop.
It makes an ominous cracking noise, but holds.
She throws a third time and it goes through finally.
Balloons in black and gold release from behind the wooden wall set up beyond the hoop, gracefully flying up into the air.
Betsy crows her pleasure, head tipped back watching them fly up into the sky.
“I hope those are biodegradable,” she mutters once the last one is just a dot in the sky.
“I’m sure they are,” I mutter back, knowing full well they are. In fact, they burst, drop back down to earth, and plant a seed wherever they land. “Okay, on to station three!”
Betsy hands me a football. “Here, you try, I feel bad doing all of them.”
I push it back to her. “No, no. I already tried them all out when I went for a hike earlier this week. That’s why I brought you back here.”
She studies me for a minute, but then takes the football in hand. “Okay.”
She winds up and throws, missing station three. She squints at the station. “Are those champagne bottles stacked up behind the hoop?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think it’s like that game at the fair. The milk bottle toss.”
Betsy laughs. “Just a more sophisticated bottle. That’s so Heaven.”
She ends up throwing five balls before one goes through and knocks over a champagne bottle. A small wall behind the hoop drops down and there’s a chilled champagne bottle and two glasses waiting.
Betsy frowns, not cheering her success this time. “Champagne? At the park? What if a kid played?”
I shove a football at her, trying to distract her from some very good questions. “Come on. One more station.”
She rubs her shoulder. “My arm’s getting tired. Sure you don’t want to do this one?”
I shake my head. “Nah. You got this.”
She shrugs and throws the ball, falling short by ten feet.
“You gotta give it more than that, storm cloud.”
“I’m trying, frat boy,” she says through clenched teeth.
I grin, shifting away and meandering over to the hoop. Balls keep flying but she keeps missing. I’m starting to worry that thirty balls won’t be enough. I hear her cursing and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“I only have two left!” she calls from over by the trough.
I cup my hands over my mouth and shout back. “You better make them count or you’ll be a big loser!”
Betsy puts both balls back in the trough to flip me off. Then she throws a football and I have to jump out of the way or it would have beaned me right in the head. Great, now she only has one ball left.
“The hoop, Betsy!”
I see her roll her shoulders back, take a deep breath, and then fold her fingers around the ball.
I reach down into my sock and take out the ring, keeping it clutched in my palm.
She plants her feet, cocks her arm back, and lets the last football fly across the field.
It sails right through the hoop, hits the lever, and a canvas rolls down to cover the entire back wall of the station.
It took Mary London a whole day to paint the sign.
She insisted it had to have realistic flowers painted in the corners.
She was right. It looks beautiful and elegant and everything my Betsy deserves.
The cursive letters spell out my question.
Will you marry me?
I get down on one knee right there in the grass and Betsy gasps. I have to shout so she can hear me. I didn’t think this part through. I’ll simply have to make it work.
“Betsy Mae, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much better life is with you in it.”
“Wait!” Betsy shouts.
She takes off sprinting far faster than she’s ever gone on any of our runs.
She doesn’t stop or appear to slow down as she gets closer.
My eyes go wide as she jumps into my arms and we both go flailing into the grass.
I try to take the brunt of the hit, landing with my back in the grass.
The air’s knocked out of me, but I don’t think she notices.
Betsy lifts her head off my chest, blue eyes brighter than the winter sky over her head.
“Silas Grey Winthrop, are you asking me to marry you?”
I wheeze. “Yes. If you’ll get off me, I’ll formally ask.”
She grins so wide it’s all I see. Then she sits up, straddling my hips. Still lying down in the grass, I hold the gold ring up between us. It’s a cushion-cut diamond in the center with a ring of black diamonds around it. Betsy’s hands fly to her mouth, but her eyes are wide and glassy above.
“Betsy Mae, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
She drops down, grabs my head, and kisses me. The hand not holding the ring burrows into her hair, trying to hold her in place. She’s frantic, placing a dozen kisses on my mouth, my chin, my nose, anywhere she can reach.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” she chants between each kiss.
I sit up and roll her onto her back, pulling away enough to grab her hand. My throat is closing with emotion. “I want to see my ring on your finger.”
She lets me slide the ring on, both of us staring at it. Thank God it fits.
“It’s literally perfect,” Betsy gushes.
I lean down and kiss her hand, the cool metal already warming against her skin. “You’re perfect.”
Betsy leans up and kisses me again. “No, we’re perfect together.”
“Hell yes, we are,” I mutter against her lips.
Betsy pulls away, a wicked grin on her lips. “You mean, heaven yes, we are?”
With a laugh, I follow her down to the grass and kiss my future wife.