Epilogue
Six Months Later
I t’s mid-December, and the lights glow once again in the trees and on buildings around downtown St. Anastasia. I have a special date planned for Nicole tonight and though December weather in north Florida can be wildly inconsistent—anywhere from fifty to eighty degrees—I’m pleased that tonight should be on the cool side. Enough to give the air a more Christmassy vibe and allow me to feel cozy rather than sweltering while walking around outside in a sweater.
We spent Thanksgiving in Texas a couple of weeks ago. I met Olivia, the only member of Nicole’s family I hadn’t yet. Mrs. Delaney—Amy—was so thrilled to have everyone together (including a surprise guest that added quite a bit of drama to the family dynamics, but that’s a story for another day) that she had Mr. Delaney—Ben—put the Christmas tree up early, and we all decorated it together. Nicole loved being with her family, and I loved being there with her, seeing where she grew up and teasing her about her untouched childhood bedroom.
Now Parker Library is officially closed for the holidays, and we don’t have to be back at work until January. Nicole and I will be driving down to Naples together to spend Christmas with my mom, and then flying to Texas just after Christmas to see her family for a few days. Other than that, we’re both staying around town and spending our free time together.
So, to start our winter break off with a bang, we have this special date tonight. I drive to Nicole’s apartment and arrive promptly at six o’clock. Before getting out of the car, I wipe my palms against the jeans I’m wearing. Despite the cool air and how comfortable I am in a dark gray shawl collar sweater with a blue T-shirt underneath, my hands are damp. I reach up and fidget with my glasses, and then absently pat my pocket through the jeans.
I bounce up the steps and knock on Nicole’s door. As usual, it takes her a minute to open the door, and even then, my view is of the back of her head as she walks away from me toward her bedroom.
“Give me just a couple more minutes,” she says. “I’m almost ready to go.”
“Wear something nice, but warm,” I call after her. “We’re going to be outside.”
“Got it!” I hear from behind her closed door.
I grin and settle onto the couch. I run through the plan for tonight. Dinner first. Then browsing down Cannon Street, including hot chocolate. And then a walk by the waterfront. Sounds simple, but I’m more nervous about this date than I have probably ever been before about anything. Except public speaking. Still not on my list of favorites. I pat my thigh again, feeling the hard metal of the ring in my pocket.
Nicole steps out of her room just then, and I stand, practically leaving my jaw behind. Nicole’s dressed in a deep red, long-sleeved sweater dress that looks like it wraps around her in a complicated way, tied with a sash. The dress hits just above her knees and stretches tight around the curves of her hips. On her feet, she wears dark brown leather boots that stretch all the way up to her knees. In between the boots and dress, I catch the slightest glimpse of black tights. She cut her hair short—she says it’s called a pixie cut—just before Thanksgiving in an effort to return it to its natural blonde color, at least for now. I’ve already seen her scrolling through colorful styles on her phone, so we’ll see how long the blonde lasts. Tonight, her hair looks ruffled in a soft way that makes me want to run my fingers through the strands.
My gaze finally lands on her face which is watching me with a smirk.
“Close your mouth,” she says.
I snap my jaw closed, and then open it again to say, “You look gorgeous. I mean … wow.”
“Thank you. I could tell you liked the outfit from the way your eyes turned into hearts, and your tongue was hanging out.”
“My tongue was not hanging out,” I protest. “And I like you , not just the outfit. ”
She laughs. “I know.”
She steps forward and wraps her arms around my neck. I run my hands up her arms and, oh my God, this dress is so soft. Seriously, is it made from bunnies? I’ll be hard-pressed not to have my hands all over her all night. I move my arms to encircle her waist.
“You look really handsome,” she says into my ear.
I think again about the plans I’ve made for the evening and consider chucking them all to stay here on the couch with her. But no. Tonight is special.
We walk to the rooftop restaurant where we ate on our first date. The host leads us to a reserved table right on the edge, where we have a perfect view of the lights along the water. Even better, we’re right under a patio heater so we can enjoy the night air without freezing to death.
“Do you remember the last time we came here?” I ask.
Nicole beams. “Our first date.”
I nod. “You changed my life forever that night,” I say. “You were everything I wanted, but I never thought I could have you.”
Nicole’s eyes fill with tears as she leans forward to take my hand over the table. “And you were everything I didn’t know I needed.” She shakes her head. “How were you so patient with me?”
I chuckle. “Relentless optimism.”
We eat our dinner, chatting and laughing. As we finish up, I ask her, “Ready for some more walking?”
She smiles, and we head toward Cannon Street. We pass the candy shop where we got ice cream on our first date. I see her peek inside, so I say, “I figured it’s too cold for ice cream tonight, so how about hot chocolate?”
She grins. “It’s never too cold for ice cream, but hot chocolate works, too.”
Next door to the candy shop is a little café that sells gelato, sandwiches, and some of the best hot chocolate you can have. They call it double truffle hot chocolate and it’s rich, creamy, and delicious.
I buy two cups, and we sit outside on our bench. “Do you remember what happened here?” I ask Nicole.
“Adam, sweetie, you know our first date wasn't even a year ago. How bad do you think my memory is?”
I sigh. “Can you please just humor me?” I sweep my hand to punctuate the question and knock Nicole’s cup of hot chocolate to the ground. The lid pops off when it hits the concrete and the drink spills into a splotchy brown puddle. I drop my head into my palm and groan.
“Hold that thought,” I say. “I’ll be right back.” I duck into the café to get Nicole a new cup of hot chocolate.
When I sit back down next to her, I ask, “Now, where were we?”
Her mouth forms a cheeky smile. “I was humoring you.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Right,” I say. “Then can you, please?”
She smiles at me sweetly. “Yes, of course I remember this bench. This is where we had our first kiss.”
“That was the most amazing kiss of my life,” I start, holding up a hand when she opens her mouth to protest. “Of my life up to that point,” I clarify. “Every time I see you, you are more beautiful. And every time I kiss you, I know I’ll never be able to stop kissing you for the rest of my life. Kissing you is like coming alive.”
She rests her head against my shoulder. “I never realized how safe I could feel being vulnerable with someone else until you,” Nicole says. “Kissing you feels like security and freedom all at once.”
I kiss her forehead, then trail down to her lips. We share a long, sweet kiss. When we break apart, I nuzzle the side of her face with my nose, and, in a low voice, say “I love you,” in her ear.
Then, I stand and pull Nicole to her feet. “More walking,” I say. “Grab your cup.”
She chuckles. “You really do have a plan, don’t you? You are a man on a mission tonight.”
I take her hand, and we walk south on Cannon Street to the town square, which is a small green space with tall oak trees decked out in white, twinkling lights. In the center is a giant Christmas tree, ringed at the base with “presents” made of plywood and paint. We stand for a while, sipping our hot chocolate and admiring the lights. At Nicole’s insistence, we take a picture in front of the Christmas tree, smiling and holding up our hot chocolate cups.
From there, we cross to the waterfront side of the street near the Fiel Firme Bridge, a drawbridge that connects downtown St. Anastasia to its barrier islands, which also glows with lights. We walk alongside the water away from the bridge on a raised sidewalk. Black metal posts every five feet are connected to each other by heavy iron chains, blocking pedestrians from the edge of the wall that drops down into the water. This time of year, tubes of white lights are woven into the iron chains, creating a luminous effect .
The farther we walk from the bridge, the quieter the sidewalk becomes. We still have groups of other people around us—the holiday light display in St. Anastasia is a major tourist destination November through January—but the night feels stiller and more peaceful.
“Let’s sit here,” I say to Nicole, nudging her toward a cement bench on the sidewalk overlooking the water, the bridge in the distance. As we sit, a breeze whips past us. Nicole snuggles into my side, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
Moment of truth. I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans again. I place a gentle kiss on Nicole’s temple, and then slide off the bench, onto one knee in front of her.
After I retrieve the ring from my pocket and hold it hidden in one hand, I take Nicole’s hands with my other. She’s staring at me, lips slightly parted and a soft expression on her face. She leans forward, rapt.
I clear my throat. “I’ve been telling you all night how I feel about you.” My voice cracks. “How much I love you. So now I only have one thing left to say: Nicole, will you marry me?”
I hold up the ring, which has a white gold band designed to look like vines around the setting, tiny diamonds in the leaves. The stone is a round cut emerald the same color as Nicole’s eyes.
Nicole, a glowing smile on her lips and tears rolling down her cheeks, whoops, “Yes!”
I slip the ring onto her finger, and she holds out her hand, admiring it. I stand and pull her up with me, bundling her into my arms. She pulls my head down and finds my lips with hers .
A loud burst of cheering and clapping interrupts our embrace. To my embarrassment, we lift our heads to see about ten people watching us. Several are holding up phones.
“I didn’t realize we had an audience,” I murmur in her ear.
A few of the onlookers toss out their congratulations. Nicole leaves my arms and approaches the ones with their phones out. I hear her asking to see what they filmed and for them to send it to her. I just shake my head.
Later, as we’re walking back to her apartment, I ask, “Were you surprised?”
She glances up at my face and squeaks, “Yes,” but she’s a terrible liar.
“Really?” I ask with a frown.
She puffs out a laugh, hugging my arm. “Adam, you’ve been emphasizing all week that tonight is a ‘special’ date. So, I kind of had a feeling.”
Oh. Yeah, now that I think back, I did use the word “special” several times.
Nicole stops walking and turns to me, placing a hand on either side of my face. “Not surprised,” she says, a smile as bright as the twinkling lights surrounding us overtaking her face, “but so, so happy.”