EPILOGUE
Liam
Six Months Later
I love the summer, but springtime in London is quite exceptional. Mild weather but full of color–blooming magnolia trees, the greenest grass, and parks full of daffodils. Full of Emerson. Maybe that’s why this has been my favorite season.
Emerson moved to London officially in January.
She quit her job, deciding to bet on herself as a photographer full-time. She’ll always have a job with Hayes Hotels and any future location we open, but since September, her photos have blown up. The photos she took at our opening were featured in Entrepreneur, GQ, and US Weekly—the list is long. She’s on a waiting list; the demand for her is that high—every sort of gig and all over the world.
I’d like to take credit—in an interview, they couldn’t get me to shut up about her. Luckily, they ran all of it—but this is all Emerson. Remarkable talent. Remarkable girl.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Chloe: Did you do it?
Callum: Seriously. Chloe is becoming a pain in my ass.
Chloe: Shut up. I am not.
George: She is. We are waiting.
Beatrix: I dragged a crying baby out today. Hurry the fuck up. We’ve already waited years for this.
George: Someone’s hormonal. Baby #2?
Beatrix has removed George Eaton from the group chat.
I’d wait even longer for her. Now, goodbye. I am busy.
I push either side of my phone to power it down.
As much as I would wait forever for Emerson, I hope I don’t have to wait as long this time for an answer from her.
I’m proposing to her. Today. Any minute now, really. I’m waiting for her to return with black coffee for us.
Sundays are my favorite days with her. Work is a drag and occasionally pulls us into working most days; however, we keep Sundays reserved for us. No exceptions.
A morning run if we aren’t exercising other parts of our body. Breakfast like my mom used to make. Cartoons are replaced with books. And then our game . Heads, I pick what we do for the day–which usually involves us exercising those parts of our body. Tails, she picks. It’s been months, and Emerson still behaves like a tourist. Dragging me to who knows where.
Today didn’t start any differently.
The coin landed on tails, and she asked to go on a long walk, flipping it along the way. I agreed—quite overzealously accidently. Emerson’s brows pinched in response to my eagerness.
I watch her walk out of the café with coffee and a glowing smile. It’s still wild to me to think that when we met, I would have done anything to see her smile, and now, it feels like it’s a frozen expression. Or maybe that’s just me.
“One black coffee for you.” Emerson hands me my to-go cup.
“No black coffee for you?” I ask her.
“Iced oat milk latte with honey.” She extends the coffee for me to try.
I take a sip. “That’s…I’ll stick to my usual. Why the change?”
She shrugs, and her smile falters. “I miss Chloe.” We haven’t been back to Chicago since she moved here. Before that, we went back and forth to see each other. I had offered to fly us back; I had plenty of work there, but Emerson wanted to adjust to living here. Chloe and her speak on the phone as much as possible. But from experience, time difference can be a bitch.
Chloe was the first person I called when I decided to propose to Emerson. She stalked Emerson’s Pinterest account to find a hidden wedding one. At the bottom were photos of rings she liked. Chloe sent them to me, and I instantly knew the perfect ring for her: my mom’s.
Emerson doesn’t know Chloe is in London with our friends waiting for us. I should probably end their misery and get around to the whole one-knee thing.
“I know. We are going back next month. Her birthday sleepover is planned?”
“Yeah,” Emerson replies. “I’ll see her then.”
We walk a few meters before I stop. “Next flip? ”
Emerson nods. I hand her a coin—not the one we’d been using, but a special one. I had it custom-made to read ‘Marry Me’ on each side.
She trades me her coffee for the coin. Without looking at the coin, she tosses it in the air and catches it in her palm.
I set our coffee on the ground. Reaching into my coat pocket for the ring.
Emerson slowly opens her palm.
“Hea—what?” Her eyes flick between mine and the coin, sparkling with something between disbelief and excitement. Her cheeks turn the most radiating shade of pink. “Marry me? Marry…m-marry me?” she stutters in confusion.
I nod at her, smiling as big as I can. Then I get down on one knee, pulling the ring out of my pocket.
“Marry me, States. I’ve loved you for years, and there isn’t anything I want to do more than love you forever. I promise to choose you. I promise to bet on us. Just say yes. Say you’ll marry me.”
She bites her lip before leveling herself with me.
“You have to flip for my answer,” she says. I give her a look. “I’m kidding. Yes, yes, yes. I’ll marry you, British Isles.”
I laugh at her tacky nickname.
“Good, now will you kiss me, or do I need to get George,” I joke.
“Oh, shut up.”
Emerson’s lip touch mine. She kisses me in a way that promises she’ll love me forever–no doubts, no checked boxes, just unconditionally.