60. Sophie
SIXTY
SOPHIE
Six months after the 5K
When Foster pulls up outside of the Post-it diner, I look over, confused. “Craving some bereavement fries?”
“Something like that,” Foster says as he pays for parking on an app. “Shall we?” he asks, sliding his phone into his pocket and opening the door.
He meets me on the sidewalk and immediately takes my hand, leading me into the diner. It’s even less busy than last time, despite the fact it’s dinner time and we’re in a popular area.
“Reservation for Walsh,” he tells the very bored-looking hostess.
“This way,” she says without even looking at the table map on the stand.
“Good thing you got a reservation,” I whisper as we head toward the table we sat at the first time we were here.
“One can never be too careful,” Foster replies.
The second he sits down, a waitress appears next to the table. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, well, we haven’t…” I start to say while Foster asks for the exact same thing we had the first time.
After she leaves, he smiles serenely at me. “What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly incredibly suspicious.
“Nothing,” he says, drawing the word out a little too much for me to believe it.
“You’re bad at lying,” I hiss.
He shrugs, avoiding eye contact with me as he looks around at the walls. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
I join him in looking at the notes, seeing a few I recognize from last time, but a few I don’t. At least I know people have been here since then.
“Ha.” Foster laughs, pointing to a note above our table. “‘The only thing that sounds worse than nut milk is nut cheese.’” He reads it aloud, and I actively gag.
“That person doesn’t want anyone to have an appetite,” I say as our drinks are placed on the table.
“I’ve never gotten the appeal of cheese made from nuts. Just don’t eat it, ya know?” I stare back at my beautiful innocent-minded man.
“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Foster. Nut. Cheese.” I enunciate each word. He looks back at me with one eyebrow raised. “Does that not make you think of like… dried…” I don’t even think I can say it. “Nut milk? Like thick, crusty…”
“Ew, Soph, why?” he groans, hiding his face in his hands.
“You’re the one who read the note,” I protest. “I’m simply telling you what it makes me think of.”
“It’s a good thing the food here sucks because I don’t have much of an appetite now.”
“Exactly.” I nod. “I’m going to wash my hands and try to think of something else.”
The fries arrive right after I sit back down, and they’re as mediocre as the first time. The mozzarella sticks, chicken tenders, and spinach dip are a bit better, and the flatbread tastes like it had been in the freezer even longer than the last one.
By the end of the meal Foster looks as fidgety as I do on a regular day. He’s never like this. If he’s nervous it usually shows on his face, but his whole body appears to be vibrating.
“Hey.” I reach across the table, sliding my fingers over his. “You’re acting kind of weird. I like weird things, but I’m kind of worried. You’re not going to break up with me, are you?”
His eyes go wide. “Oh god, no, no, sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me. Do you wanna…” He gestures to the front of the restaurant.
“Yeah, but maybe I should drive?”
“Sure,” he murmurs, sliding out of the booth so fast he bumps his hip and releases a soft curse. “Actually, can I show you one thing?” He takes my hand and pulls me to the back wall. Weird considering he seemed so anxious to get the hell out of here.
He drags me in front of him and points up at the notes. “‘Did you know Bon Jovi’s singing about a steel horse and not a stale horse?’” I read.
“To the left.” His hands direct my head to a blue note with writing I definitely recognize.
At 16 14, I fell in love with a girl.
I’m 28 29 now and still falling.
Marry me, sunshine?
I read it again and then again, and when I finally turn around, there’s Foster down on one knee. A ring held out in front of him.
He’s opening his mouth when I shout “Yes” and dive on top of him.
“I had a whole speech planned, ya know,” Foster says as he unlocks the door, already poised to grab Gary before he has a chance to escape.
“You can say it to me now, if you want,” I murmur, somewhat distracted by the emerald on my finger. “You know, this is the exact same color as?—”
“The dress,” he finishes. “I decided that first day that if I ever got to buy you a ring, it would be that color just so I could see it on you forever. Sorry if that’s selfish,” he says guiltily
“I don’t believe you have the ability to be selfish, Foster Walsh.” I grab his hand and pull him into the living room before pushing him back onto the couch. “That’s one of the things I love most about you,” I claim, climbing onto his lap.
“Feels kind of selfish asking you to be mine.” He lifts my hand and kisses right behind the ring.
“Then I guess I’m just as selfish for saying yes so that you’re mine,” I say with conviction. “But really, I feel lucky that I get to do life with you. I love our ABCs, one, two, threes, and every other silly list we make for an excuse to spend time together.” I pull his hand to me this time and kiss the back of it. “I get to be your wife. Mrs. Foster Walsh. Unless you want to be Mr. Hore.”
I watch his smile jump with a trapped laugh. “I’ll be Mr. Hore if you want me to be. I’ll be whoever you want me to be, Soph.”
“Just be you. That’s all I ask.” I lean down and press my lips to his, moaning as his tongue slides alongside mine and his hands grip my ass, pulling me harder against him. “Thanks for keeping the clouds at bay,” I whisper.
He pulls back, eyes searching my face. My god, I really like his face. “Anytime, sunshine.”