30. Epilogue #2
I take a deep breath. This is not how I planned this. Not even close. "A ring."
"A what?"
"A ring," I say louder, my face burning hot. "An engagement ring."
Anika's jaw drops. She stares at the postal box, then back at me, then at the postal box again. "You... hid an engagement ring... in an ice cream cone?"
I nod miserably.
Anika stares at me, her mouth opening and closing without sound.
"Say something," I plead.
"You put jewelry... in food?"
"It seemed romantic in my head!" I throw my hands up. "I had this whole plan. The ice cream, then a walk to the island ferry, sunset proposal overlooking the city skyline. Now it's melting inside a federal mailbox, probably ruining someone's birthday card."
"You hid jewelry. In food I was eating. What if I had swallowed it?"
"It was in a little waterproof container!" I defend myself. "And I was watching carefully."
Anika presses her palms against her eyes. "This is insane."
"I know. I'm sorry. My grandmother always says?—"
"If you quote your grandmother right now, I'll push you into that fountain."
My shoulders slump. "I'll call the post office on Monday and explain."
"No. It could be long gone by then."
She glances around, spots a meter maid writing parking tickets, and marches straight toward her. I trail behind, convinced we're about to be arrested for mail tampering.
"Excuse me," Anika says to the uniformed woman. "My boyfriend has done something very stupid. You see, I thought that mailbox over there was a trash and?—"
The meter maid looks up, unimpressed. "Ma'am, I can only help with parking violations."
She walks away shaking her head.
I turn back to the postal box, examining it from every angle. The mail slot stares back, mocking me. "There's got to be a way to get it out."
I attempt to slide my arm through the narrow opening, but it's hopeless. My bicep won't fit past my elbow. "Too small. I'm stuck with my hockey player build."
A woman pushing a stroller slows down to stare at us. I can't blame her. I'm practically hugging the postal box while Anika paces in small circles.
"Let me try." Anika pushes me aside, flexing her fingers. Her slender arm disappears into the slot up to her shoulder, her face pressed against the metal. "I can't reach the bottom."
She withdraws her arm, now covered in postal grime. "We need something long and grabby."
"Long and grabby?" I repeat. "Like what?"
"I don't know! One of those claw machines from the arcade?" She snaps her fingers. "Where’s your spy watch?"
"I returned it. The FIS was very insistent about getting their toys back."
Anika purses her lips. "So what do we do? Call a locksmith? The fire department? Break into it with a crowbar?"
"Let's not add felony charges to our day."
We stare at each other for a moment before Anika bursts into laughter, doubling over with her arms wrapped around her stomach.
"It's not funny," I protest, but her laughter is contagious and soon I'm smiling despite myself.
"It's very funny," she gasps between laughs. "It's the most Griffin thing ever."
Her laughter echoes down the street, bright and clear. I watch her with ice cream smudged at the corner of her mouth and marvel once again at how a bathroom break changed everything.
"Love you," I say simply.
Anika's eyes soften. "I love you too.”
We grin at each other like idiots. Six months together, and my heart still hammers whenever she smiles at me.
"We need to get it back," she says, suddenly serious. She marches up to the mailbox and peers through the slot. "I can't see anything."
"The collection times are listed on the box. Maybe we can intercept the mail carrier?"
She circles the mailbox, testing its weight and stability. "Can we tip it over?"
"It's bolted to the ground," I say, tugging futilely at one corner. "And tampering with mail is a federal offense."
I pace in front of the mailbox, weighing my options.
"You know," Anika says casually. "If you still want to propose today, you don't need a ring."
I stop pacing. "What?"
"The ring is a symbol. Nice, but not necessary." She shrugs. "I would have said yes anyway."
My heart thunders in my chest. "Would have?"
"Will." She smiles. "When you ask properly."
I stare at the mailbox for a beat, then at Anika, and everything clicks into place. My original plan might be drowning in melted chocolate, but inspiration strikes like a perfectly aimed slap shot.
"Stay right here," I command, pointing to the spot where she stands. "Don't move."
I sprint down the sidewalk toward a street vendor selling souvenir keychains. The woman barely has time to say hello before I grab a tiny metal CN Tower from her display and slap down a twenty.
"Keep the change!" I shout, already racing back to where Anika waits, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
Pedestrians dodge out of my path as I skid to a stop and drop to one knee directly in front of the mailbox. I position myself between Anika and the red metal box, extending the miniature CN Tower in my outstretched palm.
"Anika Gisler," I announce, loud enough for curious onlookers to hear. "I present to you this mailbox and this extremely overpriced souvenir as symbols of my eternal devotion."
Her mouth twitches with suppressed laughter. "The mailbox?"
"Yes." I gesture grandly toward the postal container. "Like this sturdy Canadian structure, my love for you remains fixed and immovable. It accepts whatever you give it, even if sometimes it's chocolate ice cream when it shouldn't be."
A small crowd gathers. Someone whistles.
"Griffin, what are you doing?" Anika hisses, cheeks flushing pink.
"Improvising," I whisper back before continuing my speech. "This mailbox holds our future inside it. Literally. But also metaphorically."
She rolls her eyes but smiles. "You're ridiculous."
"I might not know how to keep track of important jewelry, but I promise to learn how to be the husband you deserve. No more hiding rings in desserts. No more international spy adventures. Instead of me teaching you how to date, I'm hoping you'll teach me how to be the partner you need."
My knee digs into the concrete sidewalk. A toddler points at me. His mother shushes him.
"So, will you marry me and give me new lessons on how to be your husband? The real ring is currently covered in chocolate and stuck to someone's electric bill, but I promise to retrieve it or replace it or whatever you want."
Anika extends her hand, wiggling her fingers impatiently. "Give me your silly tower."
I slide the keychain ring onto her finger where it dangles loosely.
"Yes," she says simply. "I will marry you."
I leap to my feet and sweep her into my arms, spinning us both in a circle. Setting her down, I kiss her chocolate-flavored lips.
"But we're still getting my real ring out, right?"
"Yes, I'll get your ring out even if I have to camp here until an official shows up."
“Or we could call the post office,” she reasons.
"SHE SAID YES!" I bellow suddenly, causing Anika to jump. My voice echoes across the waterfront as I pump my fist into the air. "SHE SAID YES TO MARRYING ME!"
A smattering of applause breaks out from the curious onlookers who witnessed my makeshift proposal. An elderly couple gives us thumbs up. Two women filming on their phones cheer loudly.
"Griffin," Anika hisses, her cheeks blooming pink. "People are staring."
"Let them stare!" I sweep her into another hug, lifting her feet off the ground. "I want the world to know that the most beautiful woman in the world agreed to marry me!"
A bearded man wearing cargo shorts nudges his companion. "Isn't that the goalie from the Titans? McGregor?"
"The guy who bought the team during the lockout?" his friend whispers back, not quietly enough. "I think it is."
Anika covers her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers. "This is so embarrassing."
"Embarrassing? This is the greatest moment of my life! Apart from when you broke into my cabin to pee, of course."
"Please stop telling strangers that story."
I notice a postal worker approaching, dressed in the familiar uniform, wheeling a cart behind him. He frowns at the small crowd gathered around his collection box.
"Excuse me," he says, jingling a large key ring. "I need to get through to collect the mail."
Anika and I exchange panicked glances.
"Sir," I say, stepping forward and dropping my voice. "Before you open that box, I should warn you there's... a situation inside."
The postal worker sighs deeply. "What kind of situation?"
I grimace, twisting my lips. “You might want to wear gloves for this.”