Epilogue
COOPER
Six months later
“Hey, Deke, hope you don’t mind. I got here a day before Stephanie so I can—” I set my suitcase down and freeze.
That’s not Deke—it’s Stephanie.
She’s not supposed to be here.
This is going to complicate things.
“Hi.” I draw the word out as my mind scrambles to what this might do to my plans. “I didn’t think you were going to get here till tomorrow.”
“I know.” The Cheshire grin on her face puts me on high alert.
“Okay.” I start to cautiously approach her. “So why are you here?” I scan the room, like it’s going to offer up a clue. The plan—as far as she was aware—was to fly in from Boston and Chicago tomorrow.
“I had some things to do. Wanna take a walk, Mallory?” She turns and walks out the back door.
She called me Mallory. That can’t be good, right?
What is going on here? Stephanie isn’t good at subterfuge . . . is she? Why does it seem like she knows what’s going to happen?
I have a plan. That’s why I’m here early.
Or, I guess, I had a plan.
But apparently I’m chucking it all out the window and flying by the seat of my pants. Normally I’m great at that kind of thing, but this time, I don’t want to fly by the seat of my pants. I’m precisely prepared with plan A—there is no plan B.
I realize I should follow Stephanie, so I rush out the back door. The sun is starting to go down, making the sky explode with color. The water is calm, and the waves are gently lapping up on the sand. It’s a perfect evening, but I can’t enjoy any of it because I don’t know what’s going on.
Stephanie is casually walking down the beach, and I run after her. “Stephanie,” it doesn’t take much to catch her, “hey, how are you? What brought you in a day early? What are your plans? Are you going out with Sam or Cheryl somewhere?” I need to find a way to get rid of her for a little while.
“I’m not.” Again with the sly smile.
She’s acting very suspicious, and I’m not sure things are going to go according to my plan.
This can’t happen today. Any day but today!
I was already nervous, but this takes me to a whole new level.
“You didn’t say what your plans were.”
“No. I didn’t.”
I stop moving; I’m at a complete loss.
She calls over her shoulder after me. “You coming? It’s not much farther.”
Something is definitely off—Stephanie is acting very much not like Stephanie.
“Here we are.” She stops underneath a tree on the beach. Photos of the two of us are hanging everywhere. “Do you know what tree this is?”
I hear her question, but I’m too busy taking in all the pictures to answer.
There have to be one hundred—maybe two hundred—pictures hanging from the tree, all by white ribbons.
There’s one from a couple of months ago at Frank’s house where we’re floating in his pool.
One from the first time she visited me in Chicago where we’re standing by the famous giant silver bean.
I reach up and touch a photo from our trip to Ghana four or five months ago, where we built wells in small villages.
Next to that, we’re eating clam chowder in a little tavern in Boston.
There we are on a ride at Disney World, her face caught mid-laugh.
The tree is basically a scrapbook of our time together: vacations, dinners, time with family, sitting on the beach, pickleball with Deke and Sam, humanitarian trips, kissing, laughing—it’s all here.
On an easel at the base of the tree is the largest of all the pictures, and it’s my favorite. It will always be my favorite.
“Look,” I reach out and touch it, “it’s two people becoming friends.”
It’s the photo I took of us on the kayak all those months ago.
“Cooper Brett Mallory,” for some reason I love it when she uses my whole name, “you are the most surprising thing that has ever happened to me. You came into my life at the most unexpected time and in the most unexpected way. And right here—under this very tree—was the first time I ever fell for you.”
I notice for the first time that this is, indeed, the tree I was under the moment I first met Stephanie, when I promptly fell on top of her and knocked us both to the ground. I chuckle out loud at the memory and love that Stephanie chose this tree to be our personal scrapbook.
“But just before I took that fall, I’d already had a different kind of fall for you: I’d just seen you with Lou, and that was the moment I started my real fall.
And it’s been quite the adventure ever since.
” The breeze catches on her white dress, which moves gently against her legs.
It’s a picture-perfect scene, the smell of tropical flowers filling the air, and . . . wait.
“I love you, Cooper.” No. This can’t be . . .
“And I want to spend the rest of our lives making more memories—” she drops to one knee.
“Nope, not happening!” I take a large step back.
“WHAT?!” She stands back up.
“Not right now!” I take another step back and turn toward the house.
“Cooper, get back here! I’m proposing!” She yells at my back as I start running.
“Not if I have anything to say about it!”
“Get back here!” I can tell from her voice that she’s running after me.
When I get to the back deck, I take all four steps in one leap and rush into what I consider “my room” when I’m on the island.
I move with bold strides to the dresser and pull open a drawer, rummaging through it.
“Where is it?” The drawer is filled with an odd combination of phone-charger cables, flashlights, loose batteries, and what I’m finding right now to be an obnoxious amount of junk. I can’t find it.
“Mallory,” she stomps into the room, “what kind of inconvenient fire drill is this? I was back there proposing to you, and you took off running?”
“Stephanie, you can’t propose to me!” I’m still rummaging through the drawer.
“Why? Because I’m a woman?” I hear the dangerous tone in her voice, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth to calm her down right now.
“Is this some kind of gender issue? Because I thought it was an incredibly romantic thing to do. I was thinking someday our children would think it was amazing that their mom proposed to their?—”
“FOUND IT!” I pull a little felt bag out of the drawer, take a small box out of it, and throw it on the bed. “That’s why you can’t propose!”
Stephanie stares at it for a moment before picking it up and opening it.
“Cooper! Suck a Spanish duck, this is disgusting. What were you possibly going to do with this?” She holds it up like it’s a stinky sock.
She’s holding a ring with an enormous pink diamond and all sorts of obnoxious jewels encrusted around it, each one screaming for its own attention.
There is no artistic balance to it—just a lot of jewels for the sake of a lot of jewels.
It’s the gaudiest and ugliest piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen.
When I told the jeweler I wanted the most expensive ring in the shop, this wasn’t what I was expecting.
“What do you think I’m going to do with it?” I gesture to it. “I’m going to propose with it. But not till tomorrow—which is why you can’t propose to me today.”
“You were going to propose to me with that? Cooper, it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Not even under threat of death would I put that thing on.” She raises a challenging brow.
“That’s the point!” My stress rises.
“Cooper, I wasn’t joking. I legitimately hate that ring.” She throws the ring back on the bed like it might bite her.
“I knew you would, and it makes me love you all the more. I bought this,” I wildly gesture to it, “gaudy monstrosity of a ring, because I want to watch it grow old and gather dust because you’re never going to wear it.
And every time I see it, I’ll remember that you love me in spite of the fact that I can buy it for you—not because of it.
So, the reality is,” I start to lose some of my steam, “this ring is actually for me. And the ring for you,” I reach into the felt bag and pull out the other box, “is this one.” I open up the ring box to reveal a simple gold band with a row of small sapphires.
Stephanie gasps.
“And I was going to make a whole speech explaining . . . well, explaining everything I just said—but it was going to be more romantic. I’ve been so nervous about it,” I’ve lost all my steam now and run my hand through my hair, “because it’s a little off-brand for me to buy that thing.
” I can’t even bring myself to look at it.
“But I was hoping that the sentiment would play well and you’d understand what I was going for.
” Defeat reaches out and slaps me across the face.
“Really? That was your plan?”
“It was.” I feel so dumb right now.
“Oh.” She appears a little taken aback. “That was actually pretty amazing.”
“No it wasn’t.” I shake my head. “I practically yelled at you the whole time.” I throw my hands into the air.
“This is nothing like how I saw it going in my head. These kinds of things are supposed to be romantic. And now,” my emotions are ramping up again, “I’m supposed to kiss you in some sweet way, when in reality I want to completely devour you.
I’m in love with you, and I want you. All of you.
In every way a man should want the woman he’s going to share children with.
In the way a man should want the woman he wants to grow old with.
And I don’t want to marry you in a year or six months or three months.
I want to marry you last week!” At this point, it’s like I’m pleading for my life.
“Please, Stephanie, say you’ll marry me. ”
Stephanie stands perfectly still, the edges of her mouth turned up. “So your other speech was supposed to be better than that? Because I kind of liked what you just did.”
I give her a disbelieving look, but she just shrugs, as if daring me to doubt her.
“I like seeing you disheveled. I’ve never really seen it, and it’s kinda hot.”