Epilogue
Stevie
One Year Later…
Is it possible for someone to be so perfect that they become imperfect? Because Adam has made this one-year-anniversary date borderline perfection, and I am worried.
No one is perfect. I’ve learned that.
But he planned every detail . . . to perfection.
It started with a gourmet picnic in our favorite spot in the preserve, right at sunset.
Adam is wearing a T-shirt, which is my favorite.
Simple. He braided a new daisy crown for me, something he does often when we have a quiet moment alone out here.
And due to some heavenly miracle, there is an actual, full-arc rainbow in the sky behind us.
My eyes narrow at the meteorological phenomenon. Suspicious.
Adam drapes the flower crown over my red hair. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his mouth hitching into an amused smile.
“You’re too perfect.” I jut my chin. “I don’t trust it.”
“Well, well.” He gathers my hands in his, pulling them to his mouth. “How the tables have turned,” he murmurs against my fingertips.
“Would it kill you to have a flaw?” I ask, though I’m well aware of Adam’s habit of tracking mud into my house. He even got mud on my couch last week. “I’m tired of proving to our listeners why I’m worthy of you.”
After my confession episode, my podcast took off and quickly became our podcast, much to my boyfriend’s chagrin.
At first, I lost a big chunk of my hardcore sasquatch listeners, but I quickly gained a rabid following of listeners who like a man with a rumbling voice and a passion for endangered New England cottontail rabbits.
They come back every week to hear Adam and I flirt while we talk about nature preservation and debate the existence of various mythological creatures.
Our female listeners are obsessed with Adam and his deep, sexy voice. I can’t blame them. I am, too.
But they need to cut me some slack. I’m a catch, dang it.
He chuckles—the deep, sexy kind that is the bread and butter of our podcast. “Stevie.”
“Yeah?”
He runs his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. “We were supposed to talk until the sun goes down, then look at the stars. But I can’t wait.”
“Huh?”
“That first night . . . The night I kissed you. I told you what we’d do for our first anniversary. Do you remember?”
Duh. It crosses my mind every week or two. I remember the picnic and another thing that I don’t dare mention for fear I’ll jinx it. I had forgotten the bit about stargazing, though. “Uh-huh.”
“Do you remember what I promised you?” His hands tighten around mine.
“Nuh-uh.” My throat is tight. I need to get out more than cavewoman grunts. “I mean, no, I don’t remember anything but the picnic,” I lie.
“I promised you opals,” he murmurs.
“You did?” I ask. I remember it differently, but I’m going to let him be wrong this time. I’ve learned to be magnanimous like that.
He nods. “The problem is, I only brought one opal. This year, anyway.”
He pulls his hand away, and when he brings it back, a ring is pinched between his thumb and index finger. It’s a gold band with an oval-cut opal surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds. It sparkles like a mirror image of the rainbow sky above us. More perfection.
Adam remembered.
I stop breathing. Now that I’m looking at one, I can admit it—my dumb little heart was hoping for an opal tonight. I didn’t expect a ring, though, and those can mean a lot of things. “What . . . Um, what kind of ring is that? It’s beautiful.”
He smirks. “It’s an Australian White Cabochon opal. But more specifically, it’s an engagement ring.” He takes my left hand. “Stevie?”
“Yes?” Breathe, Stevie. Don’t pass out when Adam is in the middle of proposing.
“I’ve been fascinated by you since I spotted your red hair in the forest years ago. I’ve liked you since the day I found out you mistook me for Bigfoot—”
“You would bring that up now.” I feel myself blushing.
“—And I’ve loved you since the first time I truly saw you.” He visibly swallows, then clears his throat. “I promise I’ll love you for the rest of our lives, Stevie. Please marry me.”
I whimper. “Please be less perfect.” I’m fighting tears.
“I’ll try.” He slides the ring onto my fourth finger, his eyes full of fire when he sees it on my finger. “But you haven’t actually said—”
“Adam,” I hiss without moving my lips. I can’t believe this is happening right now. “Don’t. Move.”
A distinctive plume of tail feathers appears around the trees at his back.
Oh, no.
“He’s back,” I mouth, nodding toward the turkey that everyone thought had moved on to new territory. I’d know that snood anywhere, though.
Adam turns, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes at the giant bird. He stands slowly.
“You know what to do,” he mutters.
I do. He pulls me to my feet, and my heart skips when the new opal on my hand winks in the fading light. I love it, but I pray this isn’t some indication of what our lives will be like together.
The tail feathers move closer.
I’ll have to tell Adam “yes” later. Bigfoot and I have some unfinished business with a turkey.
The End