Chapter 32
HUDSON
It’s six-thirty on the dot. I have a crusty sourdough loaf warming in the oven, the pasta is ready in the serving dish, and I just tossed the salad. All that’s left is to light the candles for this romantic dinner at home for two.
I could’ve brought Leah to a fancy restaurant in Omaha but wanted this to just be for us … also, I have no idea how the post-meal part will turn out and am not quite confident enough to see my potential look of rejection plastered all over social media if she says no.
Clapping my hands together, I get my head in the game. Only, I’m not part of a team for this one. It’s just me and Leah.
I hear a car outside.
It’s go time.
But the door doesn’t slam.
It’s dark and I peer out the window. Leah’s Toyota sits in the driveway and she’s still in the driver’s seat.
I’m about to text her when I worry she’s having second thoughts.
I mean, it’s just dinner. Sure, after reading Pride and Prejudice, I had the invitation delivered by a courier in period dress, but isn’t that romantic?
Then again, this is Leah. There’s no telling what she’ll think.
I’m about to text her when I think twice about what Darcy or Bingley would do and head outside. Knocking on the driver’s side window, she startles.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
She rolls down the window.
I repeat myself.
“It was. I mean, yes.”
“Are you hungry? I have dinner waiting.”
She gives her head a little shake as if coming out of her thoughts. Eyebrows drawn together, she smooths her hair along with her expression.
I open the door and she exits the vehicle, sending her summer berries scent my way.
“I’m fine. I just came from my parents’ house and they’re sure planning a big party.” Her voice wavers and she adds, “For us.”
I’m afraid that if I say anything, she’ll jump back in the car and speed away. As if we’re walking into a restaurant, I follow her up the path and turn the front door knob, but it’s locked. I try it again.
“Must be stuck.”
Leah steps back as I push my weight into it. The door doesn’t budge.
“Maybe the side door? Be right back,” I say, feeling like a fool.
I scurry along the path, through the gate between the hedges, and up the steps to that entry. It’s also locked. I try the back deck, the basement access, and the garage.
Leah waits on the front stoop, arms wrapped around herself.
“Um, so, if someone wanted to break into my house and leave a garden gnome, how would they have gained access?” I ask vaguely.
Leah’s eyes bulge. “The garage window could be unlocked.”
I snap my fingers. “I secured it after the incident.”
She looks like she’s going to dart.
“I’m just asking hypothetically. I’ll text Grady. He has my extra key. I’m sorry.”
She nods, hopping a little in the chilly air.
I mutter, “The bread is going to be a charred little puck.”
The corners of Leah’s lips twitch with a smile.
It’s going to be okay, I tell myself.
We sit on the front step, waiting for Grady and heavy silence passes between us.
I think about conversation topics I’ve kept on file for dates with other women.
But this is Leah. She’s built different, we know each other, and have a history.
She’ll laugh my attempts to charm her right down the block.
“I’m glad you got the invitation,” I say dumbly.
“Interesting deliveryman.”
“Well, uh, I’d been doing some research, and it seemed befitting a lady such as yourself.”
Whatever was occupying her mind is forgotten for a moment as she bursts into laughter.
It’s the most glorious sound and I decide right then that whatever happens next, I won’t give up until she’s mine and I get to hear that sound every day.
Not only because I enjoy it but laughter feels good and I want her to feel good, wanted, and secure.
She taps the air. “It was unique, that’s for sure. Right there in front of the town hall.”
“I had help tracking you down.”
Bathed in the front porch light, she raises an eyebrow.
“A small army of your friends and family assisted.”
“They know about this?”
I shrug. “I, um, felt like doing things the old-fashioned way.” Meaning that even though her parents “arranged” our marriage, I went and spoke to them, offering the assurance that I’d love the heck out of their daughter.
Abuela, whom I thought would instantly be on board, only gave her approval after I showed her the ring.
Which I realize is in my pocket.
I could do this.
Right now.
“Grady was in Omaha at dinner with Heidi, so it’s going to take a while.”
“It’s her fault we got into this mess. Badaszek asked her to give you lessons, but she couldn’t, so she passed it off to me.”
“Pfft. Our mess? It started well before Heidi got involved.”
Leah laughs softly. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
I pat my pocket and pull out the black velvet box. Twisting so my knees bump hers, sending a thrilling current through me, I take a deep breath. Here goes.
“Leah, most people go from A to B to C. In other words, they start out liking each other, it intensifies, and then they get serious about their future. That wasn’t the case for us.
We haven’t exactly done things backward, but out of order.
Knowing how independent you are, I want you to have some power back in this situation.
I also want to be yours.” I open the box and present the ring.
She’s quiet for so long that I realize I’m holding my breath and have to come up for oxygen. But I didn’t say a crucial part.
“Leah Maria, will you marry me?”
Again, she’s quiet and then we both inhale at the same time.
This isn’t exactly how I thought this would go.
I whisper, “Please say something.” When I mean, please say yes.
Her mouth opens and closes. “I have never been asked—”
Stupidly not letting her finish, I say, “I should hope not.”
“Hudson, I’ve never even been asked on a date.” Her eyes dart everywhere but don’t land on me. She’s like a cornered cat, however I don’t fear she’ll scratch or hiss.
More like crawl away and hide.
However, what she said isn’t exactly true. “You sure about that?”
Her eyes widen with realization. “Do you mean at the carnival?”
“I imagine this takes you by surprise, but if your parents are pressuring us to get married, I say we go all in.”
“Why?” She blinks slowly like she can’t keep up with what’s happening or her mind is somewhere else.
“Because I like you. The way you look, the way you smell, the way you sound. I enjoy watching you skate. Making you laugh is epic. There’s so much I want to know about you, I lie in bed at night wondering how you’ll answer my questions.”
“Like my favorite color?”
“Sure. But also about Happy Hockey Days and the museum. If you’re like a kid on Christmas morning. Whether you prefer to go out or stay in on New Year’s. How you like to celebrate your birthday. Your favorite foods, outfit, all of it.”
“My favorite color is pink, like the figure skating costume I wore at my last competition.”
“I like the way you surprise me.”
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks.
“The exact shade of your eyes.”
She whacks my arm. “Stop teasing me.”
“I’m not.”
Our gazes graze and then drift before meeting again as if our connection is inevitable.
She whispers, “Isn’t this soon? I mean, we haven’t kissed yet.”
Even in the near dark, I can see the pink that shades her cheeks and it competes with her favorite color.
“We could do something about that.”
She can hardly suppress her smile. It’s adorable. “You said when I’m ready I know where to find you.”
That must mean she’s not ready. She’s not sure and I know why. It’s because of me. She doesn’t fully trust me because I’m Hunter’s brother. I can fix that. I’ll prove to her that not only am I not the same as my twin, I’m also not the same stupid teenager she used to know.
Headlights shine in the driveway, making the ring that I’m still holding in the open box shimmer. Spirits dipping, I snap it closed.
“Looks like Grady is here.”
I don’t imagine that rejection is a flattering or confidence-building look, so I hastily meet my teammate and get the key. “Thanks, bro.”
“Don’t mention it. But you owe me.”
My chuckle is halfhearted even though I sincerely appreciate the new friends I have on the team, at least one of whom will drop what he’s doing to help me. “Hang tight while I unlock the door and then I’ll bring it back to you.”
“Let’s not do this again. The unspoken rule when you have someone keep your house key is that they never have to turn in the favor.”
I unlock the door and Leah slips into the house.
When I return to Grady, waiting in the truck, he asks, “Was that the future Mrs. Robo? Are you having a quiet dinner at home as you war game the big day?”
“Something like that.”
We say a quick goodbye and my stride sags as I head inside. I’m glad I opted to propose to her at home rather than in a public place. It wasn’t the outcome I’d hoped for.
Leah’s posture is closed as she fidgets with a loose string on her sweater.
“Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
“It’s so tidy. How do you stay organized and clutter-free?” She lets out a long, relaxed breath.
That’s her takeaway from the low lighting, the tinkling music in the background, and the meal waiting on the table? Maybe the slightly burned scent of bread is a distraction. I hastily remove it from the oven, playing hot potato as I toss it from palm to palm.
I say, “I think if we remove the outer layer, it’ll be edible.”
“I don’t like crust, anyway.”
“In that case, I did this on purpose. Burning it makes it easier to remove.”
She giggles, sending a rush of relief through me. Maybe dinner will be salvageable.
After we sit down and dish up, Leah bows her head and slides her hand across the table, palm up and open.
She wants to say grace. This wasn’t anything we ever did in my household, but if I’m going to be part of the Smith family, I’d better take her hand in mine and say a few words.
Whatever thoughts populated my brain drain out of my toes. I’ve got nothing.
Leah clears her throat as if prompting me.
I offer a clumsy blessing, but she squeezes my hand, jumpstarting that electric current inside me.
We slide into casual conversation, mostly discussing the permitting process for the Happy Hockey Days event.
I had no idea it was so involved. I figured she could just set the date, make an announcement, and people would show up in the town square.
There are letters of intent, insurance requirements, and so much more.
She seems slightly stressed about it, so before dessert, I say, “I have a present for you.”
Leah stiffens. “Um, yeah. About that …”
“Not the ring. A different one that was supposed to come first. I had an order I was going to do things in tonight. When we were outside, I figured we’d already gone off the traditional script, so why not fully embrace it?
” I think I moved too fast because her blue eyes are still big like a cornered kitten.
I pass her the gift wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine.
“You were busy today.” She tears into it and then bursts into laughter at the two of us framed in the faux old-time wedding photo. “We look—”
“Like ghosts?” I ask because that was my first thought. Granted, we’d seen the photos already and had a good laugh, but out from the carnival lights and in a frame, it’s a haunting image.
She shivers. “I was going to say we look like we’d pass as a couple on our way to pan for gold in the Old West.”
“You think so?” However, that doesn’t answer whether we pass for a couple now. Does she even want to be?
My voice is timid when I say, “I figured we could hang it—” Am I being an absolute idiot, thinking we have a chance?
“You know how this works, right? We have to be engaged first.”
The velvet box in my pocket goes up in flames. Changing tack, I joke, “Who made these rules?”
“It just makes sense. Two people spend time together, enjoy each other’s company, and then they decide to spend the rest of their lives together.”
“Or their parents do,” I add.
“What about yours?”
I shrug because it doesn’t matter. “It’s just me, Leah.” She knows that.
Her expression changes.
“I don’t want pity. I’m fine. Used to it.” My words are clipped.
As if she didn’t hear me, she says, “I was at my parents’ before I came here and it looks like a wedding planner barfed all over their house.”
“Is Margo sick?” I ask with concern.
She shakes her head. “You know when people go all out for Christmas and cover every available surface inside and out, then they joke that Santa vomited all over everything? That’s my family.”
“As you may have noticed, I’m not into clutter. I’ve always wanted to—” Feeling vulnerable, I let the sentence dangle.
She goes on to describe the house on Stowells Street. As her words tighten, I realize she’s stressed out. Possibly overwhelmed. Again, she bows her head, but I don’t think it’s because she’s praying. Her shoulders shake a little.
I’m here and I’m not going anywhere unless she tells me to.