Epilogue
DEAN
I've flown this route forty-seven times. Checked these instruments thousands of times before. Never once fumbled a switch or missed a step.
Today, my hands won't stop shaking.
My co-pilot, Ryan, notices immediately. "You good, Captain?"
"Fine." I read out the fuel gauge data, double-checking numbers I already verified. Did I check that? Pretty sure I did, but I check them again anyway.
The velvet box in my uniform pocket feels like it weighs ten pounds, even though it's maybe two ounces.
I've been planning this for three weeks.
Made sure I was assigned this flight. Made sure Liz's seat assignment was 2A—best suite in first class, right side, front of cabin, maximum privacy.
Made sure Ryan was my co-pilot because he won't give me shit about taking an extra ten minutes before we taxi.
Okay, Ryan will definitely give me shit, but he'll cover my ass.
The ring box presses against my ribs through my uniform jacket. New ring. Not Gram's ring—that one's on Liz's right hand now as a promise ring, a reminder of where we started.
This one's for her left hand. For forever.
"Fuel check complete. You've verified that three times now."
"I'm just being thorough."
"You're never this thorough." Ryan pauses, studying me. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just want a smooth flight."
"Uh-huh. Does this have anything to do with passenger 2A?"
"What? No. Why would—"
Ryan smirks. "Because you personally requested this flight. And personally ensured seat 2A was assigned to Elizabeth Turner. And you've checked your pocket" —he counts on his fingers— "eighteen times in the last fifteen minutes."
"You're counting?"
"I'm bored. Pre-flight checks are boring when your captain does them six times each."
The cockpit windows show an orange-pink sunrise over the tarmac, ground crew working around us, perfect flying weather.
The boarding announcement crackles over the intercom. First-class passengers will board in a minute.
My pulse kicks up, my hand flies to my pocket again. The box is still there. Obviously, it's still there. Where would it have gone in the last ninety seconds? It won't just magically disappear, right? Fuck, I'm a mess.
Ryan is absolutely laughing at me. I can feel it without looking.
What if she missed the flight? What if there was traffic? What if—
I go to the cockpit door, open it a smidge, and peer through.
Liz appears at the aircraft door, and I forget what I'm supposed to be doing.
God, even after all these years, the sight of her stuns me.
The flight attendant leads her to 2A. She glances into the suite, nods, and steps inside. The privacy door slides half-closed—she never closes it all the way, doesn't like feeling trapped—and she disappears from view.
Perfect. I close the door with a little click.
"You're staring at your girlfriend like a creep."
"Fiancée. Technically."
Ryan's brows furrow. "Wait, you're already engaged?"
"It's complicated. We got engaged at her sister's wedding, but it was … look, it's a long story."
"And today you're...?"
"Doing it properly." I touch my pocket again and take a deep breath. "She deserves a real proposal. One that's just for her. Not in front of her family. Not for show. Just us."
Ryan grins and gives me a two-finger salute. "Good luck, Cap. You're gonna need it based on how nervous you are."
"I'm not nervous."
"Sure. I never realized just how fun it would be to watch you break down." He tries to fist-bump me, which I ignore. "Go get her, Cap. I'll handle things here."
"If anyone asks—"
"You're ensuring passenger comfort and safety. Very professional. Very by-the-book."
"Thanks."
The walk from the cockpit to suite 2A is maybe twenty feet, but feels like a marathon.
I've proposed to her before, and that was terrifying.
This is worse, infinitely so.
This is me asking her to marry me for real, not fake, not saving her from her sister. This is me on one knee asking the woman I love to spend her life with me.
Suite 2A. I can see her through the gap—absorbed in her book, completely unaware I'm standing here.
I take a breath, knock softly on the suite frame, and wait.
"Dean? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be flying this thing?"
"We haven't left the gate yet. I'm on break."
"That's not how planes work."
"I'm the captain. I make the rules."
She sits up straighter, suspicious now. "Dean, why are you really here? Is something wrong? Are we not going to the Maldives? Did the flight get canceled?"
"No, we're going. Everything's fine."
"Then why do you look like you're about to tell me someone died? Or that you're having indigestion? You're not, are you? I've got some Tums." She starts diving into one of her carry-ons.
I can't help laughing despite my nerves. "No one died, and my stomach's perfectly fine … well, except for feeling like a bunch of butterflies has taken flight. Can I come in?"
She scoots over, making room. "This feels ominous. You're freaking me out."
I close the door behind us for privacy. "Not ominous. Opposite of ominous."
"That's not a word."
"Anti-ominous."
"Still not a word."
The suite is cramped with two people. She pulls her legs up to give me room, watching me with confused amusement.
"Three months ago, I proposed to you at your sister's wedding."
"I'm aware. I was there, remember? I said yes. We're engaged. What's—"
"It was fake. Started fake, anyway."
Liz blinks once. "Dean—"
"I proposed because Maura was being cruel. You needed saving, and I had my grandmother's ring, and I just reacted. Spontaneously. It turned real. We made it real. But you deserve better than a panic proposal in front of your awful family."
"I didn't mind—"
"You deserve a real proposal. One that's just for you. Not in front of people. Not for show." I gesture to the suite. "Private. Just us. I know you hate being the center of attention, and public proposals would make you want to die."
Her voice shakes, her eyes getting brighter. "So you're ... you're doing this here? Now?"
"Yes."
I reach into my pocket and pull out the velvet box. Her eyes widen when she sees it. I drop to my left knee in the cramped suite, have to be careful not to hit my head on the overhead bin, and open the box.
It's a rose gold band with a princess-cut diamond nestled in navy velvet.
I take her left hand with my free one. It's shaking, cold despite the comfortably warm cabin.
"Liz, this has been the best three months of my life.
I want that forever. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.
I want to bring you coffee before you even ask for it.
I want to fix your hair clips when they won't cooperate.
I want to hug you every time you wear something that makes you look like a sad eggplant or a grumpy turnip.
I want to tell you I love you every single day until we're old and gray and you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
" I hold up the ring. "Elizabeth Turner, will you marry me?
For real this time? Just because I love you and want to spend my life with you? "
"Yes. God, yes. Of course, yes."
"Yeah?"
"Did you really think I'd say no?"
"Maybe? Three months isn't that long. You might've thought it was too fast."
"I've been in love with you for almost a decade. Three months is slow."
"Fair point."
I slide the ring onto her left ring finger. With a teary smile, she looks at both hands—grandmother's ring on the right, new ring on the left.
Where we started. Where we're going.
"You proposed on a plane."
"I'm a pilot. Where else would I propose? A restaurant? Boring. A beach? Predictable."
"Normal people propose at restaurants and beaches."
"Good thing we're not normal people."
She chuckles. "No. We're really not."
"You okay with that?"
"Completely okay with that."
"Good. Because you're stuck with me now."
"Good thing I like you."
"Just like?" I screw up my face in mock indignation.
"Love. Okay, I love you."
"That's better."
I cup her face with both hands and kiss her slowly, deeply, thoroughly, tasting tears and happiness and foreverness on her lips. Forever—starting right now.
"I love you."
"I love you too." She smiles. "When's the wedding?"
"Whenever you want."
"Not Maura's circus, and I don't want to special-order some stupid-looking edible gold leaves."
"From Paris. God no. Definitely not Maura's circus. Ours. Small. Just people who matter."
"Beach wedding?"
"If you want."
"With coffee?"
"I'll bring you coffee that morning. Every morning."
"Then I'll marry you tomorrow if you want."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Say it again."
"I love you, Dean Alexander."
"I love you, Elizabeth Turner." I kiss her softly. "Soon to be Elizabeth Alexander."
Walking back to the cockpit, I look over my shoulder one more time. Liz watches me from her suite, a smile on her face that's just for me.
Ryan notices immediately when I settle into the seat. "She say yes?"
"Yeah." I buckle up.
"About damn time."
"Yeah." I can't stop grinning. "About damn time."
The ATC tower crackles through our headsets, "Congratulations, Captain Alexander," then, "you're cleared for take-off."
The End
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