So can the hard times. The terrible heartbreak.
When you make it to the other side, you can finally look back and see that it was all worth it. I wouldn’t change a thing because . . . here I am.
And it’s not luck.
It’s not fate.
It’s work, and it’s time, and it’s patience. It’s late nights, and early mornings. It’s listening and learning and doing.
Like playing a game of baseball.
And, like playing a game of baseball, I’ll never quit.
33
Declan
We sleep well past dawn that first day, so there will be no sunrise proposal. Neither of us wakes till noon.
I’m up first, drinking coffee on the balcony with the sun directly overhead when Grant finally yawns, rouses himself, then swings his legs out of bed.
“All right, tour guide,” he calls out as he strolls to the deck, full-monty style. “What’s on the agenda for today? Are we doing a coffee tasting? Some group kayaking? Parasailing with other couples?”
I roll my eyes so far in my head.
He shakes his ass as he joins me, and it seems he’s drinking in the view of blue waves and clear skies.
I drink in the view of him naked.
The next order of business is usually the first one with Grant—food. We grab lunch at a tropical-style café in town then take a detour for shaved ice at a food truck near the beach.
Shades on, we wander on the sand, licking cherry ice. Something about the casual vibe feels like this could be the right moment.
But not quite.
Grant scans the beach like he’s conducting a survey, and the ambiance doesn’t exactly scream romance or marry me.
So, it won’t happen now.
That night, we leave the resort for dinner at one of the best sushi spots on the island. As we sit, the waiter tells us about the specials, and the scallops sound amazing. “I’ll take the special dish,” I say.
Grant’s eyebrows rise, then he rearranges his features and orders some rolls.
Shit, did I just give something away by ordering a special dish?
Wait— Is he expecting me to propose?
Well, dumbass, you did say you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him and now you’re taking him on a romantic-as-fuck vacation. What the hell message did you think you were sending?
I don’t ask him over sushi or the special dish. We do, however, have a great time laughing, talking, touching—doing all the things we do best.
The next day, we go hiking for our morning workout, and the view when we reach the top of an emerald-green mountain, the ocean stretching below us, is stupendous.
But something about asking him to marry me after a workout is so . . . pedestrian. We work out every day at home. Our jobs are a workout.
I kibosh a hike proposal.
After an afternoon nap and a lazy, lingering sixty-nine session that leaves me brimming with endorphins, we check out sea turtles on the beach.
Turtles are cool and all, but not exactly symbolic of him, or me, or us, or love.
A day later, I’ve got a waterfall on the agenda. What could be more romantic than a stunning cascade on a garden isle.
But there’s another reason I hope the waterfall pans out. After a few days here, Grant seems a little suspicious. Sometimes, when we walk along the beach, he’ll glance around, almost like he’s waiting for me to do it.
It’s fine by me if he’s looking forward to a proposal, but that does take away the element of surprise.
As we make our way along the trail to the waterfall, I spot another reason to rule out this as a surprise proposal location.
Not just other people.
Other people proposing.
At the edge of the water, a ginger-haired guy in glasses is down on bended knee, asking a curly-haired woman to be his bride.
I laugh, trying to make light of it. “I hope she says yes,” I tell Grant.
God, that’s awkward.
Of course she’ll say yes.
“I bet he’s hoping the same thing,” Grant says.
I glance at him, wondering if I hear nerves in his voice too. Either my mind is playing tricks on me, or I’m so nervous that it’s catching.
Since I can’t propose now without it seeming like we’re simply the next couple in line at the waterfall, I jump into the swimming hole and Grant jumps after me. We horse around in the water as the guy and the gal kiss and hug and finally leave.
Grant swims up to me, rasps out a sexy hey there, then wraps his legs around my waist. Next thing I know, my boyfriend pushes my head down and dunks me, kicking off my waist at the last minute.
“You’re going to pay for that,” I say when I come up, laughing as water spews from my nose.
“Hopefully you’ll make me pay in bed.”
That’s not a bad idea at all. That night, I put him on his hands and knees and wreck him, just the way he likes it.