Head Over Feels

“Yeah, it’s very meta.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Like Fight Club . . . Okay, never mind. It’s not important. What is important is that I love you a latte. I mean, a lot. I like your mugs in my cabinet, and I’m not even bothered by the way you squeeze the toothpaste in the middle of the tube like a serial killer.”

Slow blinking, she twists her mouth. “Serial killer might be taking it a little too far, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “Is it?”

“A wee bit, but I get the intention behind it. Carry on.”

We’ve gotten off track, so to steer this baby back into the right lane, I tap the mug. “Bottoms up.”

“That’s what he said. Last night, in fact.” Her giggle-snort causes her body to vibrate with laughter. “I’ll be here all week, folks.” She’s my regular comedian, but she’s not making this easy.

“So yeah, um. What I’m trying to say—”

“I’ve never known you to struggle with words.”

I’ve never done this before.

Is it hot in here?

I casually bump the mug closer to her mouth. “Drink the coffee!” I shout, and then whisper, “please.”

“Good gracious, Rad.” Her brow creases, and her tone is cross. “Why? Did you poison me?”

“No,” I reply an octave too loud. Shit. I’m fucking this up.

Her eyebrow cocks. Now we’re off the rails entirely.

“For Pete’s sake,” I say, “I didn’t poison you.”

“Who’s Pete?”

This is not how it was supposed to go. “I don’t know who Pete is. I don’t care who Pete is. It’s just an expression.”

“I know. I was only teasing.” She giggles. “What’s wrong?”

I grab the mug and dump the remaining coffee down the drain. With her hands on her hips, she scowls. “Why’d you do that?”

I practically shove the mug back at her and then sink to one knee. “Look at the mug.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you,” she says, irritation coating her tone. “I already said I love it, but you didn’t have to waste perfectly good coffee.”

I take a deep breath. I love this woman with my whole heart. Apparently, I’m not making it easy on her either. This was a terrible plan. Rubbing my forehead, I say, “Look inside the mug, Tealey.”

She does . . . and then it happens. She finally sees what I’ve been anxious for her to read. Her lips part, and her chest rises and falls with a heavy breath. “Will you marry me, Tealey?” Each word sounded out as tears sprang to her eyes. When her attention pivots to me, she sets the mug on the counter and caresses my cheek. “Did you have that made for me?”

“No,” I say casually, like it’s not hard to find the name Tealey on anything. The confusion written on her face was not exactly what I was aiming for with this proposal. “Yes, I had it made. Trust me, there are no other Tealeys in the Tri-state area.”

Since I’ve already screwed it up, I flip open the velvet box to reveal the ring I had designed for her, with the help of Marlow and Cammie, who insisted on input. My stomach does a flip, and my heart is beating out of my chest.

I clear my throat, trying to be serious and sincere. “I love you, baby, your punny mugs, cat pjs, and rock star romance reading ways. There’s no one else I want to wake up to each morning or go to bed with each night other than with you. Destiny introduced us, but we made it happen. Now, I can’t imagine my life without you. I may not be an odds man, but I’d bet on us every time, baby.” I look at her and lick my lips. “Will you marry me, Tealey Bell?”

Not the best argument I’ve ever laid out, but it’s us—a little orderly and a dash of chaos.

She sits on my bent knee, wrapping her arms around my neck, and says, “Yes, because underneath those tailored suits and behind those crystal awards, you were always a man who knew what he wanted. You just momentarily lost your way, but you got here in the end. So, yes, I’ll marry you, Counselor.”

“How’s tomorrow?”

She giggles again and then kisses me.