Bowie, though, had other ideas about giving his daughter space to grow. As soon as he stepped forward, Graham reached for him and held him back. Brooklyn rushed over to him and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him out of view of the kids.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Him,” he pointed to the boy their daughter was with and then quickly turned his finger toward Graham. “He’s been reminding me of the things we did in high school.”
Brooklyn scowled at Graham. With her attention back on Bowie, she caressed his cheek, loving the way his stubble felt against her fingertips. “Brystol is just dancing with the boy. I’m sure that if he were something serious, she would’ve told you. Just remember who she went to the football game with last night. I have a feeling you’re going to be her number one guy for a while, so let’s check our emotions at the door. And for God’s sake, ignore Graham because he’s up to no good and trying to goad you into being stupid. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten some of the really dumb shit you guys did when we were younger.” Brooklyn paused and looked out over the kids, spotting Brystol immediately.
“Look at her, Bowie; she’s having the best time.”
“She’s so beautiful, Brooklyn. Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
“For coming back, for being here. I love you both so much.”
“And we love you.”
Hours later, Brooklyn moved the broom back and forth, pushing everything to the center of the floor, while Monroe and a few teachers let the helium out of the balloons and pulled the linens off the tables. By all accounts, the dance was a success. No one got caught making out or doing anything they shouldn’t have, and very few students left early. Toward the end of the night, parents came in and admired the picture boards, laughing at their hairstyles. Some even took to the dance floor, despite protests from their children. Bowie had tried to get Brooklyn to dance, but she had refused to embarrass Brystol like that, at least not at her first dance.
As much as Brooklyn wanted to leave the mess until tomorrow, she couldn’t. They had back-to-back baby showers booked in the ballroom, and she would rather sleep in as long as possible. There was something about waking up in Bowie’s arms that made everything feel right.
When she came to the large windows, she noticed a trail of candles outside on the beach. Not just any part of the beach, but the part the inn owned. She set the broom down and told Monroe she would be right back. It wasn’t uncommon for people to set up on the beach, but they couldn’t do it without her permission. She grabbed her sweater and wrapped her arms around her torso to ward off the nighttime chill.
“Excuse me,” she hollered as she descended the stairs. She followed the candle path around the small shed to find Bowie there on bended knee, illuminated by the moon and soft white lights hanging from the eaves of the shed. She gasped and covered her mouth, walking slowly toward him. Resting in his palm was a black box. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“What I would’ve done years ago if I had the chance. Brooklyn, I’m not perfect, but I feel pretty damn close when I’m with you, and if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to continue to feel this way forever. Will you do me the second-biggest honor of my life and become my wife?”
She nodded, but the words to follow weren’t exactly what he was expecting. “Wait, what was the first?”
Bowie stood and peered over her shoulder.
“Me, of course,” Brystol yelled as she came out of the shed. She hugged her dad and then turned to her mom. “I helped him pick it out,” she said, pointing to the ring.
“What do you say, B? Wanna share your life with me? With us?”
“Without a doubt, yes. God, yes I do.” Bowie pulled her into his arms and swung her around. When he set her down, he fumbled with the box until he could get the ring out. She held her hand out and cried as he slipped the three-gemstone ring onto her finger, one stone to represent each of them. “It’s beautiful,” she said, holding her hand up to catch the light of the moon.
“I love you, B.”
“I love you too, Bowie.”