Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Excited and very nervous.
“You gonna miss our place?” I ask, kissing her shoulder. “Three months away from home is a long time. It was a wise decision to leave your succulents in the office.”
She turns back and searches my face the way she likes to do. “No,” she says simply. “You’re my home.”
It hits me low in the gut. A drunken registration to an online pen pal program has led to this, led to me finding the love of my life.
I bring her knuckles to my lips and kiss them, because if I say anything right now, my voice might break. I’m barely holding myself together.
She nestles into my side, and I inhale her scent.
We’re not even off the ground yet, but I already feel like I’m flying.
The boat sways gently beneath our feet as we drift along the Tagus River, the late afternoon melting into gold. The sky is streaked with warm pinks and deep, dusky oranges. I would say the view is breathtaking, but Amelia easily outshines it all.
Amelia is at the bow, barefoot, hair messily knotted and fluttering in the wind, her long strapless dress billowing around her. She’s holding a creased tourist map in her hands, a vintage digital camera hanging around her neck. She removes her sunglasses, slides them onto her hair, and squints into the distance.
“There’s the Praça do Comércio,” she says, pointing to the left bank. “And I think … that’s the Rua Augusta Arch, right? That’s the one we passed on our way to get those lemon tarts this morning, which you didn’t like because they were too sour for your taste. But they were really good. What do you think about buying them again? Maybe you’ll like the taste this time.”
I cannot answer. I’m not even sure I understand half of what she just said. I just watch this woman who used to exist only in emails and now stands before me with her entire being lit from within. I think about how far we’ve come. Signing up to Write Your Desires to having a diamond ring burning a hole in my pocket. It’s small and light, but I swear I can feel its weight.
It’s time.
I take a few steps forward, then lower myself to the deck behind her. My heart is thudding so loud I can hear it in my ears, drowning out the gentle rush of water and wind and even her voice.
“Adam?” she calls over her shoulder, her tone dipping into that curious lilt she gets when she’s about to tease me. “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t tell me I got the landmarks all wrong and the—”
She turns, and the moment her gaze finds me kneeling, she stops.
The map slips from her fingers, catching the wind and fluttering away over the side of the boat, but neither of us moves to grab it. She’s frozen, her lips forming an ‘o’, her eyes wide and already glassy. I can’t tell if it’s the wind making her cheeks pink or something else entirely.
I take the box out of my pocket, my hand trembling.
“You already know it, but my life was pretty dull before you,” I say, looking up at her and finding her smiling softly. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I think I started falling for you somewhere between the third email and that first coffee you made a mess out of in my kitchen. Actually, you know what, maybe my heart knew where to find you, which was why I registered for the pen pal program in the first place. That just wasn’t my thing, but somehow, I did, and I continued sending emails and obsessively reading yours.”
She’s shaking now—hands at her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes—and I keep going, because I need her to hear it all.
“I’ve never been the guy who wanted more than what was in front of him. I kept my head down, stuck to what was safe and familiar. But you … you made me want to hope for things I didn’t think I deserved. You made me want a future that wasn’t just quiet and routine and boring, but one filled with joy and noise and chaos and you.”
I open the box. A princess-cut diamond ring.
“So, Amelia, my beautiful, messy, chaotic queen who managed to set off our smoke alarms again by cooking eggs,” I ask, barely able to keep the tremble out of my voice, “will you marry me? Will you put me out of this constant state of nervousness and anxiety by becoming my wife? I swear I can’t—”
But I don’t even get the last word out before she drops to her knees too, her hands cradling my face, her eyes wide and wet.
“Yes,” she says, breathless and already crying. “Yes, of course. God, Adam, yes.”
She kisses me before I can blink. Her hands in my hair, her lips pressing against mine.