He whoops, pulling me into his arms and spinning us in a circle. His fingers thread through the curls at the back of my neck and his lips crash onto mine. I tug on his lapels, bringing him closer and memorizing the feel of his mouth on mine. When my teeth find his bottom lip he pulls away.
His husky voice is breathless. “There are children present, Sunflower,” he murmurs. He shakes his head, taking my hand and leading me farther down the carpet. “It’s a good thing you said that, otherwise the rest of this night would’ve been incredibly awkward,” he adds with a chuckle.
We turn one last corner and finally catch up to Imogen. She’s sitting on a couch. Is that a couch? There’s a huge screen and a projector. There’s even a popcorn machine. All of it is positioned at theend of a red carpet in a clearing in the middle of this desert canyon like it belongs here.
“Hurry up, you guys!” she calls, kicking her feet on the end of the couch cushion. “You’re going so slow!”
We make our way toward her, hand in hand. No movie night will ever top this.
“How did you do this? This is crazy. There’s half a movie theater out here, Anders.”
“I know people who are good at making movies in crazy locations,” he says with a shrug. “This isn’t that different. And I’m not the best with unscripted words. I thought maybe I could show you how it might look if we do this together—my life and your life. Red carpet. Red rocks. What do you think?”
I take a long look at what’s ahead of us: Imogen, the red carpet, movie nights, and peaceful time in the quiet desert, just us. “I want all of it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs. He pulls his free hand out of his pocket, taking my other hand with it. I feel something in his palm. There is no way.
“Anders, is that a—” I'm certainly not going to say it.
“It’s a ring. But I’m not crazy enough to ask you yet.” He pulls the hand with the ring away. “I just want to warn you that it’s coming. Brace yourself, because it's going to blow your mind.” He laughs. “Your mom said I should just do it. I told her she’s nuts. It's a little fast,” he says, completely nonchalant, like he’s not already blowing my mind at this moment.
“Just let me look at it!” I reach for his hand, but he holds it over his head. I jump for it. “Come on, Anders. Just a peek.”
This man is crazy. Who buys a ring for someone so soon?
Maybe I’m crazy, too, because I would say yes.
Epilogue
Sunny, three years later
“Get out of my closet, Anders,” I say half-heartedly as I walk into my childhood bedroom.
I know he’s in there, and whatever he’s doing can’t be good. I hear him rustling around while I dig through my dresser in search of a pair of comfy sweats. We’re back in Utah and every pair of stretchy pants I own is either in a box or at our place in California. Major packing oversight.
Jackpot! There’s a pair of paint-splattered gray sweatpants in the bottom drawer. Why is paint-splattered clothing always the comfiest kind?Come to Mama.
I lock the bedroom door, then slide the sweats up under my skirt and pull the skirt off over the sweats. Tada! Instant mood improvement.
Our flight from the little airport in California to the even smaller one in Utah was a bumpy ride. I shudder as I dig around my drawers looking for an equally comfortable t-shirt, preferably with holes and even more paint.
What a day. We’ve made the trip dozens of times as I’ve worked remotely, but today’s flight was the first one where I had to use theairsick bag. Joe had to ease me into the idea of working from my home with Anders in Brentwood, and it was hard to be away at first. But I love being in California with Anders and Immy—and sometimes even Hairy—while still being involved at Nizhóní. It’s been the perfect amount of adventure for me.
But after a flight like the one today I’m ready to be a permanent Utah resident. Luckily, that’s precisely why we’re here. The movers arrived at our new house yesterday and Imogen has been talking about it constantly. We’re spending tonight at my mom’s house and officially moving in tomorrow.
After Anders finished the “Indiana Jones Project,” as he calls it, he scaled way back at work. The ironic thing was, that film made him an instant hot commodity. America discovered his range and fell in love with him all over again. He accepted fewer, more meaningful roles, which only created demand by lowering supply. He’s being offered bigger paychecks and working less. We’re all winners here, especially Imogen who is thriving with two parents and loves having her dad around more. She’s even taking dance classes.
I find an extra scuzzy t-shirt and change out of my button down shirt. There’s more rattling around in my closet and now that my mission is accomplished I’m nervous to see what my husband is up to in there.
When I tiptoe in, he shoves some hangers together and hurries to wad up a huge sheet of paper with those sexy, veiny hands of his. Wait. That’s not paper. It’s my poster of Micah Watson.
“Excuse me, sir. You are destroying private property.” I try to yank the wrinkled remains of my embarrassing childhood crush out of his hands.
“Don’t you think it’s a little uncouth for a married woman to have a poster of Micah Watson in her closet, Mrs. Abrahamson?” He tugs the drawstring of my sweats. I think his intention is to pull me closer, but all it does is cut my abdomen in half, making me squeak.
“Oh… sorry,” he grins and slides his big arm around my waist, drawing me to him.
I fall into him, more than willing. Nothing beats a hug from Anders. “Let me guess. You found an old poster on eBay. Something from the early days of your career before you started losing your hair.”
