“Seven. Your mom had an urge to make her beef Wellington.”
Mom’s Christmas dish. It was one of Ryder’s favorite memories of her, in the kitchen, wrapped in a big apron, making a mess with pots and pans, and a mixer, declaring she was never “doing this again.” But the house was always so fragrant. And the beef Wellington was so good, Ryder wrote a school essay about it.
“Hey, Dad,” Ryder said. “Before you go, I’ve received a job offer from my old boss. In Colorado. Do you think I should take it?”
“Does it help your career? Do you want to live in Colorado? Are there socioeconomic reasons?”
“I have friends. I’d work for my old boss, and the job would be a promotion, but in a completely different park system. I like Colorado. But being in Hearts Bend feels right.”
“Sometimes we have to make the tough decisions to get ahead. Staying home is lovely if you can do it. But do what you think is best.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ryder said. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“Wait, Ryder,” Dad said. “Let me say I’ve learned over the years that some things are more valuable than a career and money. I know I’m late in saying it, but I’m sorry I wasn’t around more when you were a kid.”
Surprised by his father’s raw honesty, he felt a wave of compassion. “Dad, it’s okay, I understand.”
“Do what you want. What you know will make you happy. Trust that God is big enough to work in your life even with mistakes. Go with your gut.”
Go with his gut? Trust God? Dad never came close to attributing anything to God or saying something like “go with your gut.” Well, Ryder’s gut said stay, work for the WMA. His heart hoped Elizabeth would come home, realize she belonged with him.
At his place, he played with the dogs after dinner and replayed Dad’s advice. Trust God. Go with your gut. Ryder tossed the ball for Fred, then Ginger. As they scurried away, chasing each other more than the ball, he scooped up his phone and called Elizabeth.
When her voicemail picked up, he almost hit End, but after a panicked second and a big gulp of Tennessee air, he said, “Elizabeth, it’s Ryder. I was just talking to my dad, and he said I should go with my gut—which if you knew him at all, he’d never say that—but here goes. I know you’re on your way to Wharton, but I love you. With my whole heart. I want to marry you. Now, or next year, or when you graduate, or after a year into your career. You tell me. But I’m asking you to marry me, Elizabeth Dorsey. What do you say? Will you?”
Elizabeth stared at her laptop screen and the horizontal line of her pre-exercise term paper. It was due at 11:59 p.m. She had five hundred crummy words of a thousand. At this rate, all one thousand would be crummy. She used to knock these projects out in her sleep—hyperbole, but you get it—and turn them in early. But this time, her mind was fuzzy and everything felt hard.
She tapped the face of her phone for the time. 10:15. She went back to staring at the partially blank page.
The assignment—to analyze a previous work situation prior to arriving at Wharton—took all of her time between research, group discussions, watching lectures, and organizing it all into this paper.
Since arriving at Wharton, she’d had a few calls with her parents. One with Granny. Answered texts from Tina. Hopped on a video call with Will and Dan to go over the accounting system she’d recommended. Otherwise, her life was lived between campus and her very cozy Rittenhouse Square apartment.
Grabbing her notepad, where she’d scribbled thoughts and a high-level structure for her assignment, she tried to find the inspiration to finish this project. Time was ticking.
After a minute, she got up, crashed on the loveseat, and opened the voice message she’d listened to a dozen times.
“Elizabeth, it’s Ryder.” She rested the phone on her chest and listened. “I was just talking to my dad…go with my gut…I want to marry you.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, waiting for the question. “…Will you marry me?”
When the message finished, she hit play again and wiped away the single tear sliding down her cheek.
“Will you marry me?” boomed through her every time, shaking what she believed to be her very firm foundation. Why? Why would he ask her this when he knew the answer? Worse, why was she listening to it? Again. She moved to hit Delete, but instead cradled the phone against her chest.
A kind, good, handsome man with the softest lips and the richest kisses had asked her to marry him.
Sitting up, Elizabeth tossed her phone to the other cushion. He deserved an answer. The message was three weeks old. Yes, she’d been ignoring a marriage proposal for three weeks, which was so not like her.
“You have a paper to write.”
Her subject was the TWRA fraud she’d discovered over the summer. Which kept her thinking of Ryder. Ah, she felt so stuck.
Elizabeth jumped up for a bottle of water, then peered out her front window into the street, where couples with takeout headed into the apartment across the road, warm lights glowing from nearly every window.
Gathering herself, she returned to her IKEA desk (thanks, Dad) and typed another two hundred words. They weren’t good words, but words nonetheless.
Then she called Will.
“Elizabeth?” he said. “Is everything all right?” He sounded drowsy…like she’d woken him up.
