“No wonder you have all those muscles,” Beth says, her eyes on Keno’s arms.
“My grandson plays soccer,” Lucy says. “He’s ten, so he has a bit to go before he’s pro.”
“A few years,” I agree.
There’s something about old ladies and their inability to speak with a filter. My grandmother always says she’s lived her life; so as long as she’s respectful, she can say what she wants. The younger, sensitive generation just needs some thicker skin. In her opinion, they get offended far too easily.
When we’re done eating, we play a round of Sorry! with Beth narrating since there are only four colors. I’m a little surprised when Keno gets to his feet after the game. “Thank you, ladies. We really appreciate how welcoming you’ve been.”
“Dearie, you don’t need to leave yet,” Marge says. “It’s almost midnight. You don’t want to miss the fireworks.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me up.
“I’m afraid we do, but if you’re still here when we come back through, we’ll stop for another game,” Keno promises.
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
We share hugs with the grandmas and then Keno’s dragging me away. “Is that your excuse to get out of here?” I ask.
“No. Come on. We have ten minutes, and it’ll take us eight minutes to get there if we run.” Keno takes off down the beach.
I stare after him for a minute before I follow. If you’ve ever run on the sand, you know how incredibly difficult and challenging it is. I run a lot—it’s necessary for the sport we play. But running on sand makes me feel like I’m stupidly out of shape.
Keno leads us down to the wet sand, which is a big improvement on the loose sand, but he doesn’t slow down. He’s sprinting, and it takes all my energy to keep up with him. No breath to ask him where we’re going.
I eventually realize we’re headed to the docks in the distance. What feels like hours later, one painful cramp, and miserable thirst, we stop on the dock. I lean over, my hands on my knees as I catch my breath. Holy fuck.
“Come on,” Keno says, breathless. “There’s water on board.”
“On board what? An ambulance?”
He snorts, but it sounds tired. His hand grabs my wrist. “Come on, Etna.”
I let him pull me upright and find a large pontoon boat in front of us with a captain at the open fence or whatever special boat name it has. Keno guides me along, so I step on first. Then he follows.
As soon as we’re seated, we’re handed drinks and shown where there’s a cooler. I may chug down my water and crack open a second. When I’ve caught my breath and don’t think I’mgoing to pass out from dehydration, I say, “A warning you’re trying to kill me beforehand would be nice.”
Keno smiles. The boat is already moving along the water when the first burst in the sky makes us look up. The one-minute warning that we’re nearing midnight.
I look at him. “You booked us a boat ride for midnight?”
He’s still smiling when he meets my eyes. “Maybe.”
“I think you got romance down more than you think you do.”
I sip on my water as I stare at the sky. Waiting. The captain tells us from which direction they’ll be coming and where we should look for the best, clearest view. I’m still staring at the sky when the fireworks begin.
I’ve seen New Year’s fireworks all across the country over the last five years. I’ve been on sky rises, in fields, and on the streets of New York City. This is my first time on a boat, watching from the ocean.
They’re stunning. I look down to see if Keno’s enjoying them as much as I am, and my lungs empty of oxygen entirely when I find him on his knee and holding a ring. I can’t catch my breath, which is extra dangerous when you’re on a boat.
The fireworks burst overhead, coloring his face in a rainbow of colors. I can see them explode in his eyes.
“Will you marry me, Etna?” he asks.
For just a second—one frozen, unbelievable second—I stare at this man who’s dominated my world since the moment we met. As I stare into his eyes, the world around us fades away. This is the best, most right decision we’ve ever made.
“Yes,” I say, unsure if it’s loud enough for him to hear.
