“I know what—”
“Stop, I—” But he’s too slow, and my finger snags a loop and pulls it loose. He scowls at me, but I feign innocence and take a step forward.
“It will just take me a second. Hold still.”
He grumbles but submits as I go about redoing his tie, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my hands shake.
In fact, my first attempt is a lumpy lopsided disaster and I have to undo it.
Nash grumbles. “Do you know how to tie one of these damn things or not?”
Of course I do. One of the advantages to being my age is bowties are legitimately fashionable and not just ironic. But I didn’t realize how hard it would be to concentrate in this moment.
“Sit down.” I push him back up the hall toward the chairs around the dining table. He grouches some more but settles as I loop the tie around his neck. “Hold still.” I have to come around the back side of the chair so I can tie it from behind. “There.”
Before I can pull away, he tangles his fingers in mine, pulling me forward until he can reach my lips. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I smile at him. “Gotta look our best tonight.” For more reasons than he knows.
“We’re going to be so late.” He stands and goes to head back up the hall.
“Nash,” I say, panic rising. Now. Now. I have to do it now.
“What?”
“I—” My brain is blank.
He turns. “What?”
I love him. His sharp eyes, his stubborn mouth. I love how much he loves his kids and also how passionate he is about making the festival a major Canadian film event. I love him when he stays up late working on PowerPoint slides and when he drags me away from my computer so we can make love in our bed.
He loves me too, no matter how hard I work or how sometimes it feels like I understand his kids’ pop culture references better than he understands mine.
So, with all the same grace I managed that first time at hot yoga, I more or less collapse onto my knees then remember I’m only supposed to be on one knee and wobble as I get my foot planted again.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
With shaking hands, I pull the little velvet box from my pocket and open it to reveal the plain band inside. I had a speech planned and everything, but for a long minute, all I can do is breathe while sweat breaks out down my spine.
“Brady?” Nash says. His voice doesn’t sound particularly steady, which is good, because I have to swallow three times before I can get any words out.
“Nash O’Hara. You’re it for me. I’ve known it since the first day we met. I love you. Will you marry me?”
The apartment goes dead silent. Nash looks stunned, and what if I’ve misread this? It’s fast, I know it is, but why wait when you know?
“I—” His mouth drops open.
“Please?” In the fitted suit pants, my range of motion isn’t awesome, and my quad is cramping. “Nash. Will you—”
He moves so fast he really could be an action star. Before I can say anything else, he’s pulling me to my feet so he can cup my cheeks and press his lips to mine. Nash shudders against me, and even all these months later, that contact is enough to set us both on fire.
“Yes,” he says against my mouth, voice rough in a way that brings tears to my eyes. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Jesus, Brady. Yes.”
I exhale slowly. “You had me worried.”
He laughs, holding his hand out so I can slide the ring over his finger. “Had to think about it for a second. That’s not what usually happens when you’re on your—”
I pinch the back of his hand. “We’re going to be late.”
