It means more to me than he knows.
“I can’t wait, baby. Let me grab my other suitcase, then we can head out. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Yeah, you are.” He smiles affectionately at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling despite his exhaustion. Before heading to our room to grab his suitcase, Griffin leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. It’s a gesture he does often, andone I’ve come to love. It’s so sweet and tender, much like the man himself.
I can’t wait to spend the next two days alone with Griffin. No matter what happens at this meeting with the university, I know everything will be okay. My future is looking brighter than ever, and I can’t wait to step into it.
thirty-nine
GRIFFIN
Today’sthe day I propose to my wife.
The jewelry shop called while I was in New York, and I rushed to pick up Mira’s engagement ring and our bands as soon as the team’s plane touched down. I left the bands at home, but the little black velvet box containing her giant, sparkly diamond is burning a hole in my pocket as we wander around downtown Ann Arbor, trying to decide where to eat breakfast.
I’m not sure where or when or how I’m going to pop the question, but I’ll know when the time is right. The stars will align, a chorus of fat little angel babies will sing, and a ray of sunlight will hit my sunshine, illuminating her beautiful face. I’ll drop down onto one knee, tell her I love the shit out of her, and ask her to be my wife. On purpose, this time.
“That place looks cute,” Mira says, her teeth chattering as she points to a little cafe with a cinnamon bun painted on the window. Pulling her in close to my side to keep her warm in the frigid late-winter morning, I nod.
“Let’s do it.” It does look cute, but I also just want to get my girl out of the cold. Her adorable little nose is pink, and I can’thave her getting sick right before I propose. Or before her pitch to the university bigwigs tomorrow.
Not a single soul gives us more than a cursory glance when we enter the cafe, and I’m reminded of one of the reasons I enjoy traveling so much. Outside of the Twin Cities, it’s unlikely anyone will recognize me. It’s not like I get mobbed at home, but I get recognized enough that it feels like I can never fully relax. Gotta be on at all times in case some random fan is taking a video or asks for an autograph. It’s exhausting. Thank fuck I didn’t decide to be a movie star or something. If it’s annoying to be recognized occasionally, I can only imagine how much it sucks to be bombarded constantly.
“Here you go,” the hostess says with a kind smile, motioning to a booth beside the window. It gives us the perfect view of Main Street’s storefronts and the fast-walking patrons trying to hustle so they can get out of the cold. “Your server will be with you shortly.”
Mira grins as she opens the menu. Her attention bounces between the laminated booklet in front of her and me. She’s fucking beautiful. I have to tell myself not to get down on one knee right here and now, because that’s just bacon sizzling on the grill in the kitchen, not angels singing.
“Everything looks so good. How am I supposed to choose?”
Who the hell says she has to choose? I’ll order everything on the menu, if that’s what she wants. “What are you torn between?”
“The lemon poppyseed pancakes with icing drizzle look amazing. But so does the cinnamon roll French toast.” She hums as she scans the menu, and I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it, but she keeps doing this excited little shimmy in her seat that has me grinning like a lovesick idiot. “Oh, they have spicy biscuits and gravy. Yum.”
She’s still muttering to herself when the server stops at our table, introduces himself, and asks if we’d like coffee. He fills our mugs, and, noticing Mira is still studying the options, asks if we’d like another minute to decide.
“Nah,” I say, smiling. “We’ll take the lemon poppyseed pancakes, the cinnamon roll French toast, the biscuits and gravy, a spinach and mushroom omelet, and an order of bacon.”
The guy’s eyes go wide, and so do Mira’s. I get it. It’s a lot of food. But I’m determined to make this the best day ever for my wife, which means she doesn’t have to choose between breakfast foods. She can take two bites of each and ask for something different for all I care. I have the money to order the whole menu, and I will if that makes her smile.
“Griffin, we don’t need all that.”
“We’ll take whatever we don’t finish to go,” I tell her. Then, looking at the server, I give him a little nod. “I think that’s it, man.”
He chuckles, promising it will be ready soon, and leaves me with my bride, who is staring at me with this soft expression that makes me go all gooey and shit.
“You didn’t have to order all of that. I would have decided, eventually.”
I chuckle at that, and her eyes dance with an answering mirth I love to see. “Maybe, but you’re cute when you’re indecisive. Plus, I’m totally planning on stealing bites from all of your food. My omelet doesn’t sound nearly as good as cinnamon roll French toast.”
When the food arrives, it fills the table until there’s barely any surface area left, and our server has to have a buddy help him carry an extra tray. Mira giggles as they arrange it all, and I soak up the sound, memorizing the way her eyes crinkle in the corners, the way they sparkle, and the soft flush of her cheeks. Every moment with her like this gets stored away in the part ofmy brain labelednever forget, so I can pull them up whenever we’re on the road and I can’t be with her.
“Oh my god,” she moans after taking a bite of the poppyseed pancakes. “This is so good. You have to try it.”
Before I can reach over and spear a forkful for myself, Mira holds out hers and offers me a bite. Leaning over the table, I meet her eyes and take the offered bite. She watches me expectantly, and I can’t help it—I close my eyes and groan, because holy shit, that’s good.
“Save those noises for the bedroom, hot stuff. All the ladies in the place are looking at you like you’re on the menu.”
