“Yes?” For the first time, Patrick seemed unsure, as though maybe she’d misheard him. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you!” Cheryl held out her left hand. “Actually, I’ll go you one better. I’ll marry you and I’ll stop trying to be perfect. I’ll just be Mrs Cheryl Normal. The most normal woman in the world.”
Patrick’s eyes went bright. He blinked hard and raised the ring box higher. “Great. So should I…?”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“That’s my KitKat.”
Patrick Normal slid his engagement ring onto the fourth finger of Cheryl Karalis-Walker’s left hand. It was a little too big because life wasn’t perfect, but when Patrick jumped to his feet to kiss her and everyone clapped and Cheryl felt his strong heart beating through his shirt just above hers—that was perfect. Because Patrick was wrong. Things could be perfect sometimes, if only just for a moment.
They walked arm-in-arm back toward his car and as Cheryl studied her engagement ring, she laughed. “I just realised my dream ring is the exact same colour as my butt plug. I mean that’s not surprising, because I love purple, but it’s kinda funny.”
Patrick’s eyes gleamed. “Yeah, I noticed that too. That’s why I’ve paid some chick on Etsy to make you a new one.”
“What?!”
“A new handmade silver butt plug with an amethyst base.” He kissed the side of her head. “It’s gonna have my name engraved down the side.”
Epilogue
One hour before the yacht party
Patrick climbed the stairs to Cheryl’s apartment trying not to think about the flowers he’d ditched at her front door a week ago. It was embarrassing as fuck that he’d done that but at least she’d liked them. Making Cheryl happy was never a bad thing.
He knocked on her door and then stepped back, running his fingers through his hair. He felt stupid in his tuxedo—like he was going to his high school formal. At least this time he wasn’t a virgin and half-cut on Woodstock cans.
Her door swung open, and his heart stopped. She looked stunning in her deep red dress.
She turned in a circle in front of him. “What do you think? Too sexy?”
The sight of her silk-covered ass made him want to fall to his knees and weep, but he’d rather cut off his tongue than tell her she was ‘too sexy.’ Whatever the fuck that meant.
“You look great,” he said, buttoning his suit jacket to hide his hard-on. Just every day, best friend problems. The kind he’d probably spend the rest of his life managing.
* * *
Fifty minutes before the yacht party
Cheryl glanced across at her best friend as they sat in the Uber. He looked so handsome it was ridiculous, but she had no idea how to say it without sounding like his mum or some gushing football groupie. She was desperately trying not to think about the video Eden had sent of him holding Jupiter. It was mortifying that she’d cried over it. She must have been sleep-deprived or starting perimenopause or something.
She pulled out her compact and checked her lipstick for the millionth time. She wanted to look nice today. Getting stuck on a boat with a bunch of football players and their scary girlfriends was no joke, even with free booze. They always reminded her of the assholes she went to school with. Maybe she could spill a drink on someone and make it look like an accident…
“Nervous?” Patrick asked.
“A bit.”
His hand fell on hers. “Don’t be. You’re incredible.”
God, he was lovely. She leaned across the middle seat and put her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Patty-Bear. As long as you’re there, I know I’ll have fun.”
* * *
Present Day
Cheryl straightened the string of pearls around her neck. Her eyes ached from crying and her nose was stuffy. She blew into a tissue, tossed it, and then walked over to the bassinet. Alexander was sleeping on his stomach, one chubby fist tucked into his mouth. At three months old, he already had his dad’s gold-brown hair and thick lashes. She counted each one, so full of love it bruised. Her mother’s funeral was in an hour, and they needed to get to the church.
Alex didn’t stir as she pulled him close to her chest, smelling his sweet baby scent. It was her favourite, second only to the way Patrick smelled after a run. All that clean, manly sweat.
