I can’t help chuckling, even though I’m feeling just as frustrated.
Nevertheless, I can’t prevent myself from telling him, “I predicted this last season, remember?”
We’re sprawled on the couch in our apartment, watchingEldertide. (Yes, it’s the space formerly known as my bachelor pad, but Cody moved in back in August after we had been officially dating for six months, and I can honestly say the space feels so much more like a home now. Even Basil seems happier having a second dad to boss around.)
“I don’t care. It’s dumb.” Cody huffs. “Mystic and Beltane havegotto hook up already! They’ve been teasing this out for almost a full two seasons now.”
“Yeah, well, ratings tend to drop when characters give in to sexual tension,” I argue back. “And the fact that they’re same sex is an additional risk for the showrunners, too, as much as I wish it didn’t make any difference.”
“It’s stupid,” Cody pouts. “That whole ‘fight scene, fall and land on top of each other’ thing was theperfecttime for a kiss.Andit’s Valentine’s Day this week. It would have been the perfect timing for it.”
“Aww.” I slip the hand I’d been resting on his shoulder down to his waist and tickle his side. “My little romantic.”
He squeals and squirms away from my fingers. “Asshole,” he complains without heat. Then he points at the screen, which has run through the credits and returned to the series landing page, given that we just finished the last episode available. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong,” I agree, my heart rate picking up because he’s right: Valentine’s Dayisjust around the corner and it symbolizes so much more now than just a busy time at work for me.
We’ve both agreed that February 14this our official anniversary date. We might have started fooling around prior to that, but we agreed to become more than simple friends with benefits last Valentine’s Day. We exchanged‘I loveyou’s on Valentine’s Day. It was the first time we ever made love. The first time I ever let a lover sleep over in my bed. So many firsts.
So, for now and for the rest of our lives together, the once-cheesy Hallmark holiday represents the best day of my life.
If only my past self could see me now.
“I swear,” Cody continues, now settling in for a good angry-fan rant, “if this is going to be the final season, they need to just give them their Happily Ever Afters. With sex. Lots of sex.”
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it, and it earns me a baleful glare. Holding up my hands in surrender, I try to explain, “I swear, I created a monster a year ago, didn’t I?”
He grabs another cushion and lobs it at me. It misses and goes sailing past me and onto the floor with a dull thud.
Basil, who was snoozing on the armchair kitty-corner to the couch, ‘meow’s in complaint before he pushes to his feet and arches his gray back in a stretch. He lets out an annoyed cat sigh before lightly leaping from his seat and stalking out of the room, clearly unimpressed with our antics.
“Now look, you woke Basil up,” I chide, tsking in false admonishment. “Your own step-fur-son.”
In the middle of reaching for another cushion —I realize I probably have far too many on this couch— Cody hesitates and snorts. “Step-fur-son?”
I shrug. “You feed him, change his litter, play with him when he deigns to show any interest in it…so, why not?Mi gato es tu gato…or something.”
“Your Spanish is terrible,” he tells me, but his eyes have gone all soft and I’m pretty sure he’s lost interest in venting about the TV show for now. “But you’re cute.”
“Would you maybe want to make it official?” I ask him, aiming to sound casual while my stomach ties itself together in knots. “Be his step-fur-dad in more than just name?”
As with everything else when it comes to Cody, I’m throwing out my plans and following my impulses.
The shiny ring nestled in the blue Tiffany box in my sock drawerwasgoing to come out in a few days’ time anyway. I had planned to take Cody to dinner —to the diner where we’d first met up and started the friendship which would eventually completely change my life— and propose to him there on Valentine’s Day, but this feels so much more organic.
No, it’s not on the actual date of our anniversary, but that hardly matters.
We are sitting on the same couch where we first started fooling around, having watched the TV show which brought us together just over a year ago. Just like back then, when I threw caution to the wind and suggested we hook up, I’m doing this because I want it. I need it.
I need Cody.
Forever.
If he’ll have me.
I watch as his eyes widen, still so adorably innocent despite all the filthy things we’ve done together over the past year, and his mouth moves soundlessly. Blinking fast, he finally manages to say, “Are…are you asking—?”
“Will you marry me, Cody?”
