Karen winced, thinking about it.
Having approved her appearance, she got ready to join Greg.
Based on the way he was acting, you’d think Santa himself was downstairs. Yes, Christmas was fun, and yes she liked to get presents (preferably expensive ones in either blue or red boxes), but there would likely be none of that this year. After all, these days they had to think about theirfinances. Which meant that such goodies (not to mention all-round fun) would be limited.
Karen sighed deeply.OK, let’s get this over with.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted the dearth of elegant gift boxes and bags in her pile beneath the tree. Instead there were a couple of very obviously store-wrapped packages and a simple white envelope.
Reaching for the envelope first, her jaw dropped when she read the card inside. ‘Skating lessons?’ she said, looking up at Greg in bewilderment.
He laughed. ‘I know it’s not usually our thing but I met this great lady in Central Park and I thought it would be different – a fun thing for us to do together.’
She smiled, trying not to betray her disappointment.A lady in Central Park suggested this? Jeez, next he’d be looking to raise pigeons …
Once they’d finished opening the rest of their rather meagre gifts to each other – some perfume and a skincare set for Karen, and tickets to a Yankees game for Greg, they sat in their living room, drinking mimosas, as was their usual Christmas morning custom.
Greg went to get a garbage bag for the discarded wrapping paper, and when he came back, he placed the newspaper in Karen’s lap.
‘Here’s your paper, honey. I know that even Christmas morning doesn’t separate you from your crossword.’
Karen smiled and took a sip of her drink. ‘I must admit I particularly enjoy the holiday ones.’
Skating lessons aside, she had to admit she was feeling pretty good today. Maybe Greg’s giddy mood was rubbing off on her a bit. Or maybe it was just the champagne. Nevertheless, she was going to just sit back and enjoy the day.
‘My lady,’ he said, handing her a pencil. ‘Do your worst.’
Karen placed her drink on a side table and curled her legs beneath her. She went right to the Entertainment Section and flipped through the pages, finally finding what she was looking for. Folding the section into quarters, she studied the crossword and set out about solving the initial clues.
Greg watched her with nervous trepidation, knowing that it would only be a few minutes until she found the hidden message. His stomach suddenly sick with anxiety, he decided he needed to do something to pass the time. He unfurled the trash bag and began picking up wrapping paper, all the while keeping a surreptitious eye on Karen.
He couldn’t help but grin to himself as she filled in each clue, a studious expression on her face as she worked towards the completion of the puzzle.
Greg bent under the tree taking his time.
When he heard her issue a startled gasp, he knew it was time.
‘Oh my… ’
He turned back to face Karen, expecting to be met with a huge smile, a delighted bowled-over-you’ve-blown-my-socks-off smile.
His stomach lurched when he met her eyes and instead saw utter confusion, a look of sheer disbelief.
Was it really that unexpected?
Before he could utter a word, Karen held up the section of newspaper. ‘Greg, what is this?’
‘And here I was thinking you were good at these things,’ he teased. ‘Need some help with that?’
He moved forward. Then, reaching into his pocket, he extracted the ring box and got down on one knee.
Karen’s mouth dropped open.
‘Greg … ’ she said breathlessly.
‘I wanted to do something special for you, to show you just how dedicated I am to us, and how committed I am to our relationship. I know that there have been some big changes recently, but we have been through so much together already – this year especially - and I know we can weather anything. Karen, if that crossword didn’t spell out the message clearly enough, let me. Will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife and making me the happiest man on the planet?’
‘Greg,’ she said softly, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry but no, I can’t marry you.’
