An instant, searing flush scorches my body from the inside out.
“Ruby andPenn,” Ryan roars, shaking his head. “Can you imagine?”
“No.” It’s all I can say. My only thought.No.
I catch Ryan’s hysterical laugh before all the sounds drown out of the room, or maybe just out of my mind.
Maybe I’m dead.
Picturing myself with Penn has actually killed me.
My eyes dart to the bar as if he’s watching. As if he might have heard. So help me, if Penn ever gets wind of the game, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.
Thankfully, he’s busy pouring beers for a few backslapping Bears fans.
Flustered, I yank the paper from Bridget’s hands. It’s surreal, seeing her loopy letters on the page, realizing how rarely I see my best friend’s handwriting now that we communicate exclusively in text messages and DMs. Scribbled out in purple gel ink are the jobs that weren’t chosen: teacher, doctor, writer. The cars I didn’t get: convertible, VW Bug, limo. The men I didn’t end up with: Devon Sawa; “hot lifeguard”; our old classmate, Theo Ford, who, after a brief stint as a tween Hollywood heartthrob, now works at this very bar.
Sure enough, circled three times over: Penn Hayes.
“Bridget put him in as a joke,” I explain, wishing my voice didn’t sound so shaky. “That’s the game: You always include the worst-case scenario, just for fun.”
Connor eyes me, curious, as Bridget nods in solidarity. “True. I—”
A loud, ringing bell cuts her off, and the room erupts in scattered groans.
Last call.Finally.
Ryan claps once, hard, like a coach rousing his team. “One more round!”
Bridget offers him a salute. “Say no more.”
As my two favorite idiots make a beeline to the bar, I lean against Connor. “Almost there,” I say on a sigh, relieved. “Bed is in sight. Clean sheets. And no more surprises, thank God.”
Connor stiffens.
“What’s wrong?” I stifle a yawn. “You wish we had a tie-dye Jeep?”
He doesn’t laugh. “No. I—I actually have a surprise for you, too.”
“You? Have a surprise? For me?”
Being out past sunset must have him confused.No surprisesis an essential, unspoken rule of our relationship, along withput everything on the calendaranddon’t talk about work before breakfastandsave the last, best bite of every ice cream cone for Ruby.
Connor takes my hand. “Yeah, all this talk about your imaginary future is sort of funny, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…ours.”
“Oh, no. Is this about that house I sent you from Zillow?” I wince. “Obviously, buying a home is several years away, but I was just looking. You know I’m a sucker for porches.”
“No, Ruby.” He laughs. “This isn’t about Zillow.” As he shifts to meet my eyes, a sweet, nervous smile takes over his face.
This isn’t like him. Connor has never surprised me, not once, and he’s never nervous.
He reaches for my other hand, lowering his gaze. He—
My breath catches.
Ohmygod.He’s about to propose.
Connor is delirious, and he’s about to propose. In a dive bar. On my birthday.
