by Reid, Penny
“Me, Beau,” I explained slowly, continuing to examine each ring in turn. “I mean me. It’s an expression.”
The challenge of choosing the right ring for one’s future life partner cannot be summarized in a word, a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph. I could fill volumes with the issues to consider, the factors involved, a tome of if-then statements, diagrams, and 3D renderings.
“Still haven’t decided?” Beau asked, no longer sounding frustrated or rude.
The two-carat, platinum filigree old mine cut diamond seemed like the obvious choice, but nothing about Jenn was obvious.
Beau reentered my peripheral vision. “I like the white sapphire one.” He pointed to it. “I thought it was a diamond, and it’s huge.”
My gaze cut to the white sapphire, an emerald cut solitaire, three and a half carats. “It’s not too big?”
He gave a light snort. “There are two things that are never too big for women, gemstones and—”
“Please. Spare me. And help me pick one.”
“I did.” He motioned to the blue velvet box containing the white sapphire. “That one.”
“It’s too ostentatious.”
“Okay. That one.” Now he gestured to the two-carat oval aquamarine flanked by white diamonds. I’d chosen it because aquamarine was Jennifer’s birthstone, but it was nowhere as expensive as the others.
“Now you’re just pointing randomly. That’s no help.”
“You are overthinking this, Cletus.” His tone held no accusation or complaint; consequently, I couldn’t be as irritated with him as I wished to be. “Just pick one. They’re all beautiful. She’d love any of them.”
“I realize they’re all exceptional, Beau. I selected the rings, after all. But which one is the right one?”
“You’re being crazy.” He backed away, sounding a little sorry for me. “You have this amazing woman in love with you and you’re letting a stupid ring get in the way. Do you know how I know Jenn is amazing?”
I glared at him. So help me Jesus, if he brought up yesterday, and seeing her bare ass, I was going to maim him.
He huffed, giving me a flat look like maybe he’d read my mind. “No, dummy. Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not what I was going to say. I know Jenn is amazing because she doesn’t care about the ring.” Now he lifted his hand and gestured to all the rings. “She cares about the man.” He walked to me and jabbed his index finger once, quickly into the center of my sternum. “She cares about you.”
Hmm. That was the second good point he’d made. “Shelly must be rubbing off on you.”
Beau’s smile started small and spread slowly. “You know I’m right.”
“You’re not wrong,” I hedged, scratching my beard. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Jenn deserves the ring she wants, not my best guess.”
“Then just ask her.” My brother pulled his phone from his back pocket, glanced quickly at the screen, and then put it away. “I have to go. Just—think about it, okay? Ask her.”
I frowned. Asking didn’t seem appropriately romantic. I couldn’t just ask her which one she preferred and maintain my aura of life-partner perfection. It was a well-known fact, women wanted men to be mind readers. More than that, I wanted to be a Jenn mind reader, anticipate her wishes and desires, whims and wants.
“Look at it this way, Cletus,” Beau called as he left me and my five rings and strolled down the hall, “the sooner you get the ring on Jenn’s finger, the sooner Drew will stop his hemming and hawing and actually ask Ashley to marry him.”
Now that’s an excellent point. Shelly really was rubbing off on Beau.
I snatched up the emerald cut sapphire, closed the box, stuffed it in my pocket, and texted Jenn,
Cletus: Meet me at the Yuchi stream in an hour.
Jenn: What about dinner?
Cletus: We’ll make it together later at your place.
Jenn: Where’s the Yuchi stream?
Cletus: Remember that day you made me the world’s best blueberry pancake muffins, brought them to the auto shop, and we went on that walk with the stream?
Jenn: See you in an hour! <3
* * *
I was early.
Everyone knows I usually hate being early as it’s like waiting for the same thing twice, but this time I was early on purpose. I needed to think through my plan, walk through each possible scenario, practice, prepare for all likely eventualities. Parking the Bronco in the second-best spot, leaving the one closest to the trailhead open for Jenn, I meandered a bit down the path until I could hear the water rushing over rocks.
Winter nipped at my nose and lips, frosty wind rustled my hair. The air smelled like snow. At this altitude in early January, it might snow at any time. I should get Jenn snow tires for her car. Does she have chains?
Though it was rare for the Smokies to experience any significant snowfall, flurries did happen on occasion. A light dusting was more common, enough to make the ground crisp and freeze the barren sticks and stones, but not enough to freeze or cover the plentiful rivers and streams.
One thing was for certain, it was cold. My fingers were warm in my jacket pockets, but I should’ve brought a hat. Hopefully, she wouldn’t wear any gloves. There existed a good chance I would need her fingers bare.
I checked the time after walking through all probable scenarios and strolled back up the incline toward the lot. Right as I cleared the trail, Jenn pulled her shiny BMW into the spot I’d saved for her. This was the car her parents had given her, a trinket in her golden cage, and I wondered—not for the first time—if she even liked the car.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with a BMW, it’s just that only folks who look like they’d drive a BMW actually drive BMWs.
And don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean.
Have you ever seen someone walk into a parking lot, get inside a BMW, and think to yourself, That person does not look like they’d drive a BMW. Of course you haven’t. They get in the car and you think, Well, yeah. That makes sense. Or a BMW pulls next to you at a traffic light, you look over, and you think, Yep. Looks just about right.
Presently, I wondered what kind of vehicle Jenn would choose if she could have any vehicle she wanted, and I frowned. I had no idea, just like I had no idea which of the five curated rings best suited her taste and preference.
Not knowing things is frustrating.
“Hey, handsome!” Her smile immense, she jumped out of the car and jog-skipped over to me.
Now I smiled, because what other choice did I have? None.
“Jenn.”
I bent to give her a kiss, but she caught me by surprise, throwing her arms around my neck like she’d done just before leaving Miller Farm with her momma yesterday, and kissed my face all over.
“I.” Kiss. “Missed.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “So.” Kiss. “Much!” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
I endured her light peppering of kisses for as long as I could. They weren’t at all unpleasant, but they provoked a particular kind of madness. When I could take no more of her sweetness assault, I hauled her body against mine and dug my fingers into her long, brown hair to hold her still. I kissed her. Properly. No light peppering, no subtle seasoning. A committed, heaping helping of spice and everything naughty but also nice.
I loved the way she surrendered to me, like she’d been waiting for me to take over, take what I wanted, and take her along for the ride. I loved how she arched her back and pressed closer at first, as though with urgency, but then relaxed and shifted and stretched, soft and pliant in my arms. I loved how she tasted, how she moved, how she smelled, the sounds she made when I tugged her hair, teased her tongue, and savored her lips.
But I especially loved seeing the aftereffects—kiss-swollen lips, languid daze, heavily lidded eyes, rumpled askewness of her hair and clothes—as I leaned away.
“Come with me.”
Not giving her a chance to respond, I pulled her silently along the trail, through the forest. I couldn’t lose sight of my
mission, tempted as I was to divest her of all clothing, reveal all that soft, hot skin, and make love to her in the back seat of my Bronco.
Later, I promised myself. After the mission.
Our surroundings quite different than just a few months ago, gone were the explosions of red, yellow, and violet adorning the trees, floating in the stream like weightless jewels. In their place were bare branches, a gray sky threatening more snow, and the cold stillness, absent birdsong, that marks winter.
We made it to the spot I’d resolved upon, where we’d sat at the edge of the stream and talked months ago, where I’d suggested I give her kissing lessons and she’d reacted like she always seemed to react—which is to say, with unpredictability—and I stopped.
“I remember this place,” she said, laughing lightly. “Gosh, seems like so long ago now.”
Reaching into my pocket as best I could, considering my hand was shaking, I attempted a tight smile. I was nervous. I knew I was nervous, not because it was a state to which I was accustomed, but because what else could reasonably explain my symptoms?
Heart palpitations. Damp palms. Shaking hands. Dry mouth. Difficulty swallowing. The sound of blood rushing between my ears. Either I was dying, or I was nervous.
Finally withdrawing the velvet box, I inhaled a hearty measure of frigid air.
“You want to know something?”
Turning her smiling face to mine, her chin a perfect point, she gazed up at me with so much trust and love, I nearly lost my breath. “Are you going to tell me something?”
“I am.” I didn’t return her smile, too transfixed by her, the effortless beauty of this sweet, smart, kind, clever soul who had chosen me. On purpose. And since I was transfixed, I couldn’t manage to both focus on what I wished to say and smile.
“Tell me.” She leaned closer, her eyes moving between mine.
“I fell in love with you here.”
She blinked, her smiling dropping from her mouth but not her stare. “You did?”
“I did.” I swallowed, because nerves. “I remember the moment.”
“You do?” Her grin was back, wider than before, and seemed to light and warm the desolate landscape. “When? When was it?”
“I told you about my brother, my half brother, and you held me.”
“I remember.” Her smile was unsteady, a little wobbly, and she lifted her hand to press against my jaw and cheek. “You know, you can always talk to me, about anything. I love hearing about you.”
Yep. I loved her. I loved her so much. I loved her more than breathing.
Taking a steadying breath—courage man!—I lowered to one knee, ’cause that’s how it’s done.
Jenn, her hand still on my face giving a little start, stiffened as I lowered, and a short, sharp, startled intake of air cut through the otherwise still woods.
“Jennifer.” I looked up at her.
She looked down at me, her eyes wide and confused or overwhelmed, impossible to tell. “What are you doing? Are you proposing? I thought you already did that. I thought—”
“Jenn,” I said, firmer.
Her hand left my face and she covered her mouth, presumably to stop herself from asking more questions, and stared at me, riveted.
I opened the ring box, gave her a moment to look at the ring within, and catalogued her reaction. Her gaze darted to the ring, her eyebrows lifting a tick, but then her eyes came right back to me. No tears. No expressions of joy, excitement, or other proclamations of predilection for the ring were revealed beyond the baseline she’d already shown upon me lowering to one knee.
Hmm.
Nope.
Wrong ring.
I closed the box and I stood, returning the box to my pocket. “How far did we walk last time?” I glanced down the path along the stream. “Do you want to check out more of the trail? Or head back?”
When she said nothing, I glanced at her. She was still staring at me, her hand over her mouth, but now her forehead was ribbed with frown lines.
“We can head back,” I offered, tossing my thumb over my shoulder. “It’s cold out here. And I got that wine from Italy in the—”
“Cletus Winston.”
“That is my name.”
“What are you doing?”
“Right now? Endeavoring to discover whether you want to head back or—”
Her hand dropped and she made to grab for my pocket where I’d placed the ring box.
See? Unpredictable.
“Give me that ring.”
Twisting my hips, I hopped back—insomuch as a man my size can hop—and protected the area of my person she sought to thieve. “Excuse you. That is my property.”
She straightened, fists coming to her hips, mouth agape, staring at me like I was a crazy person. “You got down on one knee!”
“Yes. My chiropractor and my online yoga instructor both agree, it’s good to change positions once an hour and stretch when you can.”
Huffing, then laughing, then huffing again, she threw her hands in the air. “What is going on?”
“As I attempted to explain, I would like to know: do you want to head back now, or do you wish to see more of the trail?”
She stared at me again, this time for quite a collection of seconds. I’d estimate close to twenty. I stared back as I honestly had no opinion. We could stay or go. I had the information I required to determine next steps. Mission complete.
The ring was wrong. If she’d loved it, she would’ve had more of an emotional, uncontrolled reaction to the reveal. I would present the next ring to her at some point in the future, at another location of special meaning, until her response yielded appropriate shock and awe.
Gathering a deep breath, so deep her chest and shoulders visibly expanded, she turned on her heel and marched back the way we came. She grumbled as she walked. I did not attempt to decipher what she said. Typically, when Jennifer grumbled, the words were not meant for me.
At one point, I did try to reach for her hand. She smacked my hand away and crossed her arms. I thought it prudent not to comment on how her backside swayed more fervently, marching with crossed arms, as a temper had struck her.
When Jenn was in a mood, it was like watching a movie in the theater; if you talk during, the best possible outcome is that you get shushed. The worst is that you get banned. For life.
I waited until she stopped muttering and her marching slowed just a little, and then asked her back, “Are you angry?”
“What do you think?” Her pace increased, her back rigid.
“May I enquire as to why you’re angry?” My phone buzzed, announcing a text message. I ignored it, easily keeping up with her short and angry woman stride.
“You have no idea why I’m angry?” We were at her car now, and she was fumbling in her pocket for something, likely her keys.
“I have an idea, but I’d like for you to confirm it first.”
Giving up the search in her pocket, she fisted her hands and glared at me. “Why did you show me that ring, then take it away?”
Abruptly, my phone rang—a proper phone ringtone, not one of those abhorrent custom ringtones—and I pulled it out of my pants, rejected the call without looking, and shoved the cell back in my pocket. “It’s not the right ring, Jenn.”
“What nonsense are you talking?”
“The ring isn’t the right one. If it had been the right one, I would’ve put it on your finger, had you answered the question correctly.”
“Now I have to answer riddles just to get my own engagement ring?!”
The sound of my very proper ringtone cut through the air again, and I grit my teeth, yanking it out of my pocket and—accidentally—reading the text message that had come through the moment prior.
Jackson James (Armadillo?): Are you with Jennifer Sylvester? Her momma is at the ER in Maryville, smoke inhalation and concussion. We’ve been trying to call but it goes straight to voicemail.
I read the message twice while Jenn ranted. “You can’t j
ust bring me out here, give me a kiss like that” —she flung an arm toward where we’d been standing when I kissed her— “march me down our path, tell me that you know the precise moment you fell in love with me, get down on one knee, show me my engagement ring, then TAKE IT AWAY!”
“Did you turn your phone off?”
“Cletus!”
“Your phone is off?” I showed her my phone, and her glare shifted from me to the screen.
Her eyes scanned the message and she gasped, taking my phone. “Oh my God!”
“Your phone is off?” I didn’t like that. She shouldn’t be driving around with her phone off.
“We have to go. Oh my goodness.” Her voice breathless, panicked, she spun in a circle, like she didn’t know what to do first.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the Bronco, opened the passenger door, helped her in, and shut the door. Soon I was inside, we were both buckled up, and I turned the engine.
“How long have you had your phone off?”
“I turned it off after we texted.” She rubbed her forehead, covered her mouth, rubbed her forehead again, shifted in her seat. “I didn’t want to be interrupted again with another cow auction. Oh my God, I hope she’s okay.”
That made sense. But still. “Call Jackson back.”
“Yes. Right.” She lifted my phone. “Uh, okay. What’s your password?”
“One, zero, one, zero.”
After tapping it in, she paused, frowned, and then looked at me. “Your password is ten, ten?”
“Call Jackson, find out what’s up.”
Giving her head a little shake, she navigated to his number and called. She pressed the phone to ear and bit the thumbnail on her other hand.
“Put him on speaker,” I said, turning onto the main road.
“Oh! Yes. Right.” Lowering the phone, she pressed the speaker button.
The line rang twice more before Jackson answered. “Cletus?”
“Cletus and Jenn,” Jenn clarified quickly. “What happened?”
“Oh. Hey, Jenn. We tried to call, but—”
“Don’t worry about that. What happened?” She waved his explanation away even though he couldn’t see her.