Over the last year, I’ve thought about marrying her, what our lives together will be, and, if we’re lucky enough, raising kids together. She moved to Green Valley to be with me and give us a chance. Says it’s the best decision she’s ever made.
Yet … I’ve hesitated. How do I propose to a woman who has already had six proposals and make it original?
I share these worries with my mom while she dries and puts away the clean dishes.
“There is a reason none of those worked out.” Mom hands me a towel so I can dry my hands.
“What?”
“Those other men weren’t you. Her heart knew to keep waiting. Now the wait is over. I have something for you.” She dips her hand into the pocket of her pants. “It isn’t big or fancy, but it symbolizes true love. I want you to have it to give to Olive when the time is right.”
In her hand is the ring my dad gave her, the one which she wore for many years after his death. A simple setting with two small round diamonds flanking a slightly larger diamond in the middle. All three are wrapped in gold edging and rest almost flush with the band. Understated but beautiful, kind of like Olive. I try to refuse, because I know how much this ring means to her. It’s one of the few pieces of fine jewelry she has and one of the even fewer things from my father.
“Mom, you should keep that. It’s your ring from Dad.” I curl her fingers into her palm.
“That’s what makes it perfect. I still have my gold band.” She holds up her hand to show me the thin circle on her ring finger.
While distracting me, she slips her engagement ring into my shirt pocket. “Don’t argue with your mother. This will make me very happy. Are you going to deny me happiness?”
“Never,” I whisper, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you.”
April
Kyoto, Japan
My family walks through the botanical garden, pink blossoms filling the trees and drifting down like snowflakes.
Obaasan strolls with one hand around my elbow and the other hand holding Olive’s. They don’t share many words in common but speak the same language of smiles and laughter.
Jenni snaps Polaroids and shows them to our grandmother.
“Somewhere at home, I have a box of old Polaroids of your dad as a boy. I’ll have to find them next time we’re all together,” Mom tells us and then translates for her mother.
Obaasan says something in Japanese and my mother laughs. My understanding is better, but I miss a lot when the two of them speak together.
“She said she expects us to visit at least once a year. Especially you, Jay, and you’re to always bring Olive with you.”
“I’d be delighted to be invited back. Dōmo arigatō, Sobo.”
Grandmother’s face lights up and she squeezes Olive’s arm while speaking excitedly.
Olive gives me a helpless look. “What did I say?”
Jenni’s eyes widen while Mom interjects. “You called her grandmother as if you are family. She is excited about the news that you are getting married.”
Olive’s eyes flash to mine, worry visible. “How do I explain that I misspoke?”
My heart thumps strong and loud in my chest. “What if you didn’t?”
Grandmother glances between us and then steps forward to take my mother’s arm. Jenni’s mouth pops open before she clamps it shut and spins on her heel to join them.
“What’s going on?” Olive asks.
I’ve carried the ring with me almost every day since November, always prepared should the right moment present itself. Tucked in a pocket, my father’s ring has been a talisman these past five months.
Kneeling doesn’t feel right, so instead, I take both of her hands in mine. “Olive, I love you.”
She smiles, a confused look in her eyes. “And I love you.”
“I wasn’t planning to do this today, and I’m not sure I know the right words to say.” I wonder if she can hear my heart pounding.
Her eyes widen and she slips her right hand from mine to cup my cheek, already tears pool in her eyes. “Jay, I love you. More than anything. More than I ever imagined. Loving you is the easiest thing in the world for me. My whole heart belongs to you. I can’t fathom a life without you by my side.” She pauses, tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Hold on, this is my proposal to you, not the other way around.” I gently take her hand and kiss her palm as I stare into her eyes.
A small gasp escapes her mouth.
My mind goes blank. All the romantic, heartfelt words I’ve been chanting to myself for months are gone.
“Olive, I love you.” I sigh. “I said that already.”
Tilting back a little so she can meet my eyes, she says, “And I love you, Jay.”
“You are my forever. You’re my person. For the past five months, I’ve carried this in my pocket, waiting for the right moment.” I release her hand to locate the ring in my jacket’s inside pocket. “This is the ring my father gave to my mother as a promise to love her forever. We’re not given endless days together, and our forever can be shorter than we’d like. I don’t want to wait another day or keep waiting for some imaginary perfect moment. I want to spend my life beside you, making you happy, no matter what the future might hold. Will you marry me, Olive?”
Her fingers shake as she covers her mouth, extending her left hand toward me.
“Is that a yes?” I hesitate to slide the ring on her finger.
Swiping her cheeks with her right hand, she nods.
Once the ring is in place, I lift her fingers to my mouth and kiss the band.
Crying and giggling, she stands on her toes to kiss me. “Yes, yes, a million times the answer is yes.”
I kiss her back and the rest of the world disappears.
Once we break apart, she gazes up at me. “Can we do one thing?”
“What’s that?” I smile down at her.
“Can we skip the engagement and get married as soon as we get home?”
“Don’t you want a wedding with all your family and friends?” I’m a little confused.
“None of that matters. You, me, and a justice of the peace would be fine. I don’t want to wait.” She entwines her fingers with mine and I feel the cool metal of the ring.
“Afraid you’re going to jinx us?” I ask, finally catching on.
“No, you’re stuck with me until death do us part.”
I lean down to kiss her and remember something important. “Why wait until we get home? Jenni is proudly ordained in the Church of Universalist Life. She can marry us right now.”
“Did I hear my name?” Jenni calls over from the bench where my three family members are observing this private moment between Olive and me. They’re not even pretending they’re not watching every moment. All they need is popcorn.
“How much of that do we need to repeat for you?” I ask them, strolling over with Olive.
“There were moments when you whispered and we had to fill in the gaps, but we got the gist.” Jenni stands and hugs Olive. “Congratulations and welcome to the family.”
Obaasan and Mom are next, hugging us and laughing and crying.
“Now, I’m happy to perform the ceremony, but legally you’ll have to fill out the license and paperwork when we’re back in the great state of Tennessee.”
“Not a problem,” Olive says.
Mom explains all of this to Obaasan, who responds with a big smile and points to the row of blooming cherry trees as she says something.
“She said we should have the ceremony over there and that this is a very good time for a wedding because the blossoms symbolize a new beginning,” Mom says.
“Then let’s do this.” Olive squeezes my hand.
“We’re getting married.” I kiss the corner of her mouth.
“Right now,” she whispers against my lips. “I’ve never been more certain about anything.”
“Save the kissing for the ‘I do’,” Jenni teases.
The four of us make our way over to a particularl
y large tree, its branches creating a canopy above our heads like a natural chapel.
“This is perfect,” Olive whispers.
I nod, suddenly overcome with the truth of this moment. Tears prick at my eyes as I hold both of her hands and face her.
Jenni pulls up the traditional wedding ceremony on her phone. “Ready?” she asks.
Not taking my eyes off of Olive, I say yes.
Standing under the cherry blossoms, I’m reminded how precarious and brief life is. How precious and beautiful love is. How lucky I am to spend the rest of my life loving and being loved by these women, my family.
Acknowledgments
To Penny Reid, thank you for creating Smartypants Romance and allowing me to play in your world. I am grateful for your faith in my writing, your encouragement, and your friendship.
To my readers, thanks for following me to Tennessee and a new series.
To the Reiders, thank you for taking a chance on this book. I hope you enjoyed Happy Trail.
My fellow Smartypants Romance authors, thank you being a sisterhood of awesome. Not only are you all talented authors, you are kind, inclusive, funny, kick-ass women. So proud to be on this journey with you.
To my editor, Caitlin Nelson, thank you for your patience, faith, and editorial wisdom. To Janice Owen, thank you for proofreading. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.
Fiona Fischer, thank you for everything you do. Someday, we’ll have dinner in Rome again. Brooke Nowiski, thank you for all you do for the Smartypants Romance authors.
Thank you to my PA, Jennifer Beach, for keeping me afloat this year. Lots of gratitude for Christina Santos, Heather Brown, Kiersten Hill, Elizabeth Clinton, Lauren Lascola-Lesczynski, who beta read the early version of this and whose insightful comments made it better. To my street team and review crew, thanks for being incredible. To the members of my Facebook reader group, Daisyland, thank you for chatting about books and life with me.
To all the bloggers and bookstagrammers, thank you for sharing your passion for stories. I’m grateful for supporting me and my books.
To Abi and Oscar, thank you for sharing your story with me.
I love hearing from readers. Come find me on social media and say hi, or email me at [email protected].
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About the Author
Daisy Prescott is a USA Today bestselling author of small town romantic comedies. Series include Modern Love Stories, Wingmen, Love with Altitude, as well as the Bewitched and Wicked Society series of magical novellas. Tinfoil Heart is a romantic comedy standalone set in Roswell, New Mexico.
Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog Mulder, and an indeterminate number of imaginary house goats. When not writing, she can be found in the garden, traveling to satiate her wanderlust, lost in a good book, or on social media, usually talking about books, bearded men, and sloths.
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Read on for:
1. A Sneak Peek of Baking Me Crazy, Book #1 in the Donner Bakery Series by Karla Sorensen
2. Daisy Prescott’s Booklist
Sneak Peek: Baking Me Crazy, Donner Bakery Book #1 by Karla Sorensen
Jocelyn
“Arm porn" was a trendy term I wouldn't mind getting rid of. It'd gotten a little out of hand if you asked me. Don't get me wrong, I could, objectively at least, understand why you'd turn your head at a completely impossible angle to catch a glimpse of a nice bicep, the kind that looked like someone shoved a softball under a guy's skin.
It was the double standard that irritated the shit out of me. Probably no woman in Green Valley has stronger arms than I did. Without breaking a sweat, I could probably crack a walnut with my forearms.
It was the happy by-product of:
1- Being confined to a wheelchair for the past seven years, thereby relying on my arms to power all my forward motion.
2- Discovering that baking was the second greatest love of my life after my dog, Nero.
Trust me, kneading bread was a better workout than just about anything.
But no one was waxing poetic about the rippling muscles in my forearms.
"Careful, the steam coming out of your ears might mess up your hair," my best friend, Levi, said from behind my chair.
He sounded bored, which didn't surprise me. He'd heard this rant a time or seven.
Immediately, my right hand came up to double-check that every blond curl was in the same place that it was when I left my house.
Whew. Not a corkscrew springing out anywhere. Very I'm ready to bake bread and muffins and cupcakes and cakes and all the delicious things. Or at least, that was how it felt when I studied my own reflection just before Levi picked me up.
"You see the issue, though, right? I've seen women practically wreck their cars when you roll up your sleeves."
Levi laughed easily. He did everything easily, the asshole. His hand landed on my shoulder in a condescending pat that had me rolling my eyes. "Of course, I see the issue, my little feminist warrior princess."
As he spoke, I aimed my wheelchair slightly to the right when a guy walking his dog refused to concede any space. He also refused to make eye contact.
I called those people The Blinders. For the most part, people's reactions to someone in a wheelchair—especially a young someone with incredibly sexy arms—fell into two main camps.
The Blinders and The Pitiers.
The Blinders pretended they couldn't see me, which I often attributed to the fact I made them uncomfortable. They could walk around just fine. Staring at a young woman stuck in a metal chair might force them to come to grips with their own mortality, their health … the things most people take for granted on a daily basis.
The man walking his dog might have looked at me if I was pre-TM Jocelyn. The fourteen-year-old me who could run like a freaking gazelle, who hopped, skipped, and jumped without a second thought until the day I couldn't anymore. Maybe he would've seen me and wondered why my hair looked like I stuck my finger in a light socket. But maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he had blinders on for everyone around him. One of those people who did his thing, stayed in his lane, and didn't care how his presence affected those sharing space with him.
But it was just as likely that the blinders were because I was in a chair. If I'd been at my full standing height (somewhere around five feet ten), he might have shifted to give me more room with a polite smile on his face. I would've smiled back because if I was at my full standing height, it meant I could stand, and I probably would've taken that for granted too.
"Dick," Levi muttered, jogging forward so he could walk next to my chair instead of behind it.
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. He saw you. He could've moved his fat ass over six inches."
Because I couldn't reach his shoulders, given that his full standing height was around six feet one, I patted his leg condescendingly. "Aww, my little advocate warrior princess."
Levi sighed heavily because it was also not the first time, or seventh time, he'd been called that by me. He hated The Blinders. For me, it was a toss-up which was worse, depending on the day.
The Pitiers got this look in their eye that I roughly equated to, "Oh, yo
u poor thing." They saw me in the chair and instantly made a lot of sweeping generalizations about what life must be like for me. When I took the time to think about what they saw when they looked at me, I imagined they saw a barren wasteland of not being able to have sex (false, not that anyone other than my vibrator knew that), never being able to have kids (also false, my doctor assured me), and always needing to ask for help to reach the top shelves at the grocery store (true, unfortunately).
Sometimes, The Pitiers spoke to me like I couldn't understand them. Like the chair somehow reflected a cognitive impairment as well. Only occasionally would I mess with them.
I never claimed to be a saint. Losing the function of your legs did not automatically make you a virtuous person. In fact, I'd met some real assholes who spent their lives on two wheels. Personally, I found myself somewhere in the middle. I just ... liked to keep some of my cynicism tightly wrapped unless I really trusted you.
Poor Levi.
He got the brunt of my opinions.
My mom probably would've listened if I unloaded them on her, but that never ended well.
"Who's training you?" Levi asked as we passed the entrance of the lodge. I could see the striped awning of Donner Bakery across the parking lot. Afternoon guests sat at the wrought-iron tables and chairs in front of the building, drinking sweet tea and eating whatever confections had been whipped up that day.
"I think it's Jennifer Winston, but I don't know for sure," I told him. My hands gripped the metal ring mounted just outside my wheels as I pushed down harder than necessary. He cut me a sideways look when I sped up, which I ignored because if he asked me if I was nervous, I'd ram his shins.
Hopefully, they had some cream puffs left over because ever since Levi brought me the last lemon lavender cream puff, I'd been trying desperately to recreate it at home to no avail.
"Jennifer Donner Winston," he corrected. “Can’t forget that middle name. It’s important around here.”
Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1) Page 24