Just Friends(87)

“What is going on?” I murmur.

“When I gave you this birdhouse, I told you there was something inside,” Declan says, opening the pastel wooden door. “I hid something in here that I knew would come in handy for this very day.”

He reaches the mallet into the birdhouse and gently taps the front panel of the tiny box inside. It falls open, revealing a crumpled piece of paper and… a pebble?

“Years ago, on the high school football field, I jokingly called you a blue-footed booby. Do you remember that?” He raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

A shocked laugh escapes me. “Yes? Those birds with insanely blue feet?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nods with a look of satisfaction. “And I showed you the video of them offering a pebble to the bird they wanted to be their mate.” He reaches into the tiny inner room of the birdhouse and offers the pebble in his outstretched hand. “So, this is for you, my Little Bird.”

I throw my head back, laughing as the wind whips my hair into my mouth. I accept the smooth gray pebble from his hand.

“And this is too,” he says, removing the crumpled scrap of paper.

I take it from him with a shaking hand and unfurl it. Declan’s delicate handwriting comes into view:

“Will you marry me?”

It is scrawled in black ink, indented by the paper’s folds. By the depths of the creases, it looks like it’s been folded for years.

A tear falls from my face onto my shaking hands.

And when I look up, Declan is down on one knee, holding a diamond ring inside a velvet box.

“Here is the actual rock I would like to offer you,” he jokes with a sideways smile, freckle stretching with the movement. “Blair Lang, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I cry, shaking my head. “Yes, Declan. Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

I could write novels about the smile that explodes across Declan’s face. And I probably will. Declan slides the ring onto my finger, exhaling a breath when it fits perfectly. He gathers me into his arms and lifts me off the sand. In my peripheral vision I see my mom, Roshi, Faye, Harper, and… Gwen, running toward us. Distant whoops and hollers echo off the rocky cliff from our tiny audience.

“Oh my gosh,” I cry at the sight of them. Declan sets me down for a moment, adjusts his grip on my waist, and then picks me up again and starts whipping me around in a circle like I’m as light as a rag doll. “Declan!” I screech. “You never would have known you were hit by a car with the way you throw me around,” I scream as the sand and sea swirl in my vision.

He lowers me until my feet hit the sand, and when I’m done steadying myself I look up to find a challenge written in his expression.

“I’ll show you how well my legs still work.” He charges toward me.

A scream flies out of me as I try to run away, but he’s too fast, and I’m too dizzy. He wraps his arms around me from behind and squeezes and we descend into hysterical laughter, the happiness of this moment bubbling out of us. Our audience runs up to us, popping bottles of champagne and snapping flash photos of our sweaty faces.

This moment is perfect. I’m filled with a gratitude so deep it feels heavy as I look at my friends’ jubilant, laughing faces and even Gwen’s awkward attempt at celebration. Getting to this moment required things I found terrifying: forgiveness and trust and grief. Even falling in love with Declan was scary. But being in love with him? Being loved by him? It was more natural to me than breathing.

The tiniest tug of grief threatens to pull me out of this moment as I remember Lottie’s absence, but when I look at Declan’s beaming face, I know that even having lost someone I loved, I have gained another someone back. And I will never lose him again.





Five Years Ago


Declan picks me up at the house at seven p.m. just like he said he would. [The words ‘just like he said he would’ are circle in pen, with an arrow pointing to a handwritten annotation in the margins saying, ‘keeps his word even on the small stuff > > >’]

I expected him to be waiting in his car as per usual, [Waiting in the car = platonic Knocking on the door = dating!!!] but when I throw open the front door, he’s standing stock-still beneath the soft glow of the porch light with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He looks like a modern-day James Dean. [A hand-drawn bouquet of flowers with two tiny hearts next to it is drawn on the margins.]

I actually mentally whistle.

Declan tightens his grip on the bouquet, crinkling the brown paper.

“If the look on your face means you’re reeling a bit, then you’re not the only one,” [Can you imagine being JUST FRIENDS for over a decade, and then suddenly, FINALLY, transitioning to dating?] he says with a sweet lilt in his voice.

He knows exactly what to say to disarm his chronic charm and put me at ease.

He extends his arm, holding the bundle of cotton-candy-pink and blue hydrangeas [My real-life favorite flower because there aren’t many in Texas!] out to me. I take in a sharp breath at the sight. My favorite flowers, because I’ve always loved how they look like colorful cotton balls from far away.

“Wow,” I exhale. “These are beautiful. How did you even get them?” We don’t have many hydrangeas in Seabrook.

“I’m glad you like them.” He leans in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, the brief encounter with his warm sandalwood scent doing my heart rate zero favors. “Shipping is a crazy invention.” He winks.