Happy Place

by Emily Henry

At the sound of the door clicking shut, I look up from the crossword I’ve gone back to, jump up from the couch, and pad over to help him with the rain-speckled paper bags. I flick the stove on to make tea and take the bags from his arms, and as I’m setting them on the counter, he catches me by the wrist and looks down at me with such softness and vulnerability that I’m afraid, sure something terrible has happened. Quietly, then, a murmur, he says, “Marry me, Harriet.” “Yes,” I say on a breath. He stills. He blinks, like he’s trying to puzzle out what I just said. The teakettle has started to whistle. I catch his jaw. “Wyn, yes.” His brow tenses. “Wait.” “I don’t want to wait,” I say. He fumbles in his jacket. “Shit. Give me a second. Don’t move.” He turns and runs back to the bedroom, and I stand there shivering, listening to the scrape of dresser drawers. When he comes back, he’s holding out a blue velvet box, his hand quivering. It’s an old white gold ring with a square sapphire mounted in its center. “I thought it looked like you,” he says hesitantly, “but it wasn’t expensive. So if you don’t like it, we’ll replace it, as soon as I can afford—” His face blurs behind my tears. “You just had this?” “I was trying to wait for the perfect moment,” he says, almost apologetic. “Now,” I say. “Now is the perfect moment.” “I just couldn’t keep waiting,” he says, still a little rueful. The tiniest bit of doubt creeps in. I whisper, “What if you get sick of me?” “Harriet,” he says,...

this is so cute