Work Text:
Nick drove with one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other drifting from Charlie's thigh to the gearstick and back. In the backseat, Daisy whined and paced in a small circle, occasionally staring forlornly out of the other window like it would hold the key to her confinement.
“Nearly there, precious,” Charlie murmured. He contorted his torso within the confines of the seat belt so he could scratch under her chin until she reluctantly settled once more. She was clearly reaching the end of her patience with being cooped up in the car. Charlie could relate. His eyes flickered to Nick’s phone on the dash, staring at the dwindling minutes until their arrival. His pulse thundered with impatient nerves which he tried to mask with a casual remark.
“I actually can’t believe we haven’t been back since Christmas.”
“Same, but it’s been a big year, we've been so busy, what with moving as well as everything else.”
“Your fancy promotion,” Charlie said, because he liked the face Nick pulled whenever anyone mentioned his achievements.
“And you officially mastering all of science.”
It was Charlie’s turn to pull a face. “I’ve told you, that’s not what MSc means.”
“All of science,” Nick repeated firmly. “And, obviously, getting Dai— you-know-who,” Nick interrupted himself hastily, his eyes flickering in panic to the rearview mirror. But Daisy was unaware that she was the subject of conversation and stayed down. “We’ve been too busy with all of our major life milestones happening in the same calendar year.”
“Yeah, I suppose we have.”
He kept his voice purposefully light as the ring in the little felt-lined box hidden at the bottom of his rucksack burned a hole in the material. He swallowed and crossed his legs, nudging the bag further into the footwell in case Nick had suddenly developed x-ray vision. He’d kept his grand plan for this weekend a secret until now. He just had to keep it going until he got Nick to the beach.
Despite the simplicity of his idea, it had taken months of clandestine research and delicate hints to engineer the perfect moment without raising suspicion. They'd discussed marriage before (seriously during conversations about their future, and also late at night, wrapped up in blankets and each other, drunkenly whispering, "I love you so much, let’s just go get married now" in the dark, dissolving into giddy giggles), but that didn't mean the proposal couldn't be a surprise. Charlie had spent many evenings huddled over his phone at one end of the sofa, careful to keep his phone turned away from Nick, the screen brightness all the way down as he googled things like when does the sun set and August low tide times in an incognito tab like a shameful secret.
He'd lost count of the number of casual remarks he'd dropped with his heart in his throat, hoping that Nick would take the bait. Things like: "do you think Daisy will be overwhelmed in a new place with loads of people around?" and then, a few days later, "I miss your mum, it's been ages since we've seen her properly".
Finally, Nick said over dinner one night, "Why don't we go to Wales a day earlier than everyone else this year?" and Charlie had to hide his grin behind a slice of pizza.
All those months of planning led to today. Charlie rested his head against the window and checked his phone: four hours to sunset. Plenty of time.
He tried to relax as he watched the road disappear under the tyres: the quality of the tarmac surfacing decreasing steadily as they drove away from society, soon giving way entirely to the gravel driveway that skirted the edge of the scruffy field and twisted down the hill, alongside the overgrown hedgerows. A year’s worth of suppressed tension seeped from his bones as the Nelson’s house came into view and he physically felt his body relax into his seat.
He and Nick now had a home they’d chosen together: a one-bed flat in a pretty part of Oxford that suited all of them – close to the university for Charlie, the hospital for Nick’s work, and Port Meadow for Daisy. But it still didn’t compare to the utter peace he felt the moment his shoes touched the earth in Wales. He eagerly fell out of the car and the coastal summer air swept him up in its familiar embrace: the cloying sweetness of the summer blooms in Sarah’s garden mingling with the dank, briny smell of the sea.
He stretched his hands above his head and worked the kinks from his spine as his phone found the WiFi through the wall and vibrated in his pocket with thirty minutes of last-minute panic in the groupchat as everyone tried to coordinate who was picking up who and when they would arrive. Despite being adults with jobs, bills and responsibilities, they were still incapable of organising a week away without hundreds of misunderstandings and disagreements. Charlie ignored them: they weren’t his problem until they turned up on the cottage doorstep tomorrow.
On the other side of the car, Nick opened the door and freed Daisy, who was beside herself with the excitement of the unfamiliar sights and smells. She ricocheted from one thing to the next like a pinball until she was so wound up that she was just jumping around in a tight circle, barking wildly.
The commotion alerted Sarah to their arrival, and she threw open the front door before either of them knocked. Usually, Charlie would be swept up into her arms – as he had been every time he’d been back to Trepenny as Nick’s boyfriend. Now, though, he might as well have been a cardboard cutout to Sarah. She dropped to her knees in front of Daisy, welcoming the dog onto her lap as if she was still a puppy and not a full-sized golden retriever. She laughed gleefully as Daisy sniffed her face eagerly.
“Mum, no, we're trying to teach her not to jump on people! Daisy, down. Daisy!”
“Oh, let me spoil my granddaughter for a moment, Nicky!”
Daisy's attention, though, had been captured by something inside the dark hallway, her nose alerting her to the other inhabitant of the house before Henry's growl reached the humans.
"Don't be a wimp, Henry, it's only Daisy. You like Daisy, remember? She's just a little bit bigger than the last time you saw her."
Daisy jumped off her lap and planted herself in the doorway, watching Henry’s approach intently. Sarah’s t-shirt was coated in Daisy’s golden fur, but she didn’t appear to notice as she stood to mediate the dogs’ reunion. Charlie hung nervously beside Daisy, ready to grab her collar in case she crushed Henry in her puppyish exuberance. After a tentative sniff, she collapsed onto her side and rolled onto her back, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she smiled her dopey, friendly smile. The gesture placated Henry, who stopped growling and trotted up to Daisy to snuffle around her face.
Satisfied that neither dog was about to get violent, Sarah walked over to give Charlie his hug. A few strands of Daisy's hair transferred onto Charlie's jumper – or maybe they’d already been there. It was impossible to tell; Charlie was permanently covered in dog hair nowadays.
"Hello, sweetheart. How was the drive?"
"Not too bad, can't complain."
She let go of Charlie and finally turned to her son, standing on her tiptoes to hug him.
"That's because he slept for half of it," Nick said over his mum’s head.
"I was resting my eyes!”
"Well, you're just in time,” Sarah said, efficiently cutting through their good-natured bickering. “The cake's just come out the oven."
Charlie didn’t need any further encouragement. Nick, however, didn't follow as he and Sarah headed towards the house. Charlie paused on the doorstep, cocking his head to the side as he looked at Nick. "What’s wrong?"
“Nothing!” Nick took a step back towards the car. "I was thinking I could take the car down and unpack while you do that."
Charlie frowned. “There’s no rush. Why don’t we have tea and then we can unpack together?”
"I don't mind," Nick insisted.
"Don't be stupid. Since when do you turn down your mum's baking?" When Nick still lingered, he repeated, "We’re not in a rush, we can unpack after some cake."
He had an ulterior motive for his insistence: the sun wouldn’t be setting for another three hours and he needed to waste time. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Nick caved and followed his mum and Henry to the kitchen.
While Sarah cut them all generous slices of cake and asked Nick questions about his promotion, Charlie filled the kettle and Nick fetched their mugs out of the corner cupboard. The rumble of the boiling water drowned out Sarah and Nick’s voices, and Charlie looked around the kitchen absently as he waited for it to quiet, his eyes catching on the matching set of mugs with the initials S, N and C. Then on a postcard they’d sent from their Mexico holiday two years ago still pinned to the fridge, then on August’s picture in Sarah’s personalised calendar (a photo of the three of them in the Botanic Garden). Finally, they landed on today’s date with Nick and Charlie coming home, underlined twice. The room was overflowing with proof that Charlie’s life was here, just as much as it was in Oxford or Kent.
He thought about the first summer he spent here, and how he’d been convinced at the time that he’d never be so happy again as he was then. Now, Charlie looked back on the months with both fond nostalgia and a gut-wrenching sympathy for his past self, the two emotions mixing in his stomach like oil and water. The thought that twenty-year-old Charlie could have been the happiest version of Charlie Spring to ever exist sounded like a horror story to twenty-seven-year-old Charlie. That boy? The one freshly out of hospital, who hated his past and was terrified of the future? He’d truly believed that was the happiest he’d ever be?
Thank god I was wrong, he thought as he brought the mugs to the table and took a seat. Nick’s left hand immediately came to rest on Charlie’s knee, giving him a light squeeze of wordless thanks for the drinks and Charlie knew that there wasn’t a single moment of that summer that he would choose over his life now: even the electrifying exhilaration of falling in love couldn’t hold a candle to the warm safety of being loved.
“So, what time’s everyone arriving tomorrow?” Sarah asked.
Swallowing his mouthful of cake – rich, delicious, chocolatey – Charlie said, “Tao and Elle are picking up Isaac on the way, but he’s got to work in the morning, so I think they’ll probably get here for dinner. Tara and Darcy are aiming for lunchtime, but if they get here before midnight, I’ll be shocked.” Although the gulf between twenty and twenty-seven sounded huge and felt even larger, some things stayed the same.
“And Tara and Darcy are sure they’re okay to camp? They know they’re welcome to stay in one of the spare rooms, right?”
Charlie shook his head and said, seriously, “Tara’s very excited to try out her new tent.”
They ate their cake and watched Daisy follow Henry around the garden, wagging her tail furiously and jumping from side to side in a desperate invitation to play whenever he looked in her direction. Henry had adopted the personality of a weary, long-suffering older brother putting up with his little sister’s shenanigans, but Sarah saw straight through him.
“He’s loving the attention,” she said with a laugh when Daisy’s attention wandered and Henry barked at her until she chased after him again.
“That was delicious, thanks Mum,” Nick said, wiping his finger across his plate to gather the last of the crumbs.
“One of your best yet, thank you,” Charlie said, like he always did.
Sarah smiled at them and nodded at the cake stand on the counter. “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from. Will you put the kettle on, Nicky? I fancy another one.”
Nick didn’t move. “Um, shouldn’t I go take a look at that thing in the cottage you texted me about the other day?”
“Hm?”
“Something needed fixing?” he prompted. Sarah frowned at him, her eyes searching his face, and it looked like she was about to shake her head when Nick added, “Wasn’t it a tap or something? You said it’s broken, and you wanted me to go down and fix it…”
Understanding dawned, and Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course, well remembered, Nicky. The, um, the kitchen tap. It’s not working.”
“The kitchen tap, that was it,” Nick agreed, nodding. He looked at Charlie. “Why don’t I run down to the cottage while you finish your tea?”
Charlie looked at the dregs left in his mug that had long gone cold. “I don’t mind. I can come with you.”
“No!” he disagreed, so quickly Charlie had barely finished speaking. “No, no, no! I’m sure it’ll be something simple like a loose screw. I’ll be two seconds!”
“Oh-kay?” he agreed bemusedly and gave Sarah a clueless shrug as Nick bolted from the kitchen before Charlie could say anything more. “I don’t know what that’s about. He was being normal in the car, I swear.”
“Well, he’s always been a strange boy,” Sarah brushed off with a laugh. Charlie wasn’t sure he agreed with that (he could always understand everything Nick did), but he didn’t argue because Sarah had already changed the topic. “How are you, sweetheart? Want another piece of cake?”
Charlie considered refusing, but the piece he’d had was heavenly and Sarah was already putting another slice on her plate, so he smiled impishly and said, “Oh, go on then. Just a small one.”
Sarah cut him a slice that even a giant would consider generous, and it landed on his plate with a heavy thunk. She was as bad as Charlie’s friends in making sure that he always had food in front of him.
“Thanks,” Charlie said ruefully.
“How’s your family?”
“Yeah, they’re all good. Mum’s going a bit crazy about Ollie going off to university, which I think is only making him even keener to move out.”
“Is your dad still going to the Madrid office every other week?”
“Yeah, I think that’s partly why she’s so wound up about it. She’s worried about being lonely.”
“She could get a dog to keep her company! Or a cat, if she’s not a dog person.”
Charlie thought of his mum’s spotless house and cashmere jumpers and snorted. “I have a feeling Mum would rather go into solitary confinement than get a pet, but I’ll pass on the advice.”
Her voice softened when she asked, “What about you, Charlie? How are you doing?”
Over the years, Sarah had learnt the details of Charlie’s past (and current) struggles through a combination of his gallows humour, offhand references, and frantic phone calls from Nick, and he knew she wasn’t just asking about his day.
“Oh, I’m great, especially now Nick can steal all the good drugs direct from work,” he joked.
Sarah laughed, and even when the mirth subsided, she was left with a fond smile that was so full of maternal love that Charlie had to drop his gaze.
He started speaking, haltingly at first, then gaining confidence, “No, I mean, to be serious, I really, really am doing good. I know you told Nick once that love doesn’t cure mental illness when we first moved in together, because I know he was struggling with how much I was struggling that first winter… And you were so right! I mean, you’re always right about everything, obviously,” he acknowledged with a small smile. “But you were extra right about that, and I think it really helped Nick to understand that he didn’t have to cure me, he just had to–”
He broke off, busying himself with constructing the perfect mouthful with the ideal icing-to-sponge ratio as he remembered their first year together in Cardiff. It’d been six years since he’d stepped foot in the terraced student house, but he could still vividly recall their little bedroom with a framed photo of them and Nellie on the beach on the bedside table. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still feel the uneven kitchen tiles beneath his feet as he spent his evenings teaching Nick to cook more than frozen pizzas and fish finger sandwiches. Every hangover in the last six years had felt worse when he couldn’t get through them in the company of their housemates, cuddled under Nick’s arm and a thick blanket as they spent hours watching Come Dine With Me marathons. It had been, in some ways, the most fun Charlie had ever had: few responsibilities, weekly nights out, a reserved table at the local pub quiz, and the thrill of being introduced as Charlie, Nick Nelson’s boyfriend never wearing off.
But although those memories were laden with a heady nostalgia that felt as sweet and rich as the heavy chocolate icing on Sarah’s cake, he could also remember the bad times. Like the damp walls and the mould creeping up the window frames because they refused to put the heating on. The tiny kitchen that was clearly built with a small family in mind, not a house of five young adults. The six months he spent working in a string of awful minimum wage hospitality jobs that he hated before he finally saw the ‘Staff wanted’ sign blu-tacked in the window of a little independent music shop when he went to buy a new pair of drumsticks. Winter, with its short, dark days, had never been good for Charlie’s mental health, and he knew that the days (that stretched into weeks) that he'd spent in bed, practically catatonic, had worried Nick senseless at first until they’d learned the best ways to get through them together.
When he continued, his voice was steady and clear and confident, “Love might not cure mental illness, but having someone who knows you inside and out, knows all of my coping mechanisms, when I need a hug and when I want to be left alone… I mean, Nick definitely makes it all easier.”
“Oh, Charlie,” Sarah said. Her words were followed by the scrape of the chair legs on the floorboards as she stood and circled the table to pull him into a hug. She talked into his hair and her words were slightly muffled, “I can’t begin to say how glad I am that you rented the cottage that summer, and not just because of how happy you make Nick.”
“Me too.”
When she pulled away, her cheeks were damp with tears, and Charlie stared at her in horror. He’d never seen Sarah cry before; it was like seeing his own mother cry.
“Oh god, are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he said, casting around for tissues and finding none.
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m just being silly. Don’t know what’s got into me today. I’m feeling all misty-eyed. Ignore me,” she huffed with a self-deprecating chuckle, dabbing at her face with the cuff of her jumper. “Did Nick show you the photos of my new pond?”
He had not, so Charlie followed Sarah out of the back door and down into the garden, admiring the evidence of Sarah’s comfortable descent into retirement (the weed-free flower beds and the new fishpond) with a continuous string of compliments.
After the tour, they returned to the kitchen to feed Daisy and Henry. Afterwards, Sarah walked over to the kettle. “Another one?” she asked as she dropped a fresh tea bag into her mug.
Charlie hesitated, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I might go check on Nick; he’s been gone for a while.”
Sarah frowned. “Oh but I– I was about to ask you to do something for me,” she said, her eyes darting around the kitchen and coming to rest on a stack of old ice cream tubs on the side, the white plastic yellowed with age. She nodded to herself as she walked over to them, picking them up and waving them in the air.
“Blackberries,” she said unhelpfully.
“Blackberries?”
“The hedge up at the top field is full of them – I think it must be because of the heat. If you go pick a few tubs for me, I can send you all home with some jam on Monday.” She pushed the tupperwares into his hands, allowing no room for an argument. “I’ll send Nick up to join you when he gets back.”
Charlie checked his watch. There was still an hour to sunset. He had time to do this for Sarah and then get Nick to the beach. He summoned Daisy and they wandered up the hill together in the bright sunshine. Charlie held tupperwares loosely in one hand as Daisy bounded through the tall wild grass in the field to his right, sending skylarks soaring into the air. He called her to heel, but she ignored him in favour of chasing after a rabbit that disappeared into a hole by a fence post in the blink of an eye, causing her to investigate every fence post meticulously as if these too were hiding rabbits. He gave up, leaving her to explore as he watched the clouds drifting across the sky, picking out shapes in the wisps and feeling like he’d strolled onto the pages of an Enid Blyton novel.
Like Sarah promised, brambles festooned the hedge at the top of the hill, their branches studded with pale pink and creamy white flowers. The verge was alive with noise and movement as butterflies and bumblebees took advantage of the sunshine, buzzing and fluttering from blossom to blossom. Whenever Charlie’s shadow fell across the hedge, the insects in that area would scatter away, seeking the warmth of the sun once more. It had been a long, hot summer like Charlie’s first in Trepenny and the hedges were dripping with big berries, swollen with juice.
He’d filled a container and was halfway through the second when Daisy’s excited bark alerted him to Nick’s approach. A few moments later, he heard his footsteps coming up behind him and then arms looped around his waist, interrupting his blackberry picking. Nick rested his chin on Charlie’s shoulder, kissing the shell of his ear, then his jaw, then his dimple in quick succession. Charlie hummed contentedly and leaned back against his chest.
“Hi,” Nick said.
“Hey. Did you fix the tap?”
“Yep, everything’s ready for us.”
Charlie picked a particularly plump berry, holding it delicately in his purple-stained fingers, and offered it to Nick. Nick hummed and accepted the fruit, his lips warm against Charlie’s fingertips as he placed it in his mouth. As he did so, Charlie was struck with the queerest sense of déjà vu, not for himself but for centuries of people before them who had shown they cared with the exact same ritual: here, I picked this one for you.
Overwhelmed by the thought, he turned and kissed Nick gently. He could taste the lingering sweetness on his tongue.
“I was thinking we should take Daisy to the cottage. Show her around,” Nick said.
Charlie hummed and glanced at his watch. He had time still, but not much of it. “Maybe we could go down to the beach before it gets dark too.”
“That could be nice. It's going to be a beautiful sunset.”
Charlie looked up, his breath catching as he truly appreciated the view for the first time. The sun had already begun its descent and the sky above the field stretched out to the sea like a Monet painting: the blue above their heads descending into a light lavender over the horizon. Everything the sunlight touched seemed to transform into a different world, the last of the daylight determined to go out with a bang, bathing them in gold.
His perfect beauty left Charlie breathless and for a dazzling moment, he wanted to drop to one knee right there, ringless. Anything to make that man his fiancé a minute sooner.
Instead, he had to satisfy himself by sliding a hand up his forearm to hold his upper arm and pull him to a stop, reeling him in for a long kiss. Nick made a noise of surprise at the sudden affection, but happily wrapped his free hand around Charlie's back. His thumb slid up Charlie's t-shirt and along his spine as his tongue licked into his mouth.
“What was that for?” he asked breathlessly.
“I just really love you, you know?”
Nick grinned. “Yeah, I know. I love you more, you know.” “Liar.”
With another pair of hands, they made quick work of the last two containers. They walked back down to the main house, tucking the containers under their arms and holding hands as Daisy pranced around them.
At the house, he paused in the drive and held his tupperwares out, asking, “Do you mind taking mine in? I need to get something from the car.”
Nick took the tupperwares from Charlie and kissed his forehead. “Be right back.”
He tried to walk normally to the car, but he couldn't quite remember what normal looked like at that moment – his whole body suddenly felt like jelly from the adrenaline flooding his veins. The backpack was where he'd left it in the footwell and the box was at the bottom, carefully covered with a bulky jumper that Charlie was too nervous to need right then. Reverently, he ran his finger across the lid. Just as he was about to flip it open and steal another glance at the ring inside, Daisy barked, warning him.
“You ready?” Nick asked, stepping out of the hall a moment later.
He closed his fist around the box and pushed it deep into his pocket.
“Yep,” he said, jumping away from the car. “Let’s go.”
They walked side-by-side but not holding hands: Charlie didn’t want Nick to risk noticing that his were trembling with nerves. Daisy, elated by even more new things to sniff, veered wildly and randomly across the drive, occasionally tangling herself amongst their feet as she caught a whiff of something different and lunged for it.
They reached the turning to the beach just before the cottage came into view, and Charlie swung off to the left. Nick had been walking with his head down, focused on his feet, and it took him a moment to realise Charlie wasn't by his side. He looked up, confused.
"Where are you going?"
“I thought we were going to go to the beach quickly?” Charlie said, aiming for a tone of guileless innocence.
Nick grimaced. "Oh, I'm not sure… It's probably going to get dark soon. I mean, the sun's already setting."
Undeterred, Charlie took another step down the footpath towards the cliffs and played his ace. "It’ll make Daisy happy. She's never seen a beach. Plus, this way she can burn off the last of her energy instead of chewing up the cottage."
"She'll be okay. She's been running around all afternoon. I'm just pretty tired after the drive, you know?"
Charlie blinked. He’d been so certain that that would be a slam dunk that he could hardly comprehend the words coming from Nick. Nick never put his own needs above Daisy's. The man spent half of their joint disposable income on premium, organic dog food. There had been more than one occasion where Charlie had been frantic because Nick had gone out for a twenty-minute walk round the park and hadn't come home for two hours because Daisy had wanted to keep playing and “How could I say no to that face, Char?!”. Any other day, that kind of comment would make him want to take Nick to the nearest A&E, but that hospital trip would have to wait because he had plans, and as Nick said, it was going to get dark soon.
"Come on, it'll be quick. And fun, I promise," he argued, resisting the temptation to look at his watch. How much time did he have? It couldn’t be more than half an hour until the sun properly set and he’d wanted to be at the beach at least twenty minutes before that time. That was looking increasingly unlikely, because Nick wasn't moving. He was frozen in the middle of the drive, his head spinning between Charlie and the road to the cottage.
"But-" he said helplessly. "The cottage."
"It'll be when we get back. Daisy! Come on!"
He bolted. Nick called after him, "Charlie, no, wait!"
He was practically running towards the gate to the beach, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he silently begged the sun to slow down. Why did he always feel like he was running out of time when he was here? Daisy wasn't helping his need to get to the beach as quickly and directly as possible. She was too distracted sniffing each individual blade of grass bordering the footpath.
"Daisy! This way!" he called again over his shoulder.
Charlie’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched his careful plans burst into flames. They could go for a walk in the morning, but Charlie had already ruled out a sunrise proposal because the sun rose at six o'clock and there was no way either of them would be awake for that and the tide would be too far in after breakfast for them to get round to their rock pool.
He wanted to beg her to hurry, to say something like, I know you can smell Henry, and maybe even Nellie too, and I know this place is so perfect it feels intoxicating, but I promise you’ll have time to explore later. But, obviously, that would be an insane thing to say to a dog, so instead he just reached for the treat bag in his pocket. Bribery would always be more effective than logical reasoning.
Unfortunately, the delay gave Nick time to catch up and overtake him. He planted himself on the footpath, blocking Charlie’s way to the gate to the public route along the cliff down to the beach and said, beseechingly, “Charlie, we can go to the beach in the morning. I really want to go to the cottage, please.”
He looked over Nick’s shoulder: they were a few metres from the coastal path, and then only a metre further, the land fell away into the Atlantic. Out at the sea, the sun was just brushing the horizon. Charlie couldn’t have hoped for a better sunset in his wildest dreams: the few wispy clouds were a bright, fiery orange, while the rays reflected against the wave caps so that it looked like the ocean was studded with glittering topaz. The sky had shifted from the earlier lilac and lavender hues: it was now a glorious copper colour that darkened into a blue so deep it was almost purple.
The hand reaching for Daisy's treats found something in his pocket, but it wasn't the bag of kibble.
Nick’s hand wrapped around Charlie’s arm, as if he was worried Charlie was about to run, and his eyes were flicking from the sunset back to the cottage with a cazed rapidity. His forehead was creased and his mouth was twisted down into a grimace that refected how Charlie felt: nervous and impatient.
But why would he be nervous? Charlie wondered, and then it clicked. Suddenly, Charlie understood Nick's cagey behaviour that afternoon, and why he was as desperate to get to the cottage as Charlie was to get to the beach.
He stared at Nick, his own anxious frown disappearing as a giggle burst from his lips. He clutched the box in his pocket.
“Wait,” he said. “Me first.”
The rocks on the footpath dug into his knee through his jeans. He pulled the box from his pocket. It wasn’t the plan but, really, what difference was there between a rockpool and a clifftop?
Nick’s eyes widened. “Char…”
“You got to do the big dramatic relationship moment last time,” Charlie said. “Let me have this.”
“Charlie,” he repeated, his voice strained with emotion.
Charlie shushed him and inhaled deeply. The breath shuddered into his lungs and exploded in a nervous exhalation as tears pricked his eyes. He hadn’t even said a word of his pre-planned speech yet, which wasn’t a good omen for his ability to get through all of it.
“Nick.” Good start. “My darling. You’re my best friend, my best mate, my bro-”
“Oh my god, stop,” Nick muttered with a wet laugh.
“I was thinking earlier about how, the first time I came here, I thought it was the happiest that I’d ever be, but then it’s like you made it your personal mission to prove me wrong. Everything about you makes me happy.
“I love you. I love your kindness and your laugh and your arms and the fact you’re really good in bed. I love the scrambled eggs on toast you make us every Saturday and watching you wrestle with Daisy in the park. I love everything about you and I love the life we’ve made together over the last seven years.“
"Even when I forget to turn the lights off when I leave a room?" Nick said, his words thick with emotion.
"I think the fact that that's the worst thing about you says a lot about how perfect you are."
It wasn’t the smooth speech Charlie had whispered to himself in the shower or practised behind his facemask on the bus: reality was filled with unplanned interruptions as he choked on the words or paused to sniff and wipe his nose and the occasional scream of seagulls flying overhead. But that was okay. He didn’t need to rush.
“And somehow, every day with you is better than the one before. So, even though I love our life right now, I can’t wait for what the future holds. I want to get old, because it means spending more time with you – if anything, the rest of my life isn’t enough time to spend with you, even if it means spending it following you around, turning off lights. So…”
He fumbled with the lid of the box with his thumb because he refused to let go of Nick’s hand. He finally flicked it open, revealing a gold band nestled in the black felt. The jeweller had polished the ring until it shone, and it reflected every glorious colour of the sky as Charlie held it up. He could barely see the gold underneath the swirls of oranges, pinks and blues. His hand didn’t shake as he stared up at Nick, whose eyes were full of tears as he met Charlie’s gaze steadily.
“Will you marry me?”
It felt like the wind took the words from his lips and wrapped each syllable in Charlie's love – for Nick, for this place where they met, for them, for the promise of their future – before delivering the question to Nick’s ears.
“Yes,” Nick gasped, wiping the tears that poured down his cheeks with the ball of his hand. “Of course I will.”
His knees ached from kneeling on the hard-packed earth and they creaked in protest as Nick took the box from his hand, only to ignore the ring in favour of pulling Charlie to his feet and into a breath-stealing hug.
“Here,” Charlie said, pulling the ring from the cushion and holding it delicately between his thumb and index finger. He took Nick’s hand in his own and Nick straightened his fingers so that he could slide the ring on. They paused there for a long moment, staring at the ring in a stunned silence.
It was real. Finally, after so many months spent dreaming of this moment, he was Charlie’s fiancé.
Charlie didn't know what to say. Any words he could think of seemed too mundane to be worthy of the momentous occasion. He was acutely aware that this was the story he'd be telling their children and grandchildren, and he didn't want to end with: and then I told the dog to stop eating grass.
As always, Nick found the solution to Charlie's problem.
"Come on. It’s my turn now," he said and grabbed Charlie's hand and led him back to the cottage, with Daisy hot on their heels. It was a short walk and Charlie spent the whole thing staring at their joined hands. His heart leapt every time he saw the glint of gold peeking out between their fingers.
He was so wrapped up in this that Nick led him all the way to the cottage gate before he looked up at the world around him. He stumbled to a halt by the wall, drinking in the scene.
Nick’s plan had involved more preparation than Charlie’s. Of course it had: Nick was always good at romance. A dark red tablecloth made of a heavy, silky fabric had been laid out on the picnic bench in the front garden, transforming the aged garden furniture into something that looked elegant and expensive. In the centre of the table, a tea light candle flickered in a jar next to a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses. Fairy lights had been wound around the table legs and another string had been pushed into an empty wine bottle, the pinpricks of amber light glowing through the green glass like trapped fireflies.
The whole thing looked like a storyboard from a fairytale; Charlie half-expected Daisy to start talking.
But it was the banner strung across the front door that really caught Charlie’s eye: triangles of sunny yellow fabric that matched the mural on the door had been hand-painted with a sea blue paint, spelling out:
Marry me?
“Oh,” was all he could think to say as he stared dumbly at the scene before him.
"Come on, Char," Nick said, pulling him through the gate.
He was already a wreck of adrenaline and euphoria, so it was no surprise to feel the tears on his cheeks the moment Nick got on one knee. Behind him, the sun painting on the door framed his head like a halo.
“I don't really have a speech,” he began. “I tried to write one about a hundred different times, but none of them were right. I couldn’t work out how to put all the love I have for you into words, so I decided it was impossible: I should've known you’d prove me wrong by managing to write a whole monologue about us.” He rolled his eyes and Charlie laughed through his tears. “So if what I say makes no sense, it’s because I love you so much it literally makes me stupid.
“Sometimes I think back to that first summer and try to imagine what would have happened if Mum had replied to someone else and we didn’t meet and I just can’t. So much of who I am now is because of you. Like, my choice of career, the fact I know how to cook things, my weirdly expert knowledge of UK garden birds: I can trace all of those back to you.
“This is all to say that, basically, I want to spend my life with you because you are my life… Charles Francis Spring, will you marry me?”
He held up a ring.
It was silver and had a twisted design, like two interlocking rings had melted, becoming permanently forged together. Charlie reached out and brushed his thumb against the side of the ring. He licked his lips and looked at Nick, the movement of his eye disturbing another tear that clung persistently to his lower lashes.
"Imagine if I said no right now," he said, then snorted.
"Oh, if you don't want it…" Nick trailed off, pulling the ring away a fraction, so Charlie had to lunge forward to grab Nick's wrist.
"Don't you dare!" he replied as Nick laughed. “Yes, yes, of course, yes. Put it on me.” He held out his hand so Nick could pluck the ring from the box and slide it onto his finger.
He stretched his arm and admired the ring, marvelling at the perfect fit even (though it was hardly a case of destiny, since they'd gone shopping together to find out their ring sizes). Wordlessly, he reached for Nick's hand and entwined their fingers, his silver ring clinking against Nick's gold one.
"They look perfect."
Nick kissed his temple and allowed Charlie to admire their rings side-by-side for another minute before pulling his hand away in order to reach for the champagne. Charlie tore his eyes away from his own ring to watch as Nick popped the cork and poured each of them a glass. The flutes must have come from Sarah's wine glass collection up at the house: the cottage had nothing nearly so sophisticated nor any matching pairs. If Nick had tried to source drinking vessels from the cottage, they'd be sipping champagne from a novelty mug and a child's dinosaur cup.
"Your mum was in on this, wasn’t she?" Charlie said as Nick passed him a glass.
Nick smirked. "She might’ve been."
"There was never a broken kitchen tap, was there?"
He took a sip of champagne. It was the good stuff – not the bottom shelf prosecco they usually drank to celebrate achievements – and the bubbles burst on his tongue, flooding his taste buds with notes of peach and citrus.
“Of course not. I just needed time alone to set all this up, which is why I can’t believe you beat me to it.”
“Well, I’ve been working on it all year!” Charlie said. “I didn’t want you to ruin all that prep.”
Nick reared back, and his voice was full of offence as he said, “All year? All year?! Charlie Spring, I’ve been planning how to propose to you from the moment I found out you were gay.”
“You’re lying.”
“I'm not! That night that I met everyone, when you stayed in the spare bedroom, remember?” As if Charlie would ever forget. “I lay awake in bed all night thinking about you. I don’t think I slept a wink because I was so busy mapping out our whole life. I named all of our dogs. I planned who’s going to give the speeches at the wedding.”
Charlie blinked at him, and the ember of warmth he always carried in his heart – the knowledge of Nick's love for him – flared into an inferno so bright and hot, he couldn't speak for a moment.
"Really?" he eventually asked.
"Swear on my life. I swear on Daisy's life."
Nick was smiling self-consciously, a pale pink blush just visible by the light of the candles and fairy lights.
“Oh my god,” Charlie laughed, putting his glass down so he could throw his arms around Nick instead while laughing in disbelief that he got to have this stupidly perfect man forever. He rested his forehead against Nick’s. “God, I love you, you dork. What’s our wedding going to be like, then?”
Nick kissed him with the barest brush of lips before he said, “Tasteful, but also a lot of fun. Daisy’s going to be the ring bearer.”
“But she doesn’t come when she’s called.”
“Yeah, well, in my imagination seven years ago, we had a better trained dog.”
They both looked at Daisy, who was thoroughly worn out from the afternoon of exploring Sarah's house and picking blackberries, and was now lying at the end of the picnic table. Her chin was on her paws while she looked dolefully up at them. Her brow twitched up when she noticed she had their attention and her tail started thumping against the short grass, but she didn’t raise her head from her paws.
Charlie said hopefully, "Maybe by the wedding she'll have learned a few more commands.”
The wedding. It felt weird to say the words in reference to himself.
He was going to have a wedding.
More importantly, he was going to have a husband. He was going to be a husband.
"I doubt it. I don't think there's a single brain cell behind those eyes," Nick cooed in the babying tone he reserved only for Daisy. Just like the first time Charlie had heard him use it – when Daisy had been a little potato of fur cradled in Nick's arms – Charlie had to make a concerted effort to banish the mental image of Nick talking like that to their child.
He leaned forward and envelop Nick in a tight hug, squeezing so hard his biceps ached. Although he was using all his strength, Nick still easily wriggled his arms free so he could reciprocate, wrapping one around Charlie’s waist and tilting Charlie’s chin up with the other to kiss him: a sweet, chaste press of the lips that quickly turned intense as they opened their mouths, Charlie’s tongue running along Nick’s lips, tasting of peach and citrus.
“C’mon, fiancé,” he said, getting to his feet. He picked up his champagne and then took Nick’s hand to pull him up as well.
"Where are we going?" he asked as he allowed himself to be manhandled.
"Inside," Charlie said, looking at Nick through his lowered lashes, the corner of his mouth turning up and Nick didn't need more of an explanation. He grabbed his own glass and the bottle by the neck.
Nick stopped him on the doorstep and with his one free hand, wrapped his arm around Charlie’s thighs and swept him off his feet.
“Are you carrying me over the threshold? Isn’t this something you’re meant to do after the wedding?”
Nick kicked the door open with his foot and somewhat off-balance carried him into the living room. The floorboards creaked under their weight, and it sounded like the cottage was saying welcome back as Nick shut him up by kissing so deeply, thoroughly, passionately, that Charlie couldn’t keep up the pretence that he gave a fuck about traditions.
As he let Nick carry him to the bedroom, he wondered if happiness was exponential, because he couldn't see how he would ever be happier than he was in that moment. But he'd been wrong about that before.