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The weeks following that sweet conversation you had after career day were easy. Ryland insisted on taking you to new restaurants to change up the routine, saying something about it being good for your mental health to get out to places you hadn’t been before. You knew what he was doing, but you weren’t going to stop him. If he wanted to test drive locations for a proposal, he clearly had a reason.
You started throwing a little extra money in your shared account usually meant for splitting bills and rent, the pampering was nice and you were in no hurry for it to end. Besides, if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He takes such good care of you in every other way, you were fine with footing the bill as long as he was the one to swipe the card. And do all the planning and driving and whatever else was needed.
When you got home from an exhausting week to find Ryland standing over the stove, you nearly had a heart attack. He’s barely allowed in the kitchen, much less allowed to use your nice pans. He greets you with a hug and a long kiss to your lips, smiling against you as you throw your arms around his neck with a sigh. “Long day?” He asks quietly, his full attention on you.
“Mhm, but we sent everything off so it’s out of our hands now,” you shrug, laughing when he starts swaying you to the music playing from the living room. “Good, turn your brain off for a little, yeah?” He melts into you, trying to squeeze the stress out of you. The oven beeps and he untangles himself from your hold, sliding a pan of veggies in with a silly wink thrown your way. “Not bad, right?”
The veggies looked fine going in, you just hoped he didn’t burn them. He opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of wine, “the good stuff, just for tonight,” he teases, pouring you a glass. You take a sip and watch him move around the small room. He looks so at ease, so carefree in your shared space.
“Now,” he turns to you, crowding you against the counter while wiping his hands dry. “You take that wine to the shower, relax for me,” his eyes are soft, small smile pulling at his lips when he feels you lean into him. A sigh falls from your lips when he kisses you sweetly, like he intends to make this evening as gentle for you as possible.
He ushers you to the bathroom, whistling when he catches a peek at you undressing. You throw your bra at him and laugh, “you could join me, you know,” you call after him. He peeks his head in the door, giving you a once over, and grins. “You know I would love to but if I burn the food you’re going to revoke my kitchen access,” another wink is thrown your way. “Besides,” he leans against the doorframe, “I love this view.”
He doesn’t leave until you’re under the spray of water, your hair tucked out of the way so it doesn’t get wet. Shower wine was your favorite wine - the warm steam, the scent of the essential oils you loved, it was the best way to unwind. Well, second best, maybe. Ryland was probably the best way.
When you finally meandered back to the bedroom, you paused. A new pj set was laid out on the bed, emerald green satin pants with a matching shirt. A small G was embroidered on the front pocket of the shirt, making you smile despite yourself. You dressed quickly, breathing in the scent of fresh laundry as you slip the shirt over your head.
Back in the kitchen, Ryland has donned his own pjs - they’re similar to yours but in a dark blue. The same G sits on his pocket. He smiles when he sees you, pulling you in for a deep kiss. “What’s the occassion?” You ask in the space between breaths. He shakes his head, “just love you.” The look he gives you makes your heart flutter.
He doesn’t burn the food, serving up the best meal he’s ever made, which maybe doesn’t mean much but he’s trying. You eat at the small dining table, conversation flowing easily. The wine is flowing too, he tops up your glasses until the bottle is empty. When the food is gone and the music is the only sound filling the room, he starts fidgeting.
Standing, he offers a hand to you, pulling you to the center of the room and leading you in a slow dance. He quiet for a song, you can see the gears turning when you look up at him. A nervous smile works its way on his face, he presses a kiss to your forehead to distract himself.
A whisper of your name draws your eyes to his, “you know I love you, right?” You nod, flashing him a bright smile. “That’s good, cause I really, really do.” He pulls in a breath, “you’re my best friend, everything I ever wanted and more.” Relization dawns on your face, tears already threathing to gather. “I want to do right by you, want to give you the life you deserve.”
He leans back just a little, anxious eyes meeting yours. “And I might not have much, but what I do have is yours. All of me, I’m yours,” and he kisses you like he’s afraid he might start rambling. He separates just enough to lower himself to one knee, hands fumbling for a small box tucked under the coffee table. “If you’ll let me, I’d love to spend the rest of my life by your side.”
The box opens to reveal a small silver ring, diamond sparkling in the low lights of the apartment. “Sweetheart, will you marry me?” You wish you weren’t crying only because you knew the look on his face was going to be your new favorite memory. Nervous fingers rub over yours, grounding you in the moment. A nod and choked out, “yes,” is all you can manage, but it’s enough for him.
He slides the ring on your finger, his own tears streaking down his face. You drop to your knees and hold his face, bringing him in for an emotional kiss that you hope conveys just how deeply you love him. He wraps his arms around you, not leaving any space between you. “Wait,” he pulls back just a little, “look at the ring.”
You let him lift your hand, tilting it so you can see all sides of the ring. “It’s perfect, Ry,” you breathe, reveling in the way his eyes light up at the praise. He wipes your tears, lets you wipe his, and he’s pulling you to stand. You don’t make it any farther than that, wrapping your arms around him and letting him move you to the music still playing through the room.
“Oh my god,” you whisper against his neck, “we’re getting married.” He laughs aginst your hair, twirling you slowly. “We’re getting married,” he replies, letting more tears fall.
~~~~
Monday rolls around and you beat Ryland home. He finds you on the couch, dinner simmering away on the stove, and wraps his body around yours. His head rests on your chest, your legs moving to make room for him. He catches your hand as it strokes through his hair, pressing a sweet kiss to your ring, before placing it back on his head.
“How did it go?” You ask quietly, enjoying his weight on top of you. He giggles, lifting his head to look at you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Some of the girls asked me why I was so happy this morning, I didn’t say anything though! Until I minimized the video playing on my computer and they saw the picture…” His cheeks are pink, it’s so endearing you can’t help but bite your lip around a grin.
He had set the background on his laptop to a picture of the two of you, your ring front and center while he kisses your cheek, a huge smile plastered on your face. He took it right after he proposed, saying that he wanted to preserve the memory.
“I have a video, here,” and he pulls out his phone, swiping to a video of just him standing behind his desk. The kids were telling him about their weekends, you could hear them excitedly talking over each other. Finally one of the kids asked how his weekend was, he shrugged, keeping his face as neutral as he could. “It was nice, just stayed in with the missus.” His hand reached for his laptop, clicking once.
A chorus of gasps rang through the room, shrill voices screaming in excitement. They all started talking over each other again, Ryland laughed, clapping his hands and trying to calm them down. “She said yes!” You hear a girl exclaim, followed by the sound of a high five somewhere behind the camera.
He tried to hide the tear that slipped down his cheek but they immediately called him out for it. Aws and Mr. Grace sounded out, the group of students trying to comfort him from their seats. He waved them away and turned for a second, composing himself.
When he regained control of the room, Ryland raised his hand, “Okay, okay, we have work to do, seriously!” He reached for the phone and the video ends.
You’re crying again too, touched by how much those kids love your man. “They asked for every detail and I spent the whole period trying not to get derailed,” he laughs wetly, wiping his eye under his glasses. “You’re a really good teacher, Ry,” you whisper to him, feeling his cheeks heat up against your chest. “I’m serious, you connect with them, that’s why they care so much,” you scratch his scalp, letting him sit with your statement.
“The girls who cornered me last time stayed after class and did it again,” he laughs. “They said that it -” he snorts into your shirt, burying his head impossibly closer to you, “they said that it gave them hope that we found love so late in life.”
You cackle at that, shaking his body above you. He wraps his arms under your torso, squeezing you through his own chuckle. “Aw,” you start, “are they having boy trouble already?”
He leans up with a haunted look on his face, “baby, you have no idea.” Your expression changes, urging him to continue. “They’re all children but the boys are boys, they’re gross and can’t listen and think way too highly of themselves,” he lifts up off of you when your phone timer goes off, “I heard some girls in the hallway the other week making a deal that they’d get married if they couldn’t find a boy by their 30’s.”
You huff, ambling to the kitchen and pulling the pot off the heat. “It’s good to know girls are still making those deals.” His brows shoot up, “oh yeah? Did you have one?” You nod with an embarrassed smile, pushing him away when he slides behind you to see what you were stirring. “Sorry it didn’t work out,” he giggles into your shoulder.
“Mine was for when we reach 40, so you slid in just in time.”
He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “I’m pretty good at sliding in.”
“Gross,” you do your best to sound exasperated. He just laughs, stepping away to grab bowls. A kiss presses to your cheek as he returns, “love you, sweetheart.”