She was covered in color dust and stumbling between the force of her laughter and the weight of the teenage boy that was riding piggybacked when he first saw her, her eyes lit up and a splattered white tank top reading 'We fight for them because they fight for us'. The logo was one thing in and of itself but what really caught his attention was the Texan sun glinting off of a familiar ball chain. His curiosity peaked in the same subtle way that it did the moment he saw that chain or that mark on a patient's file- the questions of 'who, what, where, and how long?' the same no matter who it was. She was fast when the teen (who looked so similar he had to be related but not so similar that he would think that the petite woman could have had the child before she herself had graduated junior high) was ambulatory, keeping almost neck and neck with Kenny despite the young man's long strides. Both she and the teen were wearing the same shirt, logo on the front and 'LT. A. Jameson' on the back with a series of dates. Their first interaction was at the very end of the race, when the teen stumbled and shoved her into his side.
Bold black ink stood out against lightly tanned skin as he grasped thin forearms, the script crawling along a defined inner bicep, holding his gaze as he squinted behind the shade of his aviators to try and decipher what it said. 'Strength is what we gain from the madness we survive.' Ten words total, two lines of five moving along the soft flesh above his calloused palms. Her voice carried a northern accent when she spoke, lower lip caught between her teeth as she canted her head to the side.
"Sorry about that," she grinned sheepishly, "My nephew sometimes forgets that he is fifteen, not five."
The comment was funny but not funny enough to warrant the chuckle he released. "It's fine, sometimes my friends have the same problem." He could hear Topher protesting from somewhere behind him and Janet countering the argument.
She nodded solemnly as she stepped back, his hands sliding down from forearm to wrist to palm as she moved away. "Peter Pan Syndrome…with everything that is going on, why would we want to grow up?"
Clearly it was a rhetorical question and an answer that was likely not one hundred percent appropriate danced on the tip of his tongue as he could think of a few reasons; sex, alcohol… "But you could also counter that; why would you want to stay a child? People telling you what to do, having to take naps, school."
"Eh, that still happens when you're an adult- now you're just paid for it." Another apology slipped from full lips as gunmetal grey eyes interspersed with flecks of blue and green danced, a raven wing of hair fluttering in the breeze as she located her nephew and disappeared into the crowd. A single nod was the last thing he saw before she disappeared completely out of sight.
(On their first anniversary he sent Molly from the nightshift a fruit basket. For all of her meddling, he could no longer complain when she slid signup sheets across the counter or wandered with collection containers because had she not signed the night shift up for the 'From War to a Welcome Home' 5k color run, he never would have met the formidable five foot five Harper Jameson. T.C Callahan should have known the moment they met that she was nothing like the women he usually went for-nothing like his usual one night stands and for sure nothing like Dr. Jordan Alexander. She wasn't blonde or brunette, outlandishly out there or obsessively type A. She was something he would have never thought twice about had it not been for that color run.)
The second time he saw her was she was sitting on a gurney behind curtain two, a swath of gauze crudely wrapped around a lean thigh as she leaned back, hands over her face. With her chart in hand he took a moment to look over the information present, brows raising with the surname listed. Brushing aside the curtain and tugging it closed behind him he glanced up through his lashes with a smirk as she groaned and he caught the muttering of 'this night just keeps getting better.'
"Good evening Ms. Jameson. My name is Doctor Callahan and I will be handling your case this evening. How about you fill me in on a little of what happened," he started, voice even and professional as he snapped on a pair of non-latex exam gloves. Her chart had listed the reason for her visit as a puncture wound and that all stats at intake were normal but by the snickering coming from the teen at her side something more had to have happened.
"My nephew convinced me to help him with a carpentry project, that's what happened," she said to TC, her attention quickly turning to her nephew. "This is the absolute last time I ever let you use the nail gun. If you need nails for any future project you can do it the old fashioned way- by hand!"
Hiding a cross between a smile and a wince of pain at the image in his head TC reached for the gauze but stopped short of touching it. "May I?"
"Go ahead," Ms. Jameson (first name Harper, another unusual one) shrugged. "The nail is going to have to come out eventually, isn't it?"
"The nail is still in there?" TC parroted, brows raising.
She nodded as he pulled the blood stained material back. Not saying another word she watched as he probed as gently as he could, removing a glove to make notations.
"Let me get a nurse to take you down to x-ray to make sure the nail hasn't done any irreparable damage and to get the site cleaned up and then I will come back and take a look. Hopefully sometime in the next little bit that is removed and, bar any bad news, stitched up."
"Sounds good," Harper nodded once more. "Hey Ry, why don't you take some cash out of my purse and go get yourself something to snack on?"
'Ry' snorted. "If you think I'm missing any of this you must have hit your head when you stumbled Aunt H. I want to make sure I see as much of this as I can so I can fill Pops in," he teased.
Poking his head out to call Jocelyn over and to keep from commenting, TC filled the nurse in and placed the order for the X-ray, promising to return once the films were in.
"You lucked out. There is no major tissue or muscle damage, no nerves, nothing," TC explained as he read the films.
"It was a short nail and I have thick thighs," Harper mused from the bed. "I guess all the years of being called 'thunder thighs' was good for something." Her voice was pitched low like she was talking to herself but when she realized that she had spoken aloud she flushed crimson. "Can we just ignore what I said?"
"Said what?" TC grinned. "Alright Ms. Jameson, when was the last time you received a tetanus vaccine?"
"The second of April of this year," she recalled instantly. "I was working on a project that required me to be up to date on all vaccines."
Humming to himself and sharing the good news that she would not be getting a booster vaccine that evening he began gathering what he would need for the extraction. Keeping the prepped tray at his side and having Jocelyn standing by TC carefully extracted the piece of hardware and dropped it into a biohazard bag. Accepting a threaded needle from the feisty nurse he informed Harper that she would be receiving two to three stitches as he allowed the topical lidocaine to take effect.
"So what were you making when this happened?" TC asked the nephew, Ryan, who watched with rapt attention.
"I was trying to make a dog house that I can turn in for school credit and then turn around and give to Aunt H," Ryan shrugged.
"You have a dog?"
Harper winced ever so slightly as the needle started to disappear beneath her flesh, reappearing on the other side of the puncture wound. "We have two of our own but I work in a veterinary clinic so I take the dog houses to work to keep in the kennels."
"Nice, nice," TC mumbled. Each move he made was an act of precision until three tidy little stitches contrasted with her skin. "You are all set."
"Very nice," Harper mused as a length of gauze and an antibiotic ointment were applied. "Thank you, Dr. Callahan."
Making some notations on her chart and writing up a prescription for an antibiotic TC smiled, a dimple appearing in the corner of his lips beneath the thick scruff of his beard. Giving some verbal orders and a final wave over his shoulder he disappeared out to the front desk to file his paperwork, nudging Topher as his buddy grouched into the phone. Chuckling as the receiver was slammed into the base, TC stood beside the Chief of the ER and his best friend as he watched Harper Jameson limp slightly out of Trauma two while arguing playfully with her nephew. A hum at his side had his attention snapping to his side.
"What?"
"Isn't that the woman from that color run a few weeks ago? The one that you couldn't keep your eyes off of?" Topher teased, eyebrows climbing towards his receding hairline.
"I could keep my eyes off of her then and I could do it now," TC countered.
"Sure," Topher drawled, head shaking as he picked up a chart that Molly had directed him to. "I'll believe it when I see it."
(When their relationship became more intimate a few months after they got together, one of TC's favorite things to do became running his thumb over the slight scar that decorated Harper's thigh. She always flushed and scowled, telling him to leave it alone, but it was something that had calmed him. It was a part of her and he couldn't help it (partially because he was the one responsible for the tidy sew up.))
His memories of asking her on their first date were a little fuzzy. He remembers the soaked, scalding feeling of a coffee saturated cotton tee clinging to his torso, droplets of the liquid creating a puddle at his feet as he stood outside the coffee shop on Millennial Avenue post shift; he remembered the way he smelled like a cup of house blend, black with two sugars, the entire way back to his apartment and for the greater part of the afternoon despite a shower. His sleep deprived brain vaguely recognized the chorus of apologies embracing him with a semi-familiar voice and small, calloused hands aggressively dabbing at him with paper napkins.
"….and I can't believe I did that! I take full responsibility and I should have been paying attention but I…oh shit," the voice rambled, drawing TC's surprised eyes up from his shoes to the battleship grey eyes of one Harper Jameson, a halo of wild raven curls escaping from a half up half down do that was being partially held back by a pair of sunglasses. "Dr. Callahan! I cannot believe I literally keep running into you! I am so sorry," she apologized. "Can I get you another coffee?"
The uncomfortable feeling of his drink spreading from his shirt to along the front of his jeans and the midmorning heat of San Antonio had him wincing. "Could I possibly take a rain check?" he questioned, gesturing to his front with a wincing shrug. He noted with slight pride the way Harper's eyes lingered, causing him to take a moment to rethink his stance on Topher and Kenny's push for physical fitness amongst their little group.
"Hmm? Oh! Rain check, of course," Harper flushed. "Sorry, I-"
TC cut her off. "Stop apologizing, Ms. Jameson, it was an accident." He paused. "It was an accident, right?"
An indignant look crossed her features. "Of course it was an accident!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe you…you're teasing," she muttered.
"I was but I was also serious about the rain check," TC smiled slightly.
"A rain check sounds good and you should probably uh," Harper grinned, motioning to the mess of his clothing.
"Right. Rain check?"
"Rain check."
He was half way back to his apartment when he realized he had never gotten any of her contact information.
After tracking her down based off of the logo that had been on the scrub top she had been wearing, advertising Manchester Veterinary Clinic, TC had managed to talk Harper into meeting for drinks on one of his few off days. His palms had been sweaty as he waited and required him to stealthily swipe them on denim clad thighs but it wasn't due to nerves (of course it wasn't due to nerves!), rather the increased humidity that had him shedding his tee shirt in the parking lot behind the building and storing both the shirt and his beloved leather jacket in the saddle bags of his bike. Leaning casually with a hip against his single seat his eyes scanned the lot and he straightened as a soft topped Jeep pulled in beside him and Harper hopped out. Thanking the heat wave as long, lean legs appeared first beneath a knee length sundress followed by the rest of her he offered a nod as she looped the strap of a cross body bag over her shoulder and secured her vehicle. For the first time he'd seen her the mass of black waves that had always been somewhat contained were completely free, floating down to nearly her hips. His mind momentarily wandered as images flashed through of his fingers buried in the heavy mass.
Their greetings were stunted in the way that happened with most first dates, a blanket of awkwardness cloaking them as he escorted her into O'Malley's with a hand hovering at Harper's lower back. There had been a brief moment when the hostess had led them to a high topped booth located in a corner per his request- they had both moved towards the same side and nearly collided. Before he had had the chance to concede to the saying 'ladies first' Harper had ducked to the opposite site, cheeks aflame and offered him the side that had its back to the corner of the restaurant and gave him a view of the picture windows and the two entrance/exits.
"So how is the thigh?" TC questioned, lower lip catching between his teeth as he glanced up from beneath his lashes before perusing the laminated menu that had been placed in front of him.
"Healed with barely a scar, thank goodness," Harper breathed out, a hand drifting beneath the table top in the direction of said scar. "It's not my worst scar by far but it certainly has the most embarrassing story behind it so I'm glad that it isn't any more visible than it is. Your stitches were phenomenal," she complimented, "nice and neat and tiny."
Offering a word of thanks, TC made up his mind and set the menu aside as she did the same. "What other scars do you have?"
A smirk graced red painted lips. "I'm not discussing scars on a rain check."
He started to speak before he was cut off by their waitress popping up like a daisy, introducing herself as 'Tiffany' and asking if they were ready to place their orders. A mumbled 'ready when you are' had him shifting to face the perky blonde in the v-neck uniform top, her body turned angled towards him and her back partially facing Harper, whose brows rose towards her hair line.
"Harper, why don't you order first?" he said, trying to clear the stifling air around the table.
By the time they had placed their order and received their drinks, conversation had lapsed once more, the silence broken when Harper wiggled on her side of the booth. As he glanced up TC caught sight of a bit of silver glinting on the fourth finger of her right hand.
"So...Jameson," he started, eyes fixated on a piece of jewelry he hadn't seen since he had sat beside his mother's hospital bed.
"Callahan," Harper retorted, the spattering of freckles along her nose becoming more prominent as she wrinkled it in confusion. "Name game?"
"Claddagh."
Recognition dawned in her eyes and Harper seemed to move unconsciously, her thumb sliding along the underside of the band, twisting the ring along her finger. "Ah….so basically you're asking whether it is a piece of jewelry I picked up somewhere or whether I actually know what it is." At his nod she continued. "Irish by way of Blanchardstown in Dublin, American by way of the mill closures of 1870- Dublin to London to Halifax to Boston harbor. My great -great grandfather came first then his family followed nearly a decade later, eleven months after their arrival at port my great grandfather was born."
"My parents met when my mother took a trip back to the Emerald Isle to visit my great grandparents and met my father. She extended her stay with them, married him, and they came back to the US a few years later to have my brother and I," TC explained. "She used to tell us that when they were first married they couldn't afford a set of rings-engagement ring and the band- so my father gave her a Claddagh. I never saw her without it," he reminisced.
"Love, loyalty and friendship," Harper quoted in brief. "A few things that all relationships need to thrive. My grandparents gave me mine for my thirteenth birthday and if I have to take it off for any reason it goes on a chain around my neck."
The conversation began to pick up from there, lulling only between bites of steaming food. They had cleared their tab and were strolling in the rapidly cooling evening when the conversation circled back to family.
"So I mentioned I have a brother, but how about you?" TC questioned, surprising himself once again by mentioning Thad so easily.
"Second youngest of six- I grew up with three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger brother. Needless to say my family kept up with whole 'big, Irish and crazy.'"
"And your nephew, Ryan, is he the only nephew you have?"
Harper paused. "I have five nephews, three nieces and an undetermined on the way, but they all live closer to my parents who are still up north. I moved down here to stay with Ryan a few years ago."
Was serious conversation appropriate for a first date, if that was what this really was? "And how old is he?"
"Fifteen now, eleven when I came down here. He's my oldest brother, Abel's, son." Obviously sensing the next question Harper blew out a breath that ruffled the hair around her face. "Abel and my sister-in-law, Mia, were killed by a drunk driver. I was left full custody which was always weird considering the fact that I'm only a few years older than him."
Eyes screwing shut TC stopped on the sidewalk, his hand catching Harper around the wrist. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
Harper shrugged. "It's funny-not in a 'ha, ha' kind of way but in the twisty stomach ironic kind of way. Abel survived two tours and came back unscathed only to get back here and pass at the hands of an immature moron who decided to drive themselves home after partying hard with friends for their twenty first birthday. One minute I was leaving the clinic, the next I was on a flight down here to pick up my orphaned nephew from the babysitter."
TC hesitated. "My brother, Thad, was killed overseas. We were in the same unit. I was there when it happened."
Harper tensed. "We really can't win, can we?" she mused.
"Catch-22; that's what Thad used to say."
After the morose moment of reminiscing over their siblings Harper and TC circled back along Millennial, pausing at a corner shop for old fashioned hand dipped ice cream. It occurred to him as he watched her catch melting droplets of banana peanut butter cup with her tongue-the fact that he had voluntarily provided information about Thad. On a first date. To a woman he hardly knew. It had taken him months to tell Jordan anything other than that Thad was gone. It was almost scary how easily he was able to speak about it and he didn't know why.
(It was merely a start, TC realized, after a few months of being together. It was easy to talk to Harper-there was just something about her that drew the words out of him like a magnet. He had always been a private person and likely always would be but damn, all it took was one look and he spilled faster than Paul did when Shannon gave him that scowly stare.)
He had never been a 'meet the parents/meet the family' kind of guy. He had never really been a relationship kind of guy either. Ryan was easy enough; he was fifteen and knew that they were two adults, sometimes making himself scarce. He was intelligent and quiet, cracking jokes out of the blue and observing silently. Their dogs, Radar and Hemingway, were easily bribed by pizza crust and spoonfuls of peanut butter.
It was the idea of the rest of the family that had him on edge and for some reason, the family had decided that they wanted to spend Thanksgiving away from the northern snowfall, flying into San Antonio a full week before the holiday. Harper hadn't been kidding when she called them the big crazy Irish. They were everywhere-nieces and nephews tearing around the yard, siblings and in laws lounging around or trying to corral the children, her parents taking over the kitchen like a tightly run ship. Everywhere he turned there was chaos and he had actually begun to envy the ER, where the chaos was at least organized. It was a tossup though for who was scarier; Harper's six foot two father who still carried himself like someone who had seen things that others could never fathom (a veteran of Desert Storm, TC had later found out), her grandparents who had met while serving in a MASH unit together during the Korean War, or her four foot eleven inch mother who wielded a wooden spoon like Molly wielded orders.
He tried to make himself equal parts helpful and scarce, especially when the noise levels and raucous became too much for him.
It was mid-October when TC was awoken by the sound of frantic rooting about, incoherent babbling and cursing that would make any seasoned soldier blush. Small hands shook the sheets around him, a cold breeze brushing over his bare flesh and causing goosebumps to pucker as he groaned, wearily pulling his face out of the pillow. Eyes at half-mast TC propped himself up on an elbow and tracked Harper as she paced the room half dressed for a day at the office- a pair of black scrub bottoms and a black lace bra, a tank top and her scrub top laid over her purse.
"Harper, darlin', what the hell are you ranting about at," he paused, squinting at the digital clock on her night stand, "six oh seven in the morning? You're going to be late and Ryan is going to be late if you don't get going." He was coming off an extended overnight shift, a multiple vehicle accident and ill wedding party overrunning the ER just as he had gotten ready to head out. His eyes felt heavy, already beginning to fall as Harper propped her hands on her hips and turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees.
"It's gone! I can't find it!" she exclaimed.
"What is gone, other than your sanity?"
A dark brow cocked and he realized he was treading on thin ice. Muttering an apology he rolled onto his back and propped himself up against the headboard reluctantly. Ignoring the sudden heat he felt as her gaze faltered to track up his bare torso TC crossed his arms over his chest. Shaking her head to clear her thought track, Harper huffed.
"My ring! I cannot find it anywhere. I had it on when I went to bed but when I got up and got in the shower I couldn't find it. It's not on my finger or my chain and I can't find it!" Harper panicked, thrusting her hand towards his face.
He knew exactly where her ring was but TC thanked his fatigue for the fact that his face remained stoic. He should have known she would have noticed it was gone so quickly. "Okay so you had it in bed. You have work, Ryan has school and I'm home today. Go-I've got to strip the bed anyway so I'll shake out the sheets and check around the bed when I do."
Harper's cheeks puffed with air as she clutched at the raven braid tugged over her shoulder. "If you find it you text me, please!"
Reassuring her that he would text her the moment he found it TC accepted a kiss before he watched Harper rush out of the room while tugging on her tank top, shuffling down until he was laying down and yanking the sheet back over his head.
Waking up five hours later TC stretched and stripped the bed, wandering around in a pair of boxer briefs while the washing machine filled. Downing a cup of coffee and a muffin that Harper had made the day before he went through the shower before routing through the interior pocket of his laptop sleeve. Hooking the ring around his dog tags he checked the address that he had been given before stepping out of the house. He had a plan, half-baked and not fully formed but a plan nonetheless. A plan and an appointment.
Emery's Emerald Isle was a small hole in the wall shop about twenty minutes out of town, marked only by a hand hewn wooden sign bearing a Celtic cross. Parking parallel to the sidewalk he let himself in to the open shop, a small bell tinkling as the door swung open. Reminiscing at the memories triggered by the scent of a fresh Irish brewed tea and biscuits, he jumped when a petite red head appeared from behind a curtain, her hair a fiery curtain contrasting with her peaches and cream skin.
"Ms. O'Laughlin?" TC inquired as he stepped around an end table covered in books, moving in the direction of a glass display case.
"You must be Mr. Callahan. Your message said you were looking for claddaghs?" Emery queried, squinting at a vibrantly pink Post-it note affixed to the monitor of the register.
TC could feel his face flush beneath his beard. "In a sense," he mumbled, reaching around his neck to remove Harper's ring from his ball-clasp chain. "I uh stole this from my girlfriend to get her ring size and to maybe work with or around it." His statement sounded more like a question and his brows furrowed as the proprietress gave a friendly little smirk.
Hand held out to accept Harper's ring, Emery held it to and fro beneath the store's lights, watching it reflect back off the silver.
"It's an actual Claddagh and not a Fenian which is impressive. The original is still very popular but the Fenian-without the crown-is starting to make a bit of an up rise. Sterling silver, size six and a half. A little banged up but hey, things happen," Emery noted.
"She works with her hands a lot and has had the ring for nearly two decades," TC gave in lieu of a detailed history for the dings.
"Don't misinterpret me, the condition is impressive. But let me ask you this; what are your plans for the ring?"
He hesitated, a lump growing in his throat. "I'd like to maybe find something similar or have you customize it for a wedding set."
Emery O'Laughlin somehow managed to figure out just what TC had been looking for through a series of rough napkin sketches and garbled descriptions. He was a doctor not an artist. He could describe a field tracheotomy, talk someone through resetting and stabilizing a broken limb, diagram a shrapnel removal…he could not draw anything else worth his weight in salt. But somehow he had managed. Palms sweating and his stomach roiling TC paced slowly at Harper's side as they made their way through the park in which they had met. Along her back, dead centered between her shoulders, was a strip of gauze, irritated redness creeping under the paper tape keeping the covering of her newest tattoo in place. Swallowing thickly as he recalled the black letters scrawled along her flesh he released a breath that he had been holding for the last few steps.
"TC are you okay?" Harper wondered aloud, her voice pitched low in the setting Texan sun. "You've been quieter than usual."
"I'm fine, totally fine," he protested weakly.
Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so petite, coming from years of working with animals big and small, from hamsters to horses. "Thomas Charles Callahan. What is going on with you lately?" She had used his full name.
Like an admonished school boy he scuffed the toe of his motorcycle boots in a patch of dirt along the path. "Nothing is going on with me; I'm just a little tired and Topher has been on my case about some of my field work."
Rolling her eyes good naturedly Harper nudged him with his elbow. "If you actually slept when you came home," she smirked, letting the thought hang in the air. "And Topher is always on your case, why is it any different?"
Topher's words came back to him loud and clear, echoing in his mind.
"You're in a serious relationship now, TC. Don't think I haven't seen you browsing rings on your phone and talking to the nurses all hush-hush. If you are really all in with Harper you can't be running reckless and blind into situations the way you have been. She loves you- she depends on you. And depending on where your relationship goes you can have other, little Callahan's depending on you in the future."
Little Callahan's- the last time he'd had any thought about someone carrying on the Callahan name was when Jordan had….he shook his head to rid himself of the image of his ex, sobbing in a hospital bed with a blurry black and white sonogram print in hand. Harper knew about that, as she did the majority of his past, sitting beside him as he told her and responding with a warm, citrus scented hug.
"….end?"
Catching the tail end of whatever she had said his eyes widened when he saw her expression shutter itself, her eyes darkening and her jaw tensing. "What? No!"
"Did you even hear me?" Harper asked point blank.
"No but I can give you a good reason why I haven't been listening, tonight and the last few days."
"The last few days?"
He was digging himself deeper and felt panic creeping in. He could run headlong into gun fire, dive into quicksand and elbow his way through an angry mob of rioters but a cocked brow from his girlfriend and electrified silence had him terrified. Routing through his pocket he felt for the velvet pouch that he had opted for over the telltale velvet box Emery had offered and thrust it in Harper's direction, palm facing upward.
"What is it?" No move was made to remove it from his exceptionally steady hands as they began to tremor almost invisibly.
"Take it," he near demanded, thrusting his hand out once more.
Sighing in a way that sounded like she was humoring him she released the small knot in the emerald ribbon holding the pouch closed, upending the contents into her own palm and freezing. "What are these?"
"What do they look like?"
"They look like Claddagh rings."
"Very astute," he joked, quickly realizing that jokes were rather inappropriate in his situation. "They're for you."
"I already have one," she countered, voice increasing an octave.
"I'm not doing this right," TC groaned, shoving his hands through his hair and taking the interlocking ring set back from Harper. "I should have just gone with the first plan and put them on your finger in your sleep." Holding her right hand in his TC removed the plain silver ring that had been hers since she was a preteen, pocketing the ring that had been returned to her weeks before. Showing her the rings he slid the thin silver band holding a crowned, heart shaped turquoise into an open band with a space between two hands that locked on to the first ring. "I know you don't like regular gem stones and that you love turquoise. I also know that in some parts of Ireland they not only had the Claddagh but an interlocking set where one was an engagement ring and the other was the wedding band. Your old one was starting to look a little dinged up and I was hoping that you would replace it with this one. Of course, it would require a possible name change and most certainly a change in hand but…"
He was cut off by full, cherry-chapstick flavored lips catching his own. "Is this your way of doing what I think you're doing?" Harper beamed.
"I'm not very good at this, and I know I'm not always the best at communicating in general but…" he cut himself off with a gesture, clasping her left hand in his own and singling out the fourth finger of her hand. Sliding the rings on until seated below the second knuckle he left the heart pointing out. "Will you let me turn those rings around?"
A neat brow rose and he gave a faux long suffering sigh, a grin playing at his lips.
"Harper Elizabeth Jameson, will you marry me?"
He could hear his name being called repeatedly, eyes blinking owlishly as he gazed around and tried to wipe the dopey smile off his face. "Oh, yeah," he muttered as he felt a flush creep along the back of his neck, up under the collar of his shirt and under the stubble that he was surprisingly allowed to keep for the day. "Sorry."
The raised eyebrows he was receiving from Harper, her red painted lips twitching, and the subtle elbow that Topher nudged into his ribs had TC shuffled closer. Raising a challenging brow at Harper and hearing Ryan snort behind him, TC grinned and said those two words that he had run from for so long.
"I do."
"May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.
May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you." - Irish Proverb
"May your hands always forever be clasped in friendship, may your hearts be joined forever in love and held together in loyalty" - Irish Claddagh Proverb