Lookee here! I updated! Woww... The proposal method is brought to you by my parents. I kid you not. Oh, and for this one, let's pretend that Sara and Nick have, y'know, NORMAL sleeping patterns. Noctural weirdos. (Just kidding, you know I love you)
Still own nothing. This goes to Jess, Kevin, Greg, Janie, Steve, and Paula. You guys rule, even if you keep me from writing fan fiction.
Sara woke up to a tapping. She frowned sharply, trying to figure out why she had been roused from sleep. Yanking her red curtains open once she had determined why she wasn't sleeping any longer, she was face to face with a small pebble flying up to her window, meeting it with a "chlick."
She hauled herself further out of bed, and threw the window open, narrowly dodging another rock. Looking down in annoyance and grogginess, she encountered the sight of a disheveled, white t-shirt-black slack clad Nick Stokes. Just looking at him, Sara could tell that his explanation was going to be a good one. "What are you doing here?" She asked, usually patient demeanor shortened by the hour and lack of logic on Nick's part.
"I need to talk to you, Sara baby." Nick said, dangerously close to channeling Marlon Brando in 'A Streetcar Named Desire.'
" 'Sara baby?' Nick, what are you talking about?" Sara ran a hand through her hair, which was caught in a classic case of bed-head. At that moment, she was seriously concerned for his sanity. If he kept this up, he'd be thrown in a mental institution and all the evidence he collected on their serial would be thrown out.
"I love you so much it hurts. It hurts when- because- when I think about not spending the rest of my life with you."
"Nick. I love you too. You know I do!" Sara felt like she was speaking to a six-year-old, rather than the man who had changed, and probably saved, her life. "But you're not making any sense!" Sara rolled her eyes in frustration. Men. "It's 2:30 in the morning. I've got work tomorrow, as do you, and-"
Nick cut off her pseudo lecture, which was slowly gaining momentum by landing so hard on his right knee that Sara though it had given out on him. "Sara Rabelais Sidle, will you marry me?"
Sara coughed once, words refusing to form a single file line to leave her mouth. "Are you drunk? Nick, go home." She shook her head, exasperated. "You don't know what you're saying. "I'll see you in a few hours, and if I'm late to work because of you.." She trailed off, ending her unfinished threat with a glare. She moved to close her window, by Nick's distressed tone halted her.
"Please, Sara. I need you to know I want to be your husband, want you to be my wife. I want us to make our lives together, maybe had a kid or two? Will you marry me?" The hand Sara had lifted to rub sleep from her eyes froze halfway to it's destination. "Holy… Crap… You're serious."
"Yeah…" Nick grinned a little sheepishly, a little cheekily, "Not to rush your decision or anything, but your front porch is colder than that stare you give Greg, so,"
"Oh!" Sara started, neurons firing and missing their destinations in the recesses of her brain. "Hold on, I'll be down in a second to let you in." She shut the bay windows immediately after she finished speaking, before Nick could say, "If I had a nickel for each time I heard that," and yanked the curtains shut. She turned with her back to the glass, and blinked once.
About four milliseconds later, that picture of serenity in the face of excitement was gone. Sara jumped a foot in the air, emitting squeaks of excitement unwillingly. She flew to her door, her steps three or four of a normal one. She yanked open her door, the still-rational sliver of her mind wincing as it banged the wall behind it.
She jumped into Nick's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as his strong arms held her off the floor, the Texan she had come to call "hers" not thrown by her unexpected motion. She laughed breathlessly exhilarated, and kissed wherever her lips fell, his neck, his chin, his arms, his upper chest.
"So I guess that's a no," Nick laughed as he stepped into her house, taking her with him. She rewarded his cheeky response with a grin and a good-natured slap on the arm. "That's a yes, and you know it, Mr. Stokes."
"Well, Miss. Sidle," Nick's smarmy comeback was aborted by Sara's slender fingers on his lips. "That's the future Mrs. Stokes to you, sir." Nick's eyes glinted with a variety of intense emotion. He had sort of assumed that neo-feminist Sara would, at the most, hyphenate her name. However, looking into her eyes, he realized he wouldn't care whatever her name was, because he loved her.
He adjusted his slowly tiring shoulders, and then quickly realized it was a mistake. He and Sara, in about nine months of a relationship, hadn't had sex. They had discussed it once; both agreed it was open, a definite possibility, but they didn't need it to have a meaningful relationship. Even when roused from a less than innocent dream, filled with determination to take that last step with Sara, when he heard her voice over his phone, his lust was immediately sated.
But standing in Sara's living room, 300 feet from her bedroom, three seconds after her agreeing to be his wife, the fact that their bodies were pressed close together was doing nothing for chasteness. She grinned widely and nodded when he reclined his head to hers, whispering lowly, "You make me so happy Sare. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, you know that, right?" she slid slowly out of his arms, and as her feet touched the floor, he added, "Except a stuffed panda I had in kindergarten."
Sara gasped in mock indignation. "Well, I never! And to think, I was about to sleep with you."
"Oh, you were? In that case, you definitely outrank Billy Panda." Sara laughed, the sound making Nick's ears tingle with happiness, as she grabbed his hand. "I'll show you I can take down a panda any day." She winked, and as Sara led him to her bedroom, he barely had enough time to worry about a future euphemism, when Sara turned. "You do know that that's your pet name now, right?" Nick rolled his eyes and grinned, then bounded towards her and laughed with her as he scooped her into his arms. "Wouldn't expect any less." As Nick carried her slight form to her bedroom, any more playful dialogue was stifled by a steamy kiss.
I had this written for like a week, just not in the computer. And Starting Backwards is almost ready to type up. I just have WAY too much to do. There are.. lemme count... three days till opening night. Whoa. Anyway! Read and review to make me smile! Smiling authors remember to post!
