Tom sat on the bench overlooking the Pacific Ocean, Emma facing him, leaning against his chest, letting him kiss her. Their first kiss had been a dare. Their second was a mistake. Their third, the night before, had confirmed their abiding attraction to each other. The fourth, soft and chaste in his kitchen this morning, had been their agreement to try this on. This fifth one was full of feeling, emotional, an exploration of whether there was enough between them to support what they wanted to build.
Tom's hand moved up her back, beneath her hair, holding her head, bringing her into him as he opened to her. One of her hands stayed on his face and the other reached for his hand, bringing it between them and pressing it low on her stomach, as if there was a tiny someone between them already, though there wasn't. She held him there, his hand covered by hers, as she pulled her face away to look at him.
"Right," he said, clearing the huskiness out of his voice. "When you're facing me like this, you can't see the view - this life changing view I promised to show you."
She smiled. "I think your view might have already had the intended effect on me."
Tom's head tipped back as he pulled in a huge breath. "Not quite. Look, it's the ocean, the sky, infinity, everything. Take a bit more time with it."
Her face was falling, as if she he had put her off. She was taking on a sadness he stopped when he traced her chin with one finger. "Come on, turn around now," he said, shifting her to sit beside him, keeping her close with his arm across her shoulders. "There's a good girl."
She moved but left her legs draped over his lap, and clasped her arms around his waist, her face in his shoulder, breathing him into her head.
"Now, look out at the sea and listen carefully to me while I reframe today's - discussion," he said, his arm holding her legs just below her knees.
"Reframe," she repeated. "What do you mean by that?"
He took another immense breath.
She looked away from his shoulder. "Are you quite alright, Tom?"
"Yes, I'm good. Not in danger of hyperventilating at all," he said, laughing weakly at himself and letting his breath out, hoping she didn't hear the slight trembling in it. "Now listen to me, Emma Charlotte Dewberry Potpourri Watson - "
She giggled and patted his cheek, embracing the teasing, so familiar, so him.
"I want you to have everything you've ever desired. A whole row of unfathomably adorable ducklings following after you everywhere you go. But I never want the little darlings to question where they came from, or why." He was nearly gasping for another breath. "And that is one of the reasons why, as we sit here, I am asking you to marry me."
Emma sat back, her mouth partly open, eyes searching his face, "You're - but, you don't - I haven't - "
He was speaking again, interrupting her stammering as if he was powerless not to finish. "I know it looks impulsive - like an overly traditional panic reaction to the thought of making a baby but - " He managed to look her directly in the eye. "It is spur of the moment, I'll grant you that. Obviously I've got nothing organized and it's a Spartan proposal and you deserve better, of course. I've got no jewelry to give you, and we're sitting less than 100 metres from bin full of your breakfast. But that doesn't mean this hasn't been a long time coming. Being here, in one of the prettiest spots I know, with the loveliest person I know, after literally decades of having feelings for you, and regrets about you, and - and loving you - "
"Tom - "
"That's the other reason I'm asking, Em. I've been in love with you so long. I've no idea how to stop. I don't even want to. There isn't anyone who doesn't know how I feel when it comes to this. Except for maybe you." He let go of her legs to take her hand. "So please know it, Emma."
"Tom - "
"Know it but, don't say anything about it for the rest of the day." He raised her hand to kiss it. "Don't say anything yet, and neither will I. Just - just be with me today. And when it's time for you to leave tonight, give me an answer then. Alright?"
There was a moment of silence while he sat with his head bowed, his mouth pressed to the back of her hand as he held it to his lips. She was left with the top of his head to look at, the flopping ash blond hair tousled by the sea wind.
"Hey, you're the one missing the view now," she said. "Look out at it with me."
He lowered their hands and lifted his face.
"It's not infinite. You know that," she said, waving one hand at the ocean disappearing into the horizon in front of them. "Yes, it's vast. But we know what's out there even if we can't see it from here. Other continents, land and people. Including the continent we came from, the people who made us. Sitting here, it looks like blue water forever and ever. But it's not. We know that eventually, it turns into home."
The fact was, Emma's stomach was now empty, and it was well past lunchtime. Tom heard it growling and smirked as she tried to muffle the sound with her arms.
"Less and less elegant with every moment," she moaned.
"But more and more cute," he said. "Come on, let's head back. We shouldn't have much trouble finding you a smoothie with kale in this part of the country."
She rubbed her stomach. "I think I'd rather have soup."
"So, a microwaved smoothie then. No problem."
She laughed at him. "Delightful."
He tucked his keys into her palm. "Here. You drive so you won't be carsick. Take it at your own speed."
She wasn't sick but she was anxious, driving on the wrong side of the road, along the edge of a cliff, against the guardrail that looked only too easy to breach.
"You're doing brilliantly. There's no need to be so nervous," he laughed. "You want me to hold your hand?"
"Yes, I would. But I need both hands to steer," she said. "You know what you can do to make me less nervous? You can stop staring at me."
"Actually, I'm not sure that I can."
"Stop it!" she laughed.
"Fine, there's a place you can get something to eat just ahead."
"Where?"
"There, on the left. As in, not in the sea," he said.
They were sat in the dingy roadside restaurant, Emma sipping disinterestedly at the soup of the day which had definitely been warmed from a can. Tom sat across from her, his sandwich long gone. In mid-afternoon on a weekday, the place was nearly empty. No cameras but he was keeping his head down all the same. Emma was back in her hat. He stopped reading the weather forecast aloud from his phone when he heard her set her spoon down.
She was reaching for his hand with both of hers. "The weather forecast," she said. "That is such a dad thing to do."
He watched her manipulating his right hand, sorting through his fingers as if looking for something. "Well, many men my age are dads," he allowed.
"Aren't they just." She hummed, closing her fingertips on a thick silver ring he wore, twisting it free.
"What're you doing, Em?" he asked, though it was obvious.
She slid the ring onto her middle finger. "I think this is my thickest. Still doesn't fit."
He huffed. "That's not the ring for you. Plain battered silver. Don't let anyone think that I gave you that."
She lifted her chin. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."
"You know that's not true in our business," he said. "If you decide you want a ring from me, let me know at the end of the day and I'll find something that suits you. That one looks like wayward plumbing supplies on you."
"Well, I'm wearing it anyway," she smirked. "How will I know if I want a ring from you if I never try one on?"
He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. "You're not going to like that one, mis-sized and rattling around on your hand the rest of the way home. But if that's what it takes to let me down..."
She clasped his hand again. "I did not say that."
He turned his wrist to look at his watch. "No, not yet. What was it you said? Your assistant will be picking you up at my place at 7 o'clock? Yeah, then there's no need to say it yet."
"Tom - "
"It's fine, Emma. Let's just keep having our day. Keep wearing the ring as long as you can stand it. I'll live."
