WHEN MAVIS APPEARED in his office to pick up her final paycheck, Parker ushered her back out through the doorway and down the hall to the elevator. She hesitated, but stepped inside. On the second floor, when he unhooked the “private” rope and waved her up the stairs to the widow’s walk, she hesitated again.
“T-trust me?”
Despite his stutter, Mavis climbed the stairs, wrenched open the wooden door herself, and walked right over to the south railing, ignoring the wind-beaten yellow caution tape. Gripping the painted cap rail, eyes closed, she looked as comfortable as if they came up here together every afternoon. She wore her hair down for once, and Parker had to stop himself from pushing the blowing strands away from her face.
Thirty-two, maybe thirty-three? She was younger than her wisdom, older than her unlined face. He wanted to learn her exact age—not because it mattered, but because it was something a husband should—
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
“Isn’t it beautiful up here?” he said. He stood close enough to inhale her scent—that mix of bay leaf and fresh pine, intoxicating as a clothesline-dried pillowcase.
She captured most of that thick hair and held it behind her, nodding, but her chocolaty eyes were closed. Her left hand dropped back to the railing.
“You’re not even looking.”
“Smells beautiful.”
You do.
When he dropped his right hand onto the railing, their pinky fingers touched—and then locked together, the way they had at the end of Joe’s service. His heart was racing. When someone waved up at them from the road, Parker waved back awkwardly, with his left hand.
“I’m so excited about the land trust,” Parker said. “You’ll do a great job, and it’s something the island really needs.”
“You’re not mad?”
He laughed. “Mad? No way. I’ll admit, I used to think we needed to build a mini-Newport out here. But that place is such a zoo. You should’ve seen the crowds there yesterday—”
He hadn’t meant to mention his shopping trip so soon.
She moved an inch to the right, unhooked her finger, and placed both hands on the railing.
His heart dropped. “Mavis, I—”
“Very different,” she murmured.
“Yes I know we’re d-different, but—” His stutter was back, dammit.
“Might work. We should try.” She was smiling—not out at the water, but up at him.
He grinned back, heart soaring. And then before he could lose his nerve, he knelt down—but had to stand up again, to extract the small box from the pocket of his khakis. Her eyes were bright, but she stood absolutely still; the only movement was the hair swirling around her face.
“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked her. “When you’re not around, it’s like the sun went behind a cloud. I don’t want to lose you. So. . .”
“You’re not losing me,” she replied, placing her left hand on his right shoulder. “But no rings yet.”
“I went ashore just to—”
“Not yet.” Both her voice and her grip hardened.
So Parker got up off his knee again, rubbing a thumb across soft velvet. “Want to see it?”
“No need—it’s beautiful. Because you got it just for me.”
So he slid the box back into his pocket and mirrored her stance facing the railing, trying to parse her words. No rings yet, she’d said. Did that mean—
Which is when she interlocked her pinky with his once again, gripping tight—as if everything was already decided.