The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,104
doesn’t try any funny business. He just gives me a sweet kiss, leaving me wanting more, and asks, “When can I see you again?”
The Courtship
When my doorbell rings, I quickly apply a fresh layer of lipstick and grab my purse. Tonight, we’re celebrating our first anniversary, which happens to coincide with Jazz and Dylan’s first anniversary. I’m wearing a cerulean-blue wrap-dress that compliments my blond hair and blue eyes. I bought it especially for this occasion.
Ethan greets me with a bouquet of long-stemmed white roses. “For my beautiful lady.”
I pull him in and give him a proper kiss of appreciation. “These are perfect, thank you.” Even though red roses are meant for lovers, Ethan’s favorite are white ones. He claims they’re pure and untarnished, like me. Swoon, right?
Our dating experience has been perfect. There’s no rush to jump into bed and burn ourselves out having wild monkey sex six times a day. That’s not to say there’s isn’t any chemistry. There definitely is. It’s just not some uncontrollable chemical explosion guaranteed to fizzle once the initial throes of passion are spent. It would be more accurate to conclude we’re committed to an adult relationship that involves a lot of other aspects of our union, in addition to the physical. It’s exactly what I’m looking for. I’ve reached an age where I’m no longer interested in unpredictable and spontaneous men.
Ethan and I have a nice routine together. We eat out twice a week, taking turns picking the location. Sometimes it’s breakfast, sometimes dinner, but it’s always twice a week. I change up my location depending on what the buzz on the street is. I’m always on the lookout for a new adventure. Ethan seems content to stay with the same handful of locations, which is fine. There are plenty of new things for me to try, though he seems to favor a few select menu items.
We watch television two nights a week and go to the movies on Sunday. I stay over at his apartment twice a week and he stays the same number at mine. All in all, we spend a lot of time together. We also seem to have a thing for the number two.
I put the roses into a vase and inhale their fragrance deeply before saying, “We’d better run. Our reservation is at seven.”
“I changed it to seven thirty. I didn’t want to run the risk of being late and losing it,” he replies.
That’s Ethan in a nutshell. He thinks things through and always has a plan. In a world where people constantly fly by the seat of their pants, I think this is a refreshing way to live. “Perfect. Would you like a glass of wine before we leave?”
He holds out his hand. “No. We can always get one at the bar if we’re early. I asked the Lyft driver to wait for us.”
As we walk out the door of my Chelsea apartment, the world is my oyster. I’m celebrating a year with the same wonderful man, I have a flourishing career, and the air is finally cooling and starting to smell like a New York City fall. Contentment permeates my world.
Ethan and I hold hands in the car on the way to the restaurant. I say, “This is quite a special night, isn’t it?” We don’t normally eat at restaurants as expensive as Astor Court, but this is a celebration.
“It is. Since we met at the St. Regis Hotel, it’s only fitting we return to the scene of the crime a year later.”
Ethan guides me from the car into the hotel with his left hand placed gently on my lower back. The lobby is old-world elegant, and I feel like a princess entering a castle.
Once we’re seated, our waiter, a middle-aged man wearing black pants with a matching vest and bow tie, greets us, “Mr. Crenshaw, Ms. Masterton, we’re so honored to have you dining with us. My name is Frank, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.” Wow, that was worth a couple hundred bucks right there. It’s the little things like this that make people keep coming back.
Frank pops open a bottle of champagne and pours for us. Ethan has left no detail unattended. He’s even requested the same champagne Jazz and Dylan served at their wedding, Veuve Clicquot Rosé.
After our appetizers are ordered—lobster risotto for me, and the caprese salad for him— Ethan surprises me by dropping to one knee beside me. “Catriona …” My heart starts to beat so loudly I can hear it pounding inside my ears. Before he can say anything else, I start the little camera in my brain clicking away to save this moment for posterity. I never suspected he was going to propose marriage tonight.
I inhale deeply and look up at the mural of a blue sky with white, fluffy clouds painted on the eighteen-foot ceiling. I observe the gold-leaf crown molding and count all six crystal chandeliers. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion.
I always thought that women who claimed they didn’t know a proposal was coming were just playing up the drama for the retelling of their story. Turns out, some might really be surprised. I finally look at Ethan and say, “Yes?”
He smiles widely. “Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
First of all, there’s no way I’m not going to say yes. I mean, this is storybook stuff. Secondly, I love Ethan, and thirdly, did I mention the perfection of this night? I semi-shout, “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” A crowd of fellow diners give us an encouraging round of applause as the waiter approaches with a ring box on a silver tray.
Ethan opens the lid and removes an emerald-cut diamond from its black velvet pillow. He places it on my ring finger while uttering a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
I wish someone was recording this so I could watch it on replay. Even though I’m living it, it feels like it’s happening to someone else and I’m sure to forget some detail. Once Ethan gets back into his chair, he announces, “You should move in with me. We’ll be able to save more money for the wedding that way.”
What he says is true. My thirty-eight hundred dollar a month apartment will add up to a hefty sum for a wedding. I ask, “When would you like me to do that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it since I bought the ring, and decided if you said yes, you should move in right away. I know your lease is month-to-month, and as this is the last week in the month, how about over the weekend?”
And just like that, my life as a single woman in New York City comes to an end. I’ve never lived with a man, and suddenly I feel quite grown up. It's the beginning of my happily ever after. What could possibly go wrong?
Buy the book here.
Other books by Whitney Dineen — All are available on Kindle Unlimited!
Romantic Comedies
Relatively Normal
Relatively Sane
Relatively Happy
The Event
The Move
The Plan
The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan
Mimi Plus Two
Kindred Spirits
She Sins at Midnight
Going Up?
Non-Fiction Humor
Motherhood, Martyrdom & Costco Runs
Thrillers
See No More
Middle Reader
Wilhelmina and the Willamette Wig Factory
Who the Heck is Harvey Stingle?
Children’s Books
The Friendship Bench